#I've lost three poems and a short story

[sanddollarpoems]

For as many times as words have jumped into my head,

a jumbled mess of thoughts aching for the page;

As many times as I have opened a blank sheet,

awaiting a moment to scribble it all down,

only to be pulled away by the "urgently needs to be done";

As many times as I have tried to capture them,

they have been disrupted.

All those thoughts and words like leaves, scuddering away with a robust gust of wind into the abyss of my forgetfulness.

They don't wait for breaks in my day.

They simply appear and then evaporate.

For as many times as I've tried to catch them, they've managed to get away.

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I've always been captivated by them. Something about the shiny exterior, how they glimmer when you tumble them around in your hands. My younger self would obsess about them, a childlike fascination. Even back then I instinctively knew they had value. My mom would use pearls I found to pay for a safe passage at scavenger tolls. We tried to bypass those points as much as we could, but sometimes it was unavoidable."

"It's a looong story…. I was found roaming the wilderness by my mentor, who brought me to er, an entity, called an interator. Do you know of iterators? Apparently they are what was left of an ancient civilization that once inhabited these lands. I couldn't wrap my head around it at first. Iterators are massive, absolutely huge, like mountains. Do you see that big structure of a regular, smooth shape?"

[She points towards Five Pebble's can in the distance]

"That is an iterator's «superstrucute». A mountain, the entire thing… is a person. It still sounds crazy when I say it."

"Ah, right, my name… like I mentioned, I got lost and my mentor found me. He brought me to his iterator. If my memory serves me right, his name is «No Significant Harassment», or NSH for short. I recall thinking at that time, «Harassment? I hope he won't be cruel to me». I had no concept of iterator names, their meaning, why it's three or however many words long. It was incredibly confusing to my young mind, though looking back at it I consider myself very lucky. The iterator was, dare I say, «god-like» (his own words), but benevolent. I saw how well he treated Hunter – my mentor – and it made me trust him more, even though I was scared and wary in the beginning."

"Would you believe it if I told you… there are stories written inside the pearls? That those things I’ve been obsessing about all my life are used for storing information? I had many of them leftover from when I lived at a scavenger outpost. One cycle, NSH noticed my interest, and – I wish Hunter had told me about this sooner, but – the iterator shot at my head with something…? And suddenly I could understand everything he said. Not that he said much, because I started crying loudly and ran straight out of there, haha. But before I bolted, he gave me one of his pearls as consolation. I think he felt bad for the scared little me."

"After that, he would eagerly read all the pearls I brought to him. That is how I learned more about the culture of the peoples who were here before me: the Ancients, their customs, why the iterators were built, and much more. It was like the knowledge of the entire world was suddenly revealed to me – to a seemingly insignificant being, a tiny speck in an endless ocean of life. It both made me feel very important, and very small. And, yeah, it has intensified my obsession with pearls beyond mortal limits. What if I could write into a pearl? I could archive the history of my entire species! All the stories my mom told me when I was small? All the places I’ve been to? Or other scugs have been to…"

[Her eyes widen, sparkling with glee]

"Y-yeah… that would be nice… sadly I am what I am – a slugcat. I don��t know how to do this very advanced stuff at all. I have no means of doing this. I once asked NHS for help, but there’s only so much he could guess from my frantic signing. I don’t think he understood me, in the end. But he did appreciate my efforts, and I was given a title – the Pioneer, like a person who is the very first to explore something uncharted. Apparently no slugcat before me thought of reading from or writing into pearls? I find it a little hard to believe."

"This one! This is a very special kind of pearl – it contains an ancient poem from which my name originated. See, my name was a gift from NSH the iterator. It’s spelled: «Mirmyntasseth». The best way I would describe it, is… it’s a name for a feeling, or an experience. The way it was explained to me, is that the word «Mirmyntasseth» is an expression of seeing a marble roll on a flat surface, then hitting another marble. Ah, right, you may not know this – a marble is like, like a pearl, but translucent and even more ornate. I was told that marbles were used by the Ancients for entertainment. They had a game where you rolled one to hit another. I'll admit, I can see the appeal. Throwing rocks is fun, although I image this game was considered a more dignified pastime."

