#Andy’s focus is lambing

[bobbie-robron]

It’s the only thing that makes us both happy. We’re miserable apart. (Part 1)

It’s late at night and Andy’s only getting into bed due to the lambing and promptly falls asleep. Katie isn’t happy with Robert having texted her at night and goes on about the mess they’d cause it they got together but Robert reminds her, the damage is already done and they are a mess. Katie takes EQUAL BLAME with Robert about their situation. Jack whinging to Andy about Val staying at his but happy to hear Katie’s supporting Andy about buying the farm. Apparently, Robert and Katie have been talking for an hour about their situation and have no answers other than they can’t stand to be apart but can’t be trusted to be together.

08-Apr-2004

[georgiapeach30513]

Rumplestiltskin, Part 2

Summary:  Set in the past and meeting Andy for the first time.

Pairings:  Prince!Andy Barber X Reader

Rating:  adorable

Warnings:  flirting, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  1.5K

Previous

Series Masterlist

A/N:  When @tis-thedamn-season​ asks to see some more of Prince Andy and Aurelia, I had to provide.

*dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Your eyes focus out into the distance.  Seeing Walter’s hoof paw at the ground, stepping closer to you than usual.  It only meant one thing, company.  Getting a bit of a sweat, because you were here alone.  You fold your skirts tighter around the apples you’ve gathered.  Clicking your teeth at Walter to lead him back to the cottage.  

The new hoofs were beating on the ground.  Whoever it was they were fast approaching.  “Walter, come on buddy,” he blows a bit of air, ears pricking up, and he digs a hoof in the ground.  “Your shoes were just changed, come on,” your only friend doesn’t budge, just looks through the clearing of the woods.  “Walter, I’m not supposed to be out of the cottage.  If father knows that,” your words trail off when you see a man in armor on a white horse.

Gulping, and trying not to stare at the handsome stranger.  Abandoning Walter all together.  Silly creature didn’t want to follow you.  But it was too late, the newcomer had spotted you, “Miss?  Miss?  I need help.”

“The ferrier is out, you’ll have to come back,” your head points down to the ground as you try to ignore him.

Jumping off his horse he leads her to wherever you are.  “Then maybe you could help me with something else.  My horse is very tired.  She could use some water, and possibly some hay.  I see you have a well.  Might I get some water?” 

“You mean me no harm?” He shakes his head no, removing his sword, you lurch backwards, but he pushes it into the ground.  Walter doesn’t even flinch.  “That’s a fine sword.  Who made it?” 

“Your mother.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It was my father’s.  Miss, the water?”

“Right, uh…take the horse to the barn.  I need to put up these apples.  I’m making an apple pie for my father,” the stranger hums in delight, walking his horse over to the barn as you nervously try and put the apples up.  Giving the cottage a quick clean when you gather up some water for the man.

Leaving the comfort of the cottage you see that goofy horse looking into the barn watching everyone. “Silly creature,” you mumble before you walk in yourself.  He had removed his shiny armor, and you could see the cords of his thick muscles.  The care he gives to his horse has you smiling at him.  His hands pet over her nose, and he had already given her hay.

“I took the liberties of getting her ready.  I appreciate your kindness,” he turns back to look at you, and you notice just how blue his eyes are.  

“Are you part of the King’s Guard?” You ask, handing over the bucket of water.  

“You could say that,” he takes a long swig of the water, and streams of it flow down his chin, and onto his shirt.  “The name’s Andy,” bashfully you give him your name.  Your foot toeing the ground when he tells you it’s beautiful.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls, Andy.”

“No, I don’t,” Walter blows out a raspberry, and nods at him.  “I don’t.  I think you are the first maiden I’ve seen in quite some time.”

“Why’s that?” Andy just shrugs at you, pouring the rest of the water over his body.  “Sir?”

“It’s quite hot.”

“I can draw you a bath,” you want to slap yourself.  A naked man in your cottage, while you were alone.  You were being absurd.  But the cute little smirk that comes from Andy has your own body heating up.

“You’re without a chaperone.  Somehow I think the virginal daughter of a ferrier would not be suitable for that, no?” You shake your head no at him, and start to head back to the cottage.  “I could bathe out here.  The horse can stand guard,” Walter blows at Andy again, and takes a step back.  “He’s quite protective of you.  Where did you get him?”

“A traveler traded him for a lamb.  I can’t carry the tub in here.”

“I shall do it then.  I have been traveling for days.  A bath, pie, and…?”

“Stew and fresh bread.”

“It sounds lovely.  Thank you, Miss,” he follows you out to the cottage, grabbing that tub with him, and you can’t help but stare.  He was beautiful.  Sweat had caused the dust to settle on his skin, the closer you got you saw his faint freckles painted over his nose, and even good strong hands.  

When Andy takes off his shirt, you notice how his back was immaculate.  Hills and valleys of muscles, and his pants dangerously low on his hips.  “Miss, we’re crossing an improper line here.”

“Of course.  Walter?” Your horse goes to follow you, staying outside the kitchen window where you try not to stare.  You promise yourself you’re going to make this pie and get it into the oven.  Your father should return soon.

“Daughter,” your father asks you curiously, walking into the cottage, but his head faces towards the barn.  “Who is here?”

“Andy.”

“Andy?” He lays down a few items that you had asked for before marching into the barn.  You hadn’t ever seen him so angry before.  There was determination etched on his face, as he watches Andy pull up a pair of his pants.  “No.”

“Sir, I’m not sure what the meaning of this is.  I am getting dressed.  The lady of the house asked me to supper.  I know my manners, clean at the dinner table,” he gives you father a wide smile, and he shakes his head no.  “I would hate to pull rank on you.  I am the Prince of Pomona, your future king.”

“And did you tell my daughter as much?” Andy looks down to the ground, ashamed he never explained who he was.  “Of course not.  You should leave.”

“I won’t be rude to the lady.”

“She’s no lady.  She’s a peasant, and you are the future king.  What are your intentions?  Make her your concubine?”

“I’ve only met the girl.  You mentioned her the last time I was here.  I was curious.  She is lovely, Tony.  You should be proud.  A woman of her beauty and kindness, and raised by a father.  Do you want her to stay alone forever?  Cooped up in this cottage in the middle of nowhere?”

“I want her to think rationally.  No one in their right mind would grant you marriage to her.  She needs to marry her own kind,” Andy finishes getting dressed before walking out of the door.  “Wait.  If you can marry her.”

“I’ve only just met her.”

“I know what my wife sacrificed to have her.  She’s not entirely common,” Andy cocks up an eyebrow, moving closer.  “I’m out in the middle of nowhere for a reason.  I will not tell you the story of my wife, and where she’s gone.  You make deals with the devil, he comes to call.  You may have your dinner, have your dessert, she can take you to the well, and then be on your way.  I don’t care how often you come, you come alone.  She’s to be kept hidden, unless you can marry her.  I know her future, and I won’t have you sullying it.”

“What’s her future old man?” 

“She will be noble again.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?” You ask Andy as you lead him to the well.  Walter close behind you, while his horse Clementine walks right beside him, unguided as well.  

“No, Miss,” he catches you looking at him, before you quickly look back ahead of you.  “What’s the deal with the well?” 

“She grants wishes.  My father always told me my mother’s spirit lives there.”

“What have you wished for?” Pressing your hands onto the stone, you lean forward a bit, trying to see if you see her face.  You never do, just your own.  

“Andy, you don’t go telling people your wish.”

“Of course not,” he leans over himself, and stumbles a bit.

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, of course,” clearing his throat, he looks back into the dark water, and then turns to the side, smiling at you.  “I wish for a kiss.”

“Andy,” his hand slides over to meet yours, before placing it on top.  It felt giant compared to your own.  

“One kiss.  Maybe I didn’t do it correctly,” shimmying his body, he gives you a smile, “I wish that this beautiful maiden would let me kiss her.”

Straightening back up, his hand slides around your head, while his thumb brushes over your lips.  Your mouth goes dry when he just barely presses his lips against yours, before pulling back, “I don’t think that counts as a kiss.”

“Of course not, Miss,” he says before slotting his lips against yours,  this time holding the kiss.  Your body melts into his, and he pulls you in tighter.  You have nothing to compare it to, but this kiss was amazing.  Your lips tingling as he pulls away.  “Have a good evening.”

“Andy, when will you be back?”

“Clementine will need new shoes soon.  Just make sure you’re here.  I like blueberry pie, too, Miss,” his hand brushes away your baby hairs before he jumps onto his saddle.  Giving his white horse a little kick before he trots away.  He would be back, again and again, until he was able to call you his wife.  Your kindness, and generosity when you had so little would aid you well as the Queen of Pomona.  If only he knew that your parents would never subscribe to him marrying a peasant.

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[ofstormsandsaints]

hello best boy's admin and my bae<33 gonna ask you more asks so.

can you write hcs for marion and aleksi? like their first time etc. you're good at it i trust you<3

@besnella here you go dear.

It doesn't really look headcanons and the whole story is quite blurry. Sorry for that

Marion & Aleksi - how they met

Prima Dice

-Occurres every seven years, in the first week of spring. In which several influential members of the Church and the highly regarded representatives of the four demonic clans meet.

-They discuss and review one another's relations.

-Peace, treaties, agreements

-Morals, discipline and justice

All for the equilibrium between the worlds.

-And to oversee the smooth running of this semblance of halcyon gathering, a guard is necessary.

'For the Prima Dice? But I'm not even part of their faction.'

'We're understaffed, Barsotti. You followed the same training so you'll go with Carhn and Lamont.'

-Left with no choice, only the order to ensure security within a demon reception. An entire week spent with the high responsibility to protect the priests from having their golden cope painted red.

-Marion wasn't really happy to go there.

-Not that he was alone, but he felt out of place nonetheless. Dealing with vampires was not something he was used to. Let alone the other demons present there. For most of the evening, he just wanted to lie low, didn't feel like talking with his colleagues and followed closely the Father Maxwell.

-Henry Maxwell, one of the nosy sort, unable to keep his preachings and mouth shut.

-He would monologue with Marion by his side, saccharine sympathy towards the elected Vibora nobility.

-Fighting the urge to sigh, the young hunter tried to focus on his tasks.

-Until ruby eyes caught his attention.

-The first time he saw Aleksi, she immediately reminded him of his sister.

-Sixteen and angry at the world, Celeste lived for women like her: Dangerous, highly intelligent, lethal and hellish from the curl of her eyelashes to the black tip of her stilettos. At that time, they only consumed art that included any form of female empowerment, gender deconstruction and immersed themselves in that femme fatale aesthetic.

-And in just a glimpse, that red-haired demon appeared to be everything his sister aspired to become.

-Introducing herself as Alexandra, the woman began to speak confidently with Father Maxwell in a perfect, melodic German.

-Nostalgic of his homeland, the old man kept the conversation going until one of the archbishops and a vampire council member called for him, leaving the silent hunter and the spy together.

'...Even if I'm grateful to be finally alone. I shouldn't let him go unsupervised.' Marion finally told with a frown.

'Nothing is going to happen to him. But if it bothers you that much, don't worry about me, go after him. But have a drink first.' The tall woman lent him a glass of pale champagne, the hint of a smile on her pretty lips.

'And what about the poison that's in it?' With a grin, he rose his eyebrow while looking at the glass. 'Oh. You tell me if the taste suits you and I bring some to dear Father Maxwell after.' She watched him take a sip.

'Hm...He's a clergyman, he shouldn't drink so freely... Better if you'd give me the rest.'

-He didn't drink the rest though. But he didn't go after Maxwell either.

-He stayed with Alexandra, trying to decypher her unbreakable non-verbal language. To understand the meaning of her collected smiles, the intensity of her piercing red eyes, the nature of the laughs she shared with him while joking about the pomposity of this... peaceful reunion. The hypocrisy. The selfishness for each party's interests.

-He didn't like it and she could tell easily.

-Marion, on the other hand, never thought about the possibility that she could be a spy of some sort.

-Lack of knowledge about the Vibora probably.

-Or maybe he just didn't care. Again, he wasn't exactly part of the demon hunter faction.

-His candor was something quite admirable though. Aleksi was surprised by his gentleness and his curiosity - no hostility whatsoever. What was this guy doing here? Wasn't he a hunter? An arrogant bigot who despised the creatures of the night?

-Maybe did she try to entice him in order to know more. But she quickly understood that those celeadon eyes of him were clear and honest. That he was merely doing his job and hoped for everything to go well.

-And it did.

-The Prima Dice was a boring success.

-But this wouldn't be their last encounter. Marion was intrigued and Aleksi knew they were to see each other again.

-Two months passed. But this time, they didn't meet in gowns and black suit and tie.

-In their respective camp, in the front row, witches' blood on his hands; electric magic crawling under her skin, she serpented chaos like mist. And when she spotted him on that makeshift battlefield, she understood where his human rage was directed to.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Mushroom Hunting at the End of the World

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JUbLZq https://ift.tt/3korg8w

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

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[djohnhopper]

FAVOURITE MUSIC VIDEOS: Artist: The Irrepressibles​ Track: LET GO (Everybody Move Your Body Listen to Your Heart) (may 2020).

CREDITS: Directed by Savvas Stavrou. Producer - Ailsa Vanessa Tapping. Executive Producer - Sasha Nixon. Production Company - Forever. Director of Photography - Matthew Emvin Taylor. Cast - Alistair Wroe & Paaliba Abugre. Dancers - Deji Tiwo, Eliza May Jackson, Mairi Houston, Anthony Welwyn, Rosie Reith, Mitchell Marion, Anna Engerstrom, Matthieu Renaudin, Josh Orome, Le Fil, James Ormiston, Joseph Wilson, Sarah April Lamb. Casting Director - LANE Casting - Celine Poplawska. Focus Puller - Thomas Nicholson. Clapper Loader - Jonny Lewis. Digital Image Technician - Davo McConville. Grip - Carlo Vera. Gaffer - Aaron Szogi. Sparks - Alejandro Restrepo Celis, Zoe Williams, Ciprian Stroiny. Lighting Designer - Rob Tiefton. Lighting Desk Op - James Dickson. Choreographer - Simon Donnellon. Costume Designer - Marianthi Hatzidiki. Production Design - Daniel Draper. Hair & Makeup Artist - Elle McMahon. Hair & Makeup Assistant - Sogol Razi. Editor - Gary Coogan (The Quarry). Colourist - Jonny Thorpe (Glassworks). 1st Assistant Director - Peter Stephanou. 2nd Assistant Director - Femi Anderson. Production Manager - Edvin Dubrovskiy. Production Assistants - Chloe Stavrou, Stefani Nedanova. Music by The Irrepressibles (aka Jamie Irrepressible). Produced by Jamie Irrepressible. Mixed by Anders Bjelland. Video Commissioner - Daniel Harding // Zinglyng. Special thanks: Lewis Partovi, Matthew Suddaby & George Rumsey at Panavision, Karine Gama at Panalux, Ana Acomanoai at Green Kit, Andy Brierley, Coline Bach, Jenn Sanders at The Quarry, Chloe Ensor at Glassworks, James Newmarch and Mihai Bumbu at FOLD, Henry Bennett, Phil Walker, Steve Wells, Philip Brown, Alexandra Matheou, Marianna Xenophontos, Michalis Christodoulou, Christina Ntetsika, Marina and Stavros Stavrou.

[writinggeisha]

How to write dialogue in fiction

Dialogue in the novel: tricks, tools and examples

Speech gives life to stories. It breaks up long pages of action and description.

Getting speech right is an art but, fortunately, there are a few easy rules to follow. Those rules will turn your dialogue from something that might feel static, heavy and unlifelike into something that shines off the page.

Better still, dialogue should be fun to write, so don’t worry if we talk about ‘rules’. We’re not here to kill the fun. We’re here to increase it.

“Ready?” she asked.

“You bet. Let’s dive right in.”

Dialogue rule 1: keep it tight

One of the biggest rules in dialogue is: no spare parts. No unnecessary words. Nothing to excess.

That’s true in all writing, of course, but it has a particular acuteness (I don’t know why) when it comes to dialogue.

If you include an unnecessary sentence or two in a passage of description – well, it’s best to avoid that, of course, but, aside from registering a minor and temporary slowing, most readers won’t notice or care.

Do the same in a block of dialogue, and your characters will seem to be speechifying rather than speaking. It’ll feel to a modern reader like you want to turn the clock back to Victorian England.

So don’t do it!

Keep it spare. Allow gaps in the communication and let the readers fill in the blanks. It’s like you’re not even giving the readers 100% of what they want. You’re giving them 80% and letting them figure out the rest.

Take this, for instance, from Ian Rankin’s fourteenth Rebus crime novel, A Question of Blood. The detective, John Rebus, is phoned up at night by his colleague:

… “Your friend, the one you were visiting that night you bumped into me …” She was on her mobile, sounded like she was outdoors.