[She tumbles the dark pearl in her hands, admiring its luster]

"The poem inside this pearl, one of its verses spells: «Eight Marbles Cast in Stone». The poem itself is long… very long… I had the iterator read it to me once, and we had to stop in the middle because the rain was coming. Maybe I will ask NSH to read it again, when I’m back at his superstructure with Hunter."

[Her gaze trails off to somewhere far away for a moment, a subtle grimace on her face. She closes her eyes and shakes off the thoughts that cloud her mind]

"So, um… yes… that is why I am called Eight Marbles Cast in Stone, or Marbles for short. I like how it sounds, it has a nice ring to it. And it’s a gift from an iterator, a god-like being. I consider it a great honor."

"…that said, I wonder why he didn’t just name me «Pearl»? Wouldn’t that make more sense? Maybe it didn’t sound cool enough. They’ve used pearls just to store information. I guess it’d be silly to be named «Dirt» because you doodle in dirt, or «Batfly» because you love eating batflies? Hmm…"

[schuylerpeck]

I keep slipping into periods of grief at the loss of my own personal history: the photos, journals, and mementos of my childhood, of my family. I know a lot of that period was a dark time and much of it was unhappy, but I miss being able to point to things that weren't. bad memories do stick. I hate that they're so much of what I remember. what I want is to give myself a chance to unfold a box in the basement and shuffle through what's been forgotten. a stuffed bear I had since I was three that survived a rescue mission in the snow when I dropped him returning from a friend's house. a rare picture of my mother how I remember her; out-of-place expensive dresses, a perfume I can sometimes catch a whiff of if I close my eyes. journals stuffed with short stories and bad poems; my young life religiously logged by every crush, favorite new movie, heartache, dream career, and fight with friends—it all did happen, right? there are high school t-shirts from groups, clubs, and concerts I wish I could wear now. volleyball trophies and horseback riding ribbons; stories I don't share, but quiet sources of pride I'd set on the bookcase. more than anything, I want to remind myself there was a beginning, a life before twenty-five. all the selves I tried on before finding me. worlds I built to play in. handwritten notes from friends I've lost touch with. that there was good, there was, through all the bitter. and as much as I can tell myself it's true, it's quite another thing to hold it in my hands.

[gingermintpepper]

Mother Love - Demeter and Persephone in poetry

Alright, so, let's finally talk about Mother Love.

I've spent the past couple of weeks compiling most of the poems from my physical copy of Mother Love into a publicly accessible google doc because there is a quite frankly embarrassing lack of archiving of this particular anthology of Dove's work and I am genuinely and greatly saddened that it is not a work more commonly brought up when discussing Demeter/Hades/Persephone retellings and reinterpretations for modern audiences.

In order to speak about what Mother Love is, I first need to address what it is not. It's not a coming of age story which portrays Persephone as a caged bird under a too-smothering Demeter. It's not a love story where Hades is some valiant hero who rescues an innocent maiden and through his love empowers her to be her truest self. It does not demonise Demeter, who has forever lost her daughter, it does not demonise Hades, who took that daughter away.

Instead, Mother Love is, perhaps, the truest interpretation of the themes of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter that I've seen, down to the structure of the anthology mimicking the hymn's narrative structure. It is the story of a mother who loses her daughter, of the grief that ensues as she worries for her, of her being pitied and given empty words instead of help finding her, of her trying to soothe herself by filling the void with new children that are not her own. It is the story of a daughter who loses her way, who went seeking flowers and was unwittingly caught in the machinations of those in higher positions of power than her, of the kingdom she is promised and refuses, of the changes she goes through in this new, strange world without her consent and how those changes will define her the rest of her life. It is the story of a lonely king overrun with ennui who wants companionship but never asks, of he who tries in vain to tempt with wealth and land and must ultimately yield to the love of a mother. Not even the lord of the dread Underworld can escape that all-consuming mother's love and this was a theme found all over greek mythology and their literature, and it is also the theme that has been unfortunately and miserably lost as we've told and retold the tale of Hades and Persephone time and time again.