“Andy?” he said. ‘Andy Callis?”

“Can you describe him?”

Rebus froze. “What’s happened?”

“Look, it might not be him …”

“Where are you?”

“Describe him for me … that way you’re not headed all the way out here for nothing.”

That’s great isn’t it? Immediate. Vivid. Edgy. Communicative.

But look at what isn’t said. Here’s the same passage again, but with my comments in square brackets alongside the text:

… “Your friend, the one you were visiting that night you bumped into me …” She was on her mobile, sounded like she was outdoors.

[Your friend: she doesn’t even give a name or give anything but the baresr little hint of who she’s speaking about. And ‘on her mobile, sounded like she was outdoors’. That’s two sentences rammed together with a comma. It’s so clipped you’ve even lost the period and the second ‘she’.]

“Andy?” he said. ‘Andy Callis?”

[Notice that this is exactly the way we speak. He could just have said “Andy Callis”, but in fact we often take two bites at getting the full name, like this. That broken, repetitive quality mimics exactly the way we speak . . . or at least the way we think we speak!]

“Can you describe him?”

[Uh-oh. The way she jumps straight from getting the name to this request indicates that something bad has happened. A lesser writer would have this character say, ‘Look, something bad has happened and I’m worried. So can you describe him?’ This clipped, ultra-brief way of writing the dialogue achieves the same effect, but (a) shows the speaker’s urgency and anxiety – she’s just rushing straight to the thing on her mind, (b) uses the gap to indicate the same thing as would have been (less well) achieved by a wordier, more direct approach, and (c) by forcing the reader to fill in that gap, you’re actually making the reader engage with intensity. This is the reader as co-writer – and that means super-engaged.]

Rebus froze. “What’s happened?”

[Again: you can’t convey the same thing with fewer words. Again, the shimmering anxiety about what has still not been said has extra force precisely because of the clipped style.]

“Look, it might not be him …”

[A brilliantly oblique way of indicating, “But I’m frigging terrified that it is.” Oblique is good. Clipped is good.]

“Where are you?”

[A non-sequitur, but totally consistent with the way people think and talk.]

“Describe him for me … that way you’re not headed all the way out here for nothing.”

Just as he hasn’t responded to what she had just said, now it’s her turn to ignore him. Again, it’s the absences that make this bit of dialogue live. Just imagine how flaccid this same bit would be if she had said, “Let’s not get into where I am right now. Look, it’s important that you describe him for me . . .”]

In short:

Gaps are good. They make the reader work, and a ton of emotion and inference swirls in the gaps.

Want to achieve the same effect? Copy Rankin. Keep it tight.

Dialogue rule 2: Watch those beats

Oftener than not, great story moments hinge on character exchanges,that have dialogue at their heart.  Even very short dialogue can help drive a plot, showing more about your characters and what’s happening than longer descriptions can.

(How come? It’s the thing we just talked about: how very spare dialogue makes the reader work hard to figure out what’s going on, and there’s an intensity of energy released as a result.)

But right now, I want to focus on the way that dialogue needs to create its own emotional beats. So that the action of the scene and the dialogue being spoken becomes the one same thing.

Here’s how screenwriting guru Robert McKee puts it:

Dialogue is not [real-life] conversation. … Dialogue [in writing] … must have direction. Each exchange of dialogue must turn the beats of the scene … yet it must sound like talk.

This excerpt from Thomas Harris’  The Silence of the Lambs is a beautiful example of exactly that. It’s  short as heck, but just see what happens.

As before, I’ll give you the dialogue itself, then the same thing again with my notes on it:

“The significance of the chrysalis is change. Worm into butterfly, or moth. Billy thinks he wants to change. … You’re very close, Clarice, to the way you’re going to catch him, do you realize that?”

“No, Dr Lecter.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind telling me what happened to you after your father’s death.”

Starling looked at the scarred top of the school desk.

“I don’t imagine the answer’s in your papers, Clarice.”

Here Hannibal holds power, despite being behind bars. He establishes control, and Clarice can’t push back, even as he pushes her. We see her hesitancy, Hannibal’s power. (And in such few words! Can you even imagine trying to do as much as this without the power of dialogue to aid you? I seriously doubt if you could.)

But again, here’s what’s happening in detail

“The significance of the chrysalis is change. Worm into butterfly, or moth. Billy thinks he wants to change. … You’re very close, Clarice, to the way you’re going to catch him, do you realize that?”

[Beat 1: Invoking the chrysalis and moth here is almost magical language. it’s like Hannibal is the magician, the Prospero figure. Look too at the switch of tack in the middle of this snippet. First he’s talking about Billy wanting to change – then about Clarice’s ability to find him. Even that change of tack emphasises his power: he’s the one calling the shots here; she’s always running to keep up.]

“No, Dr Lecter.”

[Beat 2: Clarice sounds controlled, formal. That’s not so interesting yet . . . but it helps define her starting point in this conversation, so we can see the gap between this and where she ends up.]

“Good. Then you won’t mind telling me what happened to you after your father’s death.”

[Beat 3: Another whole jump in the dialogue. We weren’t expecting this, and we’re already feeling the electricity in the question. How will Clarice react? Will she stay formal and controlled?]

Starling looked at the scarred top of the school desk.

[Beat 4: Nope! She’s still controlled, just about, but we can see this question has duanted her. She can’t even answer it! Can’t even look at the person she’s talking to.]

“I don’t imagine the answer’s in your papers, Clarice.”

[Beat 5: And Lecter immediately calls attention to her reaction, thereby emphasising that he’s observed at and knows what it means.]

Overall, you can see that not one single element of this dialogue leaves the emotional balance unaltered. Every line of dialogue alters the emotional landscape in some way. That’s why it feels so intense & engaging.

Want to achieve the same effect? Just check your own dialogue, line by line. Do you feel that emotional movement there all the time? If not, just delete anything unecessary until you feel the intensity and emotional movement increase.

Dialogue Rule 3: Keep it oblique

One more point, which sits kind of parallel to the bits we’ve talked about already.

It’s this.

If you want to create some terrible dialogue, you’d probably come up with something like this:

“Hey Judy.”

“Hey, Brett.”

“You OK?”

“Yeah, not bad. What do you say? Maybe play some tennis later?”

“Tennis? I’m not sure about that. I think it’s going to rain.”

Tell me honestly: were you not just about ready to scream there? If that dialogue had continued like that for much longer, you probably would have done.

And the reason is simple. It was direct, not oblique.

So direct dialogue is where person X says something or asks a question, and person Y answers in the most logical, direct way.

We hate that! As readers, we hate it.

Oblique dialogue is where people never quite answer each other in a straight way. Where a question doesn’t get a straightforward response. Where random connections are made. Where we never quite know where things are going.

As readers, we love that. It’s dialogue to die for.

And if you want to see oblique dialogue in action, here’s a snippet from Aaron Sorkin’s The Social Network. (We don’t usually reference films so much on this blog, but there’s an obvious exception when it comes to talking about dialogue.) So here goes. This is the young Mark Zuckerberg talking with a lawyer:

Lawyer: “Let me re-phrase this. You sent my clients sixteen emails. In the first fifteen, you didn’t raise any concerns.”

MZ: ‘Was that a question?’

L: “In the sixteenth email you raised concerns about the site’s functionality. Were you leading them on for 6 weeks?”

MZ: ‘No.’

L: “Then why didn’t you raise any of these concerns before?”

MZ: ‘It’s raining.’

L: “I’m sorry?”

MZ: ‘It just started raining.’

L: “Mr. Zuckerberg do I have your full attention?”

MZ: ‘No.’

L: “Do you think I deserve it?”

MZ: ‘What?’

L: “Do you think I deserve your full attention?”

I won’t discuss that in any detail, because the technique really leaps out at you. It’s particularly visible here, because the lawyer wants and expects to have a direct conversation. (I ask a question about X, you give me a reply that deals with X. I ask a question about Y, and …) Zuckerberg here is playing a totally different game, and it keeps throwing the lawyer off track – and entertaining the viewer/reader too.

Want to achieve the same effect? Just keep your dialogue not quite joined up. People should drop in random things, go off at tangents, talk in non-sequiturs, respond to an emotional implication not the thing that’s directly on the page – or anything. Just keep it broken. Keep it exciting!

Dialogue rule 4: reveal character dynamics and emotion

Let’s take a look here at Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower as another example.

Protagonist Charlie, a high school freshman, learns his long-time crush, Sam, may like him back, after all. Here’s how that dialogue goes:

“Okay, Charlie … I’ll make this easy. When that whole thing with Craig was over, what did you think?”

… “Well, I thought a lot of things. But mostly, I thought your being sad was much more important to me than Craig not being your boyfriend anymore. And if it meant that I would never get to think of you that way, as long as you were happy, it was okay.” …

… “I can’t feel that. It’s sweet and everything, but it’s like you’re not even there sometimes. It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder? What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things.”

“Like what?” …

“I don’t know. Like take their hands when the slow song comes up for a change. Or be the one who asks someone for a date.”

The words sound human.

Sam and Charlie are tentative, exploratory – and whilst words do the job of ‘turning’ a scene, both receiving new information, driving action on – we also see their dynamic.

And so we connect to them.

We see Charlie’s reactive nature, checking with Sam what she wants him to do. Sam throws out ideas, but it’s clear she wants him to be doing this thinking, not her, subverting Charlie’s idea of passive selflessness as love.

The dialogue shows us the characters, as clearly as anything else in the whole book. Shows us their differences, their tentativeness, their longing.

Want to achieve the same effect? Understand your characters as fully as you can. The more you can do this, the more naturally you’ll write dialogue that’s right for them. You can get tips on knowing your characters here.

A few last dialogue rules

If you struggle with writing dialogue, read plays or screenplays for inspiration. Read Tennessee Williams or Henrik Ibsen. Anything by Elmore Leonard is great. Ditto Raymond Chandler or Donna Tartt.

Some last tips:

Keep speeches short. If a speech runs for more than three sentences or so, it (usually) risks being too long.

Ensure characters speak in their own voice. And make sure your characters don’t sound the same as each other.

Add intrigue. Add slang and banter. Lace character chats with foreshadowing. You needn’t be writing a thriller to do this.

Get in late and out early. Don’t bother with small talk. Decide the point of each interaction, begin with it as late as possible, ending as soon as your point is made.

Interruption is good. So are characters pursuing their own thought processes and not quite engaging with the other.

[darklingichor]

Redshirts A Novel with Three Codas by John Scalzi

There are a handful of books that literally make me laugh and cry. Off the top of my head, they have all been Christopher Moore novels. A few of those are also books that I tend to recomemnd to anyone who I have known for over five minutes, but haven't written about. Considering I like analyzing stuff, I can't really say why I haven't, except... And this is going to sound needlessly dramatic, but I can't think of another way to say it...

You ever read a book, watch a movie or listen to a song that you not only love, but it's almost like it interweaves it's way into your soul?

That's what those books are to me and its kinda hard to analyze something that close to you.

Those books are as follows

Lamb

Fool

The Serpent of Venice

I can revisit these stories over and over and never get tired of them. Lamb is  my go-to on my kindle app if I am out of new stuff or I forgot my current book at home. I re-read Fool and The Serpent of Venice probably once a year, but the audible books are in rotation for when I am short a credit and need something to listen to.

I think Redshirts by John Scalzi will be added to the list.

This one I'm going to write about because that's the project I have laid out for myself.

I’m basically applying Newton’s First Law of Motion to my creativity

A writer writing stays writing.  So whether it’s this, my simple episodic story, my pain-in-the-ass universe, or an overly descriptive grocery list, I write something multiple times a day. Keeps me sane in a job where my most challenging task is trying to find my little rubber finger thing so I can turn pages faster.

Anyway, Redshirts.

I listened to this one, the narrator was Wil Wheaton.

A word about the narration. I really enjoyed it, I personally think that Wheaton got the tone of the book down pat with his reading. Scalzi tends to end every line of dialogue with “he said/she said” which may slide by when reading, but does get a little monotonous when listening.

[Edit, I originally said that most of the characters sounded the same. I have listened to it again and I realize this isn't true. There is tone and inflection that makes it clear who is speaking, and that's what a good voice actor and narrator does. I think I said that because while I was listening the first time, I kept getting interrupted for long stretches of time and didn't back up enough to get me back into the scene. I have deleted what I said because it wasn't a fair commetary.]

None of that tarnished the book for me.

I read it because I loved the idea of the cannon fodder for sci-fi shows realizing that they were expendable and not liking it one bit.

I expected to laugh, which I did, a lot. All of our main redshirts are smart and quick-witted, which makes you want them to figure out a way to avoid their fate. Ensign Andy Dahl who is our main perspective, is written in such a way that his snark is balanced nicely with enough openmindedness and critical thinking to accept and act upon the fact that he and his friends are in a cheesy sci-fi show where they are expected to die a ridiculous death either as a part of the action or to give the main cast some emotional drama to work off of. What I didn't expect was the complexity of the story. I thought it was going to be like the whole universe was a show and the writer was God writing for an unknown audience. I figured that the characters would simply try to find a way to survive and until the writer decided to "cancel" the show and everyone would blink out of existence. Yeah, I was expecting something pretty grim...

In reality, the whole crew of the Intrepid answers the question "What are characters doing when we're not watching?" And just how different it is from when we are. The character's focus is not to outwit tv logic until their series ends. It is to make their lives their own, period.

While they work it out we get a lot of hijinks and fun but we also get a lot of bittersweet moments, some pretty weighty philosophical questions (that are presented without being obnoxious) and one simply heartbreaking arch.

This book also has me eating my words. I said a couple entries back that using the second person outside of a choose your own adventure book is pretentious. I also said that switching between second and third perspectives is jarring.

Welp, I was wrong (happens often, I'm comfortable with it).

As the title suggests, the novel is followed up by three parts that conclude three storylines that either resulted from the events of the story or concludes elements left open at the end of the main novel.

The novel itself is told in the third person.

The first coda is told in the first

The second in the second

The third in the third.

I'll be honest, when the narration switched in the second coda, I was at listening at work and I had to catch myself before I said "Oh for fuck sake, again?"

I hated this perspective shift in The Night Circus so much that it made me cringe to encounter it again.

Honestly, the second person has always been mildly unsettling to me even in CYOA. It's a strangely disconnected feeling to be addressed as the character I am reading and being told what I am doing, and when I usually read it, it is being used in a way that is suppose to be "high concept" it is really pretentious. That combination just annoys me.

In Redshirts, it works for me. It is still mildly unsettling, but it makes sense to be that character at that point and feel unsettled.

Basically what I'm saying is that this book is wonderfully written with vivid characters, humor and drama combined in a story that gets and holds interest. In my humble and so not professional opinion, it is nearly perfect.

If you like funny stories I think you'll like this one.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 39

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 39

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Kit shows up in Rory’s room on Sunday afternoon. Rory can hear Carolyn in the distance, and assumes Serina let them both into the building. “I’m empty handed this time,” Kit admits, his hands spread to show that he isn’t carrying anything other than winter weather gear. “Carolyn just met with Pawel and we walked over together while she was catching me up on what happened.”

By the way he says it, Rory assumes Kit means something other than their own ritual. “Do I want to know?” he asks as he slides off the loft to land on the floor.

Kit shoves his hands in his pockets. “No, not really. I don’t think I want to know, either, even though I’ve already heard the details. I think we’ve all given Pawel a lot more to think about with regards to magic and Talent in general. And pointed out just how little even the experts know at this point.”

“No one’s ever tried to catalog everything until the Emergence,” Rory says. He doesn’t bother asking whether Kit’s staying; he just assume he is. He tosses some pillows onto the floor, along with his blankets, making a nest. “Everyone was always content living in their own space, passing their own knowledge down along their Lineage. But things are changing. What Pawel’s doing is good. How we’re going about it lately maybe isn’t quite as good.” As Rory reaches for the laptop from his bed, Kit makes himself comfortable on the floor, leaning back on the pillows.

“We could use the bed,” Kit points out.

“I’m able to sleep in that bed, but I barely fit, especially with it being lofted close to the ceiling,” Rory admits. “I’m too tall, even with the bed being that weird extra long twin that dorms have. When I’m in bed with Alaric, it’s amazing we don’t fall out. Lying in one with another person to relax? I’m afraid we’d be too busy clinging to each other to enjoy it.”

Kit frowns, and Rory wonders if he’s said something wrong. He’s probably not supposed to mention casually sleeping with his roommate.

“Alaric’s over six foot, right?” Kit says slowly, looking up at Alaric’s loft. “How do the two of you even fit into one of those beds at the same time? You’re both so tall, and he’s broad, too.”