Please, please read this work, and if you enjoy it, do consider picking up an actual copy of the anthology. There is so much to be gained from speaking of the Demeter/Hades/Persephone myth as one of nuance and devoid of the unnecessary moralisations and accusations that we habitually foist onto cultural figures and heroes in an attempt to validate our opinions and interpretations to our peers. In my compilation, I did leave out three poems: Breakfast of Champions, Blue Days, Nature's Itinerary, mainly because I did not think they were relevant -- but I'm always open to requests for those poems to be added to the doc if anybody gets curious. Below I've also attached a few of my favourite short poems from this anthology so people can get an idea for the content that is included in the doc.

@gotstabbedbyapen who requested a way to read these poems but could not find them, I sincerely hope you enjoy them <3

[authoralexharvey]

INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @jasperygrace

Who You Are:

Jasper || She/he

I am an artist and writer, and I'm always pushing to do bigger and better things with my work.

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Adventure, Fantasy, Horror, Psychological. New Adult and Adult

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Fantasy because there's so much you can do in a fantasy setting. You don't even need to have a "high fantasy/ high magic" world for it to be considered fantasy. It's an extremely versatile genre.

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

I cannot write contemporary.

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

I don't have a concrete audience in mind-- I suppose my writing is for people like myself: those who enjoy experimental writing and those who've been disillusioned by everyday life.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

My writing tends to focus on what it means to be human, and what defines the human experience. I don't know why I'm particularly drawn to this subject. Perhaps I simply enjoy exploring what others define as human characteristics.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

I'm not one for "us vs. them" narratives; it's always left a sour taste in my mouth when I read works with that thematic framing. Other than that, I'm fairly open to different themes and tropes-- if you can tell a good story, I'll probably read it.

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

The current project I am working on is "An Immortal Laid to Rest" (or Project : Desert for those who've been around long enough). It's a story about freedom and reconciling one's past. Come the end of June, I'll have been working on the project for three years.

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

I write because I want to share my thoughts and experiences through the lens of a fictitious world of my creation. It's an art that's become something very personal as I've gotten older, and it's my hope that my writing can help lift the spirits of someone who's gone through similar hardships.

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

I've been writing since the small, small age of 10, but I've only been writing seriously since I started college. As a kid, I got really into anime and manga, and I always wanted to tell a story like the things that inspired me. However, I hated drawing comics (I still do) and writing became the happy medium between my art and my knack for storytelling.

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

I get my inspiration from other pieces of media I enjoy; this becomes more obvious to those who are familiar with my likes and interests, and I don't try to hide that fact. For my current project, one of the big pieces of inspiration is the game "NieR: Automata". It explores many of the themes I'm interested, and I look up to Yoko Taro as a storyteller.

What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?

It would have to be "An Immortal Laid to Rest". I probably would have lost interest in the project were it not for my friends who've stuck with me during its development. I look forward to the day I will finally be able to publish it.

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

I actually do have a poem that got into a publication! I can't speak much more about it until it comes out, but it's my intent to publish more of my poetry in the coming year.

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

I have time set aside to write, and I try to write 3-4 times a week in short bursts. After a writing session, I will record what I accomplished that day and my current word count.

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

I've been actively part of writeblr for about a year and a half, maybe two years. Frankly, I feel like I was absorbed into the community rather than actively seeking it out. I simply started following other writing blogs and before I knew it, I became part of the community.

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

@ashen-crest - I think they were one of the first writeblrs I actively interacted with, and it's been so awesome watching them publish two books in such a short time. @theboarsbride - It's been a ride watching them grow and I love it when I see their art cross my dashboard. The gothic romanticism is something I don't see often, and I'm here for it.

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

I personally enjoy the community events like Worldbuilding Wednesday. I enjoy the moments when I'm able to peak into the world of another writer as they're working.

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

This is more of a gripe with the tumblr community as a whole, but I think we could learn to reblog others' work more often. Tumblr thrives off reblogs; it's how we help our fellow creators.