Rory exhales, unclenches the hand he hadn’t even realized he’d curled. “It’s a Clan thing. When Alaric’s anxious, he wants to be at the bottom of the puppy pile, so I mostly sleep on top of him. We end up taking up the same amount of room as he does, pretty much. The one that has to be funny is him and Chris in the same bed. They’re both huge.”

Rory holds out his hand, palm up, and Kit takes it, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m not going to get jealous of you doing the puppy pile thing with other people,” Kit murmurs. “I know that’s a part of your life, right?”

“Yeah.” Which reminds Rory of something he’s been meaning to ask Kit, and just hasn’t gotten around to yet. “So. We have midterm hell this week.”

“We do,” Kit agrees. “And it is definitely hell. But then we have spring break. Why?”

“Do you have plans?” Rory asks. He tugs Kit with him, and they both end up curled on the pillows, facing each other. Kit reaches out to cup the nape of Rory’s neck, and Rory goes into the kiss willingly. He’d be happy to just lie here and keep kissing and snuggling quietly for a while, although he has a feeling Alaric will step on them when he’s back before dinner. Rory breaks the kiss, asks softly, “Is that your way of not answering?”

“Just felt like kissing you,” Kit admits, a flush warm on his cheeks. “And other than heading home and hanging out, no, I didn’t have any plans. Mom’s supposed to be coming out to pick us up on Friday after classes are done.”

“Want to go to Burlington instead?” It feels like a loaded question, asking Kit to come home to meet his family. Rory feels the need to explain. “We’re hippies. Or Dad’s family is a bunch of hippies. Who live on a magical commune. And everyone in the family is always welcome there, plus it’s only three hours away. Mom and Dad and Dad are going to meet us there and spend the week—it’s nice when Dad gets a vacation, and Dad’s not on tour. Alaric’s coming up and bringing Chris. I think Alaric wants to spend the week working with the sheep. And Drea and Corbin are coming with him, so there will be a mix of magical people and Clan people visiting. Plus some non-magical—the band is coming, so Andy will be there, and I think he’s bringing his girlfriend so she can go visit UVM. It’s close.”

If Rory’s honest, he has some ulterior motives there. He has half a thought that if Melanie gets to know his family, and they’re all in Burlington together, maybe somehow Andy won’t have to quit the band. He’s sure it doesn’t really work that way, but it’s still the kind of wish that he has to see if he can help come true. Stormy has her way of going about things, and Rory has his own.

“It sounds like it might be a family thing,” Kit says slowly, which Rory wants to point out is ridiculous, but he’s not sure that’ll make sense to Kit. It’s still early in their relationship.

“It’s a people thing,” Rory says instead. “My grandparents and cousins are great people, and there’s always room for plenty of guests. You might have to put up with the band doing some practicing, but it’s not like we’re bringing all our gear, just what we can carry easily. A lot of it will be about just relaxing in Vermont and eating good vegetarian food, and watching Alaric get really involved in talking about sheep shearing and fiber dyeing practices. Oh, and it’s lambing season, so there will probably be some of that, too.”

“Lambing?” Kit looks worried at that. “Are we supposed to help?”

“Definitely not, although I think Alaric’s going to get himself invited into the barns,” Rory says. “But I’m not interested in that side of things. And I’m not good with the animals, either.” Sometimes Thorne has helped out in the past, because he’s good at warming places without necessarily catching them on fire. But it’s never been something Rory’s interested in.

Kit goes quiet, and Rory can almost see the wheels spinning in his mind.

“If you want Carolyn to come, too, that wouldn’t be a problem.” Rory can’t be sure that’s what Kit’s thinking. “Serina, too. The more the merrier. I’m wondering if this summer we’ll end up having half of PHU up there at some point when we’re not on tour. Which reminds me. Do you want a copy of my tour schedule?” Rory rambles to a stop because Kit’s still silent. Not a word, just his furrowed brow and quiet focus.

“Am I going too fast here?” Rory asks. He lightly touches Kit’s face, and Kit leans into the touch.

“No, I’m just—things have changed,” Kit says quietly. “A lot. And yes, I’d like your tour schedule, because I’m hoping that this summer I’ll try to catch a show. Or more than one. It depends on what I’m doing for work; I’m trying to get a research position here at PHU for the summer, which would mean not going home. Which would also mean not dealing with some of my extended family, and that’s a good thing.”

“You can just be you in Vermont,” Rory says, and Kit smiles at that.

“Yes to Burlington, too,” Kit agrees. “Tentative yes, because I really do need to talk to Carolyn about it, and clear it with my parents. Who will probably just be glad as long as I’m not trying to go somewhere sunny and expensive for spring break. Not that I’ve ever thought about that. I’m not a beach person.”

“The one thing we’ve definitely figured out is that it’s good to get out and work with other Lineage groups,” Rory says. “Alaric’s dealing with other Clans, and trying to spend more time figuring out how to work with Mages. And we’re a completely different tradition than your family. You could probably learn something about ritual while we’re there.”

“I’d like that.” Kit laces their fingers together, kisses the inside of Rory’s wrist over the ink. He smiles then, lightly touches his lips to Rory’s fingertips. “I like you, Rory. I like this. Us.”

“Me too.” Rory’s pretty sure there should be prettier words than that, given that words are how he makes a living, but he doesn’t have any right now. I like this. Us. That seems to sum it up perfectly.

The door pushes open roughly, bumping against the wall with a thud. Kit rolls back, sits up on his elbows as Alaric steps in, stopping quickly.

“Not going to step on you,” Alaric says as Chris crowds into the doorway behind him, stopping abruptly when Alaric does.

“Didn’t think you would.” Kit pulls himself all the way up to sit cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. Rory doesn’t bother, just motions for Alaric and Chris to come in.

There’s noise in the hall behind them, Jackson shouting something to Pat, and Sera’s voice joining his. Sera appears in the doorway just after Chris steps in, and leans there, staring into the distance.

“They have that mushroom soup for a special,” she says, eyes tracking something only she can see. “Oh, and Alaric, your grades are up for—”

“Why do you have my password again?” Alaric grumbles, a low growl under his voice. He digs through his dresser to find a fresh t-shirt, then quickly strips off the one he’s wearing to change it.

“Eh. I’m beyond passwords,” Sera says, shrugging. “But yours was easy anyway. You should probably change it to something more obscure. Like Chris. I haven’t been able to crack his. Jackson and Pat on the other hand were easy. TJ is weirdly difficult. But then, TJ is weirdly difficult himself so I guess I can’t be surprised his password is. Oh hey.” She leans back out the door. “You got an A on that exam, Jackson!” she yells. “Your grade’s back up in the B range.”

“What?” Kit murmurs.

“When she gets bored, Sera starts looking through everyone’s grades on the LMS system. If she can hack your password, she’ll know your grades, but she never changes anything or does anything malicious,” Rory explains.

“I’m terminally curious and I get bored of the angst on the internet,” Sera says. Her gaze flicks to them, then to a point over Rory’s head. “Oh hey, when did you start posting tour dates? You’re going to be down on Long Island? I’ll get to that one. Are you still talking about that tour with Trish?”

“It’s set, just not posted yet,” Rory replies.

“Reminder set, I’ll get the tickets soon as they’re on sale for the Wantagh date,” Sera says. She blinks and finally focuses on Alaric and Chris. “Are you ready to go? Pat just texted that they’re good. TJ’s coming. Or do you need to get changed more and need me to leave?”

Chris looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m fine.” Alaric looks down at Rory, offers a hand to him. “Heading out to Teas Please. Coming?”

Sera cocks her head. “Pat says Jackson saw Carolyn and Serina. Should we ask them?”

“Maybe you should give them some alone time,” Kit suggests, and Rory glances over at him.

Sera’s eyes go wide. “Oh, are they—?”

“Dating,” Kit says firmly. “And they might want to join you, but it’s been kind of a crazy week and Carolyn was talking about a quiet night before exams start up tomorrow, so….” He shrugs rather than finishing the sentence.

“I think I’d rather stay in, too,” Rory decides, because he thinks that some of Kit’s words might have been a hint. Whether they are or not, Kit’s not objecting to the decision, so Rory runs with it. “But if I give you money, would you bring us back a crêpe to share?”

“I’ll make sure it gets back to you.” Alaric waits while Rory gets a twenty out of his wallet. “Might stay at Chris’s tonight.”

“Let me know if I should worry or not when you don’t come home,” Rory says.

“He will,” Chris says.

Rory leans against Kit rather than lying down again, relieved as the crowd makes their way out of the room. Sera calls out and Pat answers in the distance. Rory slumps as his door swings shut, not quite latching in their wake.

“Quiet time?” Kit asks, and Rory huffs.

“Seemed like you were thinking the same thing.” Rory leans in to Kit’s touch as Kit wraps his arms around him. Their magic rises between them, cocooning them comfortably before they lie down. “On the other hand, look at Alaric, being social. He’s come a long way since we got here. He doesn’t even grumble at them when they drag him out. Much.” He shakes his head. “That sounds like a crowd, and you know that if Sera’s involved, Trish is probably meeting them. And Nate’s probably working.”

“This is what college is,” Kit says. He pats the pillows and they both lie down. Kit reaches past Rory to pull the laptop closer, but lets Rory get it started up to find something to watch.

“Keeping track of people in college is complicated,” Rory says as he gets his show going. “I’m expected to remember whose sport is in season and who practices with who. Jackson’s basketball season is over, so he and Alaric are training at the gym together. Nate’s doing indoor track now, and outdoor soon, and Alaric muttered something about avoiding doing track himself, but Dax is starting in the spring. I don’t even like sports.”

“We like the people, though,” Kit says, nuzzling Rory’s cheek.

And that’s exactly it. Rory sighs, settling into the comfortable circle of Kit’s arms. “Yes. We like them, so we care. And I like you.” He feels the need to echo Kit’s words from earlier. “I like this. Us.”

He feels Kit’s smile pressed in a kiss against his shoulder along with the whisper, “Me too.”

[ Previous | First | Next ]

[iliketoeatmyself]

ED BOOKS

I stole this from mpa (because I wanted to save it) but I’m going to highlight those I’VE READ... also I might add some others as time goes... 

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson (it was a good read!)

Solitaire by Aimee Liu * (Considered first anorexia memoir. Thus, there are points when EDs aren't completely understood, but still totally worth the read. Available through KU.)

Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain by Portia de Rossi (it was really good and real tbh)* (One of my faves! A memoir that really captivated me)

Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia * (Really is what it says on the tin and so much more. This memoir captures the darkest parts of EDs and is done very logically, stabilizing itself with facts that are intermixed by the chaos of EDs).

Just Listen by Sarah Dessen (Romance)

Thin by Lauren Greenfield (Nonfiction elements. Like the TV documentary of the same name, but of course, the book has more details.)

The Best Little Girl in the World by Steven Levenkron (NOT like the movie. Based on research of EDs in figure skating and gymnastics.)

Perfect by Natasha Friend

Purge: Rehab Diaries by Nicole J. Johns

Skinny by Ibi Kasliky

Loud Girl in the House of Myself: A Memoir of a Strange Girl by Stacy Pershall

Gaining: The Truth about Life After EDs by Aimee Liu (same author as Solitaire)

Identical by Ellen Hopkins * (Written in same manner as her other books, which is basically more like a poem than traditional novel format. LOVE this book and recommend the authors other, non ED books)

Letting Ana Go by Anonymous

Massive by Julia Bell

Keeping the Moon by Sarah Dessen (Romance)

Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite Ambition and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves

She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb

Thin by Grace Bowman (memoir)

The Disappearing Girl by Heather Topham Wood (Romance, KU)

After the Strawberry by Adrienne Maria Vrettos

Purge by Sarah Darer Littman

Beautiful Me by Natasha Jennings

Hunger Point by Jillian Medoff (it was okay, the sister of mc has an ed)

Pointe by Brandy Colbert (Very dramatic. Deals with sexual abuse and also kidnapping in addition to an ED. Still not sure how I feel about this book, but a read that is very interesting, especially for those who like reading all things ballet. Also, this is nice because a black girl is not only a ballet dancer, but also has an ED, which is not portrayed enough!)

Looks by Madeleine George

Kessa by Steven Levenkron (I'd say this is probably for younger readers, but hey, you're never too old to read any book in my mind!)

My Sister's Bones by Cathi Hanauer * (Really liked this book and it isn't necessarily because of the ED part of it. I just like the whole feel and author's style)

Parperweight by Meg Haston

You Remind Me of You: A Poetry Memoir by Eireann Corrigan

Chalked Up: Inside Elite Gymnastics' Merciless Coaching, Overzealous Parents, Eating Disorders and Elusive Olympic Dreams by Jennifer Sey (Wow, that's a mouth full!)

Believarexic by J.J. Johnson

Feeling For Bones by Bethany Pierce

More Than You Can Chew by Marnelle Tokio

A Dance of Sisters by Tracey Porter

Gravity Journal by Gail Sobat

Elena Vanishing by Elena Dunkle (A memoir written with her mother)

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver (Haven't read this in a long time, but I remember liking it)

A Trick of the Light by Lois Metzger * (One of my favourites! About a male with an ED.)

Starved by Michael Somers (Another good male ED novel)

Reckoning Daze by Michael Beaulieu (Currently free kindle edition is available)

Thin (Sharing Spaces Book 3) by Alicia Michaels (This is part of a romance series and is the third book. This one focuses on the ED character, but there are hints to the ED in other books. You don't necessarily need to read the other books in the series and can figure things out without reading them first. I actually read this book before the others)

Cake Dreams: A Memoir of Survival by Hoyt Phillips * (Another male ED book. Great multi-faceted portrayal of EDs and general metal illness. Available on KU)

Not My Father's Son: A Memoir by Alan Cumming * (It's been a while since I've read it, but I recall there being an ED. The book does not focus on the ED, but it is thrown in there, adding to an already fascinating, interesting read.)

Nothing by Robin Friedman (Another male ED book)

Lighter and Weightless (books 1 and 2 of Begin Again Duet series) by Gia Riley (Romance and available on KU)

...And All Shall Fade to Black by Layla Dorine (Gay Romance, male with ED, available on KU).

Still Water: A Boys of Bellamy Novel by Ruthie Luhnow (Gay romance, male with ED, available on KU)

Four Weeks, Five people by Jennifer Yu * (A male wannabe rock star with an ED. He is 1/5th of the main characters who all have other mental disorders and have been sent away to camp to help with their various mental illnesses).

Phat (Escape From Reality series) by Taylor Henderson (Part of a series. KU)

Life-size (no, not like the Lindsey Lohan movie) by Jenefer Shute (Available through Kindle unlimited)

Love Struck (Star Struck Series) by Amber Garza (Romance series. KU).

Fake Perfect Me by Cari Kamm (KU)

Out of Breath (Exposed Series) by Hazel Kelly  (KU).

The Kaitlyn Chronicles series by Elaine Babich (Series, for younger readers. KU).

Please Don't Go by Elizabeth Benning (A bulimic sent to a residence to recover and teams up with anorexic former enemy in hopes of escaping)

Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen * (very great!! I loved this one, it’s not only about the ed, but human nature and emotions) (A classic novel that everyone interested in metal health should read).

Do or Die (Fight or Flight Series #4) by Jamie Canosa (Romance series. KU).

Hungry: One Woman's Battle and Victory over Anorexia and Bulima by Jessica Skinner (The title pretty much says all you need to know. KU).

My Perfect Little Secret by Rebecca Coppage (KU).

Anorexic: The True Story of An Anorexia Survivor Who Found Love by Anna Paterson (This is romantic, but I wouldn't call it romance. KU).

Balance of Control by Stephanie Nance

Running in Silence: My Drive for Perfection and the Eating Disorder that Fed it by Rachael Rose Steil

My Not-So Secret by B.P. Morrison (KU).

26 Beats per Minute by Dez Wilder (Male with ED. Memoir. KU).

Summer Fades by Amanda Bews (KU).

It's Never Enough (Book 1 in Never Series) by Susan Soares (Series. KU).

Restricted: A Novel of Half-truths by Jennifer Kinsel * (KU).

Chrysalis by L.A. Field, Gary Thaller * (KU).

A Slow Fade by Brooke Melius (KU).

All We Ever Wanted: Unmasking the Silent Battle by Alexandra Wnuk (KU).

Life Hurts: A Doctor's Personal Journey Through Anorexia by Dr. Eliabeth Mcnaught *

A Fork in the Road by Rebekah Wilson (KU).

Skin Deep (Stolen Breaths series) by Pamela Sparkman (Romance Series. KU).

Feeding the Heart (Heart Series) by Marion Myles (Romance Series. KU).

Anorexic Annie by Sarah Burleton * (KU).

The Downside of Being Charlie by Jenny Torres Sanchez * (Male with ED, the ED is not a huge part of the book, but also deals with family dysfunction, which I always find interesting).

The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller * (This is very interesting. Male with ED. Deals with super powers! Though, it could just be the ED causing the protagonist to think he has powers, but I'll let you be the judge!)

Skinny Boy: A Young Man's Battle and Triumph Over Anorexia by Gary A. Grahl

It Was Me All Along: A Memoir by Andie Mitchell * (about binge eater who lost weight)

Safety in Numbers by Brittany Burgunder *

Skinny: She was starving to fit in... (False reflections book 1) by Laura L. Smith (Currently free kindle edition is available).

When You Fall by Alex Karola * (through Wattpad. Not finished yet, but is a great read!)

Inner Hunger: A Young Woman's Struggle Through Anorexia and Bulimia by Marianne Apostolides

Empty: A Story of Anorexia by Christie Pettit

Inside Out: Portrait of an Eating Disorder by Nadia Shivack

Not Otherwise Specified by Hannah Moskowitz *

All Good Things Die in LA by Anhoni Patel *

Jane in Bloom by Deborah A. Lytton (Another one for younger readers. Still, a nice read)

Gravity Journal by Gail Sidonie Sobat

What I Lost by Alexandra Ballard *

This Impossible Light by Lily Myers (told in verse)

Sad Perfect by Stephanie Elliot (the girl has avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder)

Beautiful Bodies by Kimberly Rae Miller * (this is a KU book and is a fairly new release as of 7/28/17. It is about disordered eating and chronic dieting, not a full blown ED; however, I still enjoyed it and recommend it).

Shattered Image: My Triumph over Body Dysmorphic Disorder by Brian Cuban * (KU, male memoir detailing ED struggle and primarily his struggle with BDD)

Sugar by Deirdre Riordan Hall (KU)

Empty Net (Scoring Chances Book 4) by Avon Gale * (gay romance about bulimic hockey player)

Heavyweight by MB Mulhall (Male protagonist)

Just Jack by Shaun Powell (KU, male protagonist)

Don't Call Me Kit Kat by K.J. Farnham (for younger audience definitely)

Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxanne Gay (BED)

Skin and Bones by Sherry Shahan (Male protagonist)

Skinny Me by Charlene Carr

Wrists by Jay Broderick (male protagonist)

Unicorns and Rainbow Poop by Sam Kadence (male, gay, romance)

Bare Roots by Molly S. Hillery (KU)

Grip by Adex Garza (KU, male. Deals with morbid obesity)

Rita Just Wants to be Thin by Mary W. Walters (KU)

Taint by Jude Nicholas (KU)

Fasting Girls: The History of Anorexia Nervosa by Joan Jacobs Brumberg

13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl by Mona Awad

Hunger Pains: The Modern Woman's tragic Quest  for Thinness by Mary Pipher

The Stone Girl by Alyssa B. Sheinmel

Pretend We are Lovely by Noley Reid

Stick Figure by Lori Gottilieb

Diary of an Exercise Addict by Peach Friedman

The Anorexia Diaries by Linda Rio

Feed Me!: Writers Dish about Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image by Harriet Brown

Insatiable: A Young Mother's Struggle with Anorexia by Erica Rivera

How I Got Skinny, Famous, and Fell Madly in Love by Ken Baker (about a girl who goes on a reality TV show to lose weight. Fun read)

Inside Out: Portrait of an Eating Disorder by Nadia Shivack

Perfect: Anorexia and Me by Emily Halban

Losing it by Sandy McKay

Fragile by Nikki Grahame

My Big Fat Disaster by Beth Fehlbaum

Thin Ice by Niki Settimo (romance)

Unfiltered by Lily Collins (not solely a book about ED, but the topic is mentioned throughout)

Good Luck with That by Kristan Higgins (coming out on August 7, 2018)

Staving in the Search of Me by Marissa LaRocca

Feast (True Love In and Out of the Kitchen) by Hannah Howard

The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano (the mc is anorexic but it’s not focused on it only. This book is about two outcasts who connect to each other and its effect of it in the course of their lives)

The Vegetarian by Han Kang (it’s very good and wild. It also tackles on feminism and societal issues as well)

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki  and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami (it’s a great book. The ed is not the main point but there is a character suffering from one)

[rookieforlife]

Cook on generational change on the team (Q from @thegoalkeeper): "We haven't really spoken about it... We all just go back to our club environments and work as hard as we can to come back... It's not on us to scrutinize those [roster] decisions."

Andi on USWNT turnover (Q from @thegoalkeeper): "I'm glad that that's Vlatko job to worry about the future and the team and all the pieces... They're out of my hands... All I can focus on are the things that put me in the best position for him to pick me."

Andi on camp dynamic with younger players (Q from @SoccerInsider): "The really special thing about this team is all the personalities and history and that it's all interwoven... The standards for this team are so high... and that's due to the foundation that's been built."

Andi on emerging leaders (Q from @JulieFoudy): "The first name that pops into my head outside of Becky is Kelley [O'Hara]... She's not one to NOT speak her mind... Lindsey Horan has also been stepping into that... People are doing a good job of looking out for [newcomers]."

Did you see these? What’d you think?

I haven't read anything related to the USWNT tbh, you know I only care about Christen when it comes to the US. But what do I think? I think those are respectful answers, they can't really say much about it. Vlatko, Kate and USSF are the ones making the decisions.

The leaders... well, we all know KO is a leader. Horan could be one on the pitch, maybe this is what she needs to grow her character, the team will need it in important moments, outside she's just a little lamb so it's nice to see people like Andi getting the chance to win a spot. I hope she makes the most of it.

[andybondurant]

New Post has been published on Andy Bondurant

New Post has been published on https://andybondurant.com/2021/08/17/communion-graham-crackers-and-juice-boxes/

Communion: Graham Crackers and Juice Boxes?

So many things separate the different denominations within the Church. We disagree about many matters of theology. However, it is the things that most every Christian agrees on are that bind us together. These beliefs are much stronger than what divides us.

The ties that bind

The sacraments are one of these “sticky” items. To be fair, churches even debate the term sacrament. Some denominations don’t like the word sacrament. Other denominations are okay with the term, but don’t agree on what makes a sacrament.

Most commonly, sacraments are known as an outward or physical act that leads to inward grace. Universally, most denominations agree that both communion (the Lord’s Supper) and Baptism are sacraments. Other segments add things like marriage and confession to this list (up to a total of 7).

Communion + Covenant

For now, I want to focus on communion. 

The average church goer thinks of communion in terms of bread and wine or juice and crackers (or maybe graham crackers and juice boxes if you’re in a pinch). If you really want to understand the depth behind the Lord’s Supper, you need go beyond the bread and wine. The importance of communion lies in the word “covenant.”

Contract vs Covenant

We live in a contractual culture. We understand signing a contract. You may have a contract for your job. You may have signed a contract when purchasing a home or car. A contract is legally binding. It ties me to that job, house or car…usually from a financial perspective. But there is one important key when we think about a contract…

We break contracts.

It may cost me financially. We may lose actual dollars. Our credit score may decline (a long-term financial cost). I may lose out on future work. We sign a contract to protect both parties in case the contract is broken…because we break contracts.

Covenant is ancient.

We confuse covenant with contract because we inherently understand contract.  In fact, many times when we refer to covenant within the church, we interchange the word covenant with contract. And while covenant and contract are similar, the implications are vastly different. 

Covenant is ancient. One of the first covenants made is between God and Noah (in essence all of humanity) after the worldwide flood. God promised or made a covenant to never again flood the entire earth (Genesis 8).

However, the next covenant God made maybe the most important ever (excluding what Jesus did, which we will get to in a moment). God and Abraham “cut” covenant after Abraham left his home and took his small family to an unknown location displaying his faith in God (Genesis 15). God appeared to Abraham and reaffirmed the promise to make Abraham into a great nation. Then God literally cuts in half several animals and walks between the pieces to establish this covenant between Him and Abraham (hence the term “cut” covenant). It’s a bloody picture for sure, but the meaning is immense for Abraham, his lineage, the Jewish people, and even you and me.

Covenants are forever.

God’s promise in this covenant with Abraham was forever. Humans cannot break a covenant with God. Abraham and his descendants could (and did) attempt to break the covenant, but God wouldn’t. Abraham and his descendants would belong to God. God would be their God.

God would be with them.

The Old Testament is the story of this covenant God made with Abraham. It’s the story of His people both keeping and breaking the covenant. It’s a story of God’s faithfulness to His covenant even in the midst of their unfaithfulness. This covenant remained until the time of Jesus. 

A new covenant

And then Jesus ushered in a new covenant.

What makes the Lord’s Supper so important, both at that time, today and into the future is the symbolism of God’s new covenant. Blood is integral to creating covenant (circumcision was originally a reminder of God’s covenant with Abraham). Abraham sacrificed several animals at that first covenant. God sacrificed his own Son for this covenant. The act of communion recreates this covenant, hence the reason it is a sacrament (and outward act dispensing inward grace) to all who partake.

When you eat the bread and drink the wine, you physically reaffirm the covenant God made 2000 years ago. You admit your short coming. Partaking in the bread and wine declares you are a sinner. You remind yourself of your need for a savior. But just as importantly, you identify with Jesus as a child of God.

You cut covenant with God.

The amazing thing is God now sees you as his child…forever. This covenant between you and Him can not end. You may make mistakes. You may…no you will…sin again (and again…and again). The covenant will remain between you and God. Short of walking away…forever…there is nothing you can do to break God’s covenant. And even then, God will continue to chase you, longing to keep the covenant He has made with you.

But communion is more than covenant. It IS about the bread and the wine. There is a reason Jesus kept the meal simple. The bread means something. The wine is important. Jesus is speaking to use in these two simple elements.

Communion: the Bread

In the book of John, there is the famous story of Jesus feeding 5,000+ people with only 5 loaves of bread and a couple of fish. The next day, a large group of people gather around Jesus, demanding another miracle. In their demands, they refer all the way back to Moses feeding the Israelites in the wilderness. God miraculously sent manna or bread from heaven daily to the Israelites as they wandered the desert for 40 years.

The people ask Jesus to give them this type of bread again…daily. Jesus replies, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)

When Jesus passes the bread around the table on the night he was betrayed for his last meal with his friends he refers back to this encounter. Jesus says, “This is my body, which is given for you.” (Luke 22:19)

Jesus is the sustenance we are looking for. He sustains us spiritually, emotionally, and even physically (his body was broken on his road to the cross and on the cross itself, so we can experience healing. The full healing is complete upon our death and resurrection with Jesus in eternity). We look for help and support all over the place, and many of those support systems are a great supplement, but Jesus is enough. 

Jesus is the bread of life.

Communion: the wine.

Next, Jesus passes around a cup of wine and says, “This cup is the new covenant between God and his people — an agreement confirmed with my blood, which is poured out as a sacrifice for you.” (Luke 22:20)

Ah, do you see it now? Jesus made a covenant between us and God. Jesus used his own blood to confirm this covenant. The wine or juice we drink at communion is a reminder of what happened 2,000 years ago. I am in an unbreakable covenant with God. Despite my own unfaithfulness, God remains faithful.

Again, looking back to Moses, on the night of the first Passover, a lamb was sacrificed in every Jewish household as a sign of the forgiveness of their sins. A bit of the blood was then painted on the door frame of every house so the angel of death would pass-over that house.

Every time you partake in the Lord’s Supper, you reconfirm the covenant between yourself and God. But in addition to all of that, when you drink the juice, you are now made whole and clean through this sacrifice of Jesus. God forgave your sins. The ultimate destruction will pass-over your life.

Communion: Don’t forget.

When Jesus hands the bread to his friends, he adds these few words, “Do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19). Communion is an act of remembering. We remember the covenant God has made with us. Communion reminds us Jesus is enough. We remember our sins are forgiven. We are reminded we are now God’s children.

With this perspective, communion is so much more than just a cracker and juice while it is still all about the bread and the wine. It is indeed a sacrament. So don’t forget, God dispensed grace to you. Remember, God forgave you. Be reminded of who you belong to. You are a child of God. 

Forever.

[bobbie-robron]

Sarah, we’re having an affair. None of it is right. Doesn’t matter where we are.

Robert’s not a happy camper when both Sarah (surprising Andy) and Jack both don’t want him working at the diner (Sarah because of Kathy/Richie and Jack, well the usual) - he’ll ask Kathy himself (which will be on another day as he was only in the one scene). The rest focus on Sarah and Richie - their failed meet up at his office then back at the farm where Sarah isn’t happy about the situation but to Richie it’ll always be ‘bubbling away’ unless one of them leaves the village (or dies - they are so tragic 😢).

Jack: I told you before, Robert. If you wanna work, you can work here. You know lambing is coming up.

Robert: Well I hate lambs. (complete opposite as this is what he liked the best previously)

Richie: No one hates lambs.

Robert: At 4 o’clock in the morning when they’re covered in gunk. You do it then.

17-Feb-2000

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/week-7-fantasy-football-tight-end-rankings/

Week 7 Fantasy Football Tight End Rankings

With another week of byes, another top tight end will be unavailable for fantasy football owners. The Ravens are off in Week 7, and that means Mark Andrews is not in our Week 7 fantasy TE rankings. Andrews has been a consensus top-three TE this year, and it won’t be easy to replace him, especially with other solid players at the position like Mike Gesicki, Trey Burton, and the emerging Irv Smith Jr. also off. Zach Ertz, Jonnu Smith, and Noah Fant also figure to be “questionable” because of injuries, so more than a few fantasy owners might be relying on sleepers or waiver wire streamers this week.

The good news is that Darren Waller, Jared Cook, and Hunter Henry are returning from byes this week, and it’s possible Dallas Goedert (ankle) will be returning from the IR. We’ve also seen a few players emerge in recent weeks, though most of those are injury related (Anthony Firkser, Darren Fells). 

This week, it looks like Austin Hooper (@ Bengals), Dalton Schultz (@ Washington), and Logan Thomas (vs. Cowboys) are going to be the best streaming options (unless Smith and Jordan Akins are out again, which would open the door for Firkser and Fells). Hooper has been getting increasingly more involved in the Browns offense, and the Bengals don’t have a very strong defense. They’ll have to focus on containing Odell Beckham Jr. and Jarvis Landry, so Hooper could both be left more open and see more targets as a result.

As for Schultz, Washington has had issues covering tight ends for the past few seasons, and they have been a bottom-five unit against the position this year. Schultz will have to compete with Amari Cooper, CeeDee Lamb, and Michael Gallup for touches, but Andy Dalton should make a concerted effort to get him the ball, as he should be open early and often in that matchup.

Thomas has seen fairly steady targets all season, and he had his best game in a Washington uniform last week, catching three-of-four looks for 42 yards and a score. Dallas entered Week 6 allowing over 11 fantasy points per game to TEs, so Thomas is in play.

Check back for updates to these TE rankings throughout the week.

These rankings are for standard, non-PPR leagues.

PPR

It’s always good news with fantasy football’s most targeted tight end returns after a week-long hiatus due to a bye week. Darren Waller, who averages 9.4 targets per game, will be returning to action along with Hunter Henry (7.0 targets per game) and Jared Cook (3.6). Waller and Henry will strengthen the top of our Week 7 fantasy TE PPR rankings while Cook will provide a solid streaming option given his big-play ability and TD upside.

That said, Mark Andrews will be out this week, so that will eliminate a top-five option for fantasy owners. Mike Gesicki, Trey Burton, Irv Smith Jr., and Kyle Rudolph will also be unavailable, so this week’s TE rankings aren’t quite as deep as usual.

Of course, thanks to the PPR format, a handful of players will rise because they are so heavily targeted. Evan Engram (@ Eagles), Dalton Schultz (@ Washington), and Logan Thomas (vs. Cowboys) all average 6.2 or more targets per game, so they can be trusted as potential streamers especially since they are facing weak NFC East opponents.

Another option for those seeking a TE could be Greg Olsen. The veteran is returning from a bye for the Seahawks and he has averaged 4.7 targets per game his last three outings. He’s playing a Cardinals team that has had some issues defending tight ends the past couple of years, so perhaps this will be another opportunity for him to put up good numbers.

Check back for updates to these TE rankings throughout the week.

These rankings are PPR leagues. For standard TE rankings, click here.

#4

Darren Waller, Raiders

#5

Hunter Henry, Chargers

#6

Noah Fant, TE, Broncos

#10

Austin Hooper, Browns

#11

Hayden Hurst, Falcons

#13

Dalton Schultz, Cowboys

#15

Robert Tonyan, Packers

#16

Logan Thomas, Washington

#17

Rob Gronkowski, Buccaneers

#22

Anthony Firkser, Titans

#23

Tyler Eifert, Jaguars

#31

Cameron Brate, Buccaneers

#32

Dan Arnold, Cardinals

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