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

I interact with art more often than not.

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

I mainly post my artwork and excerpts from my project. Sometimes a meme or two.

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

You can find me on Artstation and Youtube @jasperygrace.

[alexilulu]

Books I Read in 2024 #4: The King In Yellow (Robert W. Chambers, Warbler Classics (originally F. Tennyson Neely), 1895)

The King In Yellow is a series of nine short stories and poems, linked primarily by the narrative device of The King In Yellow, a play and general text in the world of the story that is associated with madness and the forbidden.

It's fun to return to older modes of writing from time to time, especially the established classics. I've known about The King In Yellow for a fairly long time at this point as a touchstone of cosmic horror and an influence on H.P. Lovecraft, along with about a billion other people working in the horror space since the 1890s. My personal first experience with stories influenced by it is SCP-701, The Hanged King's Tragedy, which is an SCP object that manifests in the form of a Carolinean era English play that is associated with madness, suicide of its participants and the manifestation of a mysterious figure at productions of said play. It's a pretty direct reference point, but I did fall in love with the idea of a play founded on madness.

You see it referenced all over the place; Hastur (sometimes a place, sometimes a person), lost Carcosa, the Hyades, though these are actually borrowed from the stories An Inhabitant of Carcosa and Haita the Shepherd by Ambrose Bierce (but not linked directly, as the only thematic link is that the Carcosa of Bierce is that the city is a long-lost and destroyed city of antiquity), or most prominently after the King In Yellow's publishing, the Yellow Sign.

The fascinating thing to me is how broad the stories of The King in Yellow are. There are nine stories in The King In Yellow, but only 5 (or perhaps 6, if you consider the 6th story, The Street of the Four Winds, to be supernatural; it's mostly just eerie and affecting, to me) of them have clear or obvious influence of the supernatural. The final three stories of the book are simple romance narratives set against the backdrop of contemporary or recent (at the time) Paris and the French art industry, something Robert Chambers had long personal experience with as an American studying abroad in Parisian art schools in the years before.

This is the first novel in this list that I've gone back to read historiography about after finishing. Part of that is that there is not a great deal of reporting around modern novelists and their legacies for obvious reasons, but part of it is that this book was truly a baffling read for the final three stories.

I don't say this as a criticism, but it replicated a feeling I get reading some fandom zines of the last few years, especially ones that include fiction. There is sometimes a breakdown that happens in a themed project where one author or artist doesn't seem to be on the same page as the rest of the team on what is supposed to go in the zine, but was nevertheless accepted. It's just funny to read stories like the first couple, stories of madness and loss, and then have a Parisian story of romance in the city of lights amidst a siege or art-school intrigue.

Robert Chambers' work is extremely evocative in its work about place and dress, giving a great deal of attention to mood and scene. His dialogue is very much of it's era, sometimes sharply funny, sometimes eluding me until I've repeated it two or three times to myself to find the cadence of what it was attempting to convey. It's far from unreadable, and even when it dragged the most I kept myself in the game by the strength of his imagery, and it felt surprising to me to see critiques of Robert Chamber's work from his contemporaries.

H.P. Lovecraft was undoubtedly influenced by his work, but also described his work as such:

Chambers is like Rupert Hughes and a few other fallen Titans – equipped with the right brains and education but wholly out of the habit of using them.

It feels a bit mean, but it's definitely not wrong. I think the grandest part of this novel is its legacy and the elision of detail for its major thematic work, allowing a great deal of expansion for the myth over the century since its published debut. The King in Yellow can be many things; it's been the subject of podcasts, stories and movies and television all drawing upon its influence to greater and lesser extents.

[thisworldisablackhole]

The Requiem A Cure To Poison The World

🌕🌕🌕🌗🌑

More than just a nostalgia act?

The Requiem, formerly known as L'exquisite Douler (a name which has since been relegated to a 53 second piano interlude), broke onto the scene in 2020 with a simple mission statement; make rock music sloppy again. Feeling disenchanted by the current state of highly processed and autotuned alternative music, this young trio yearned for the early-to-mid aughts when young emotional rock bands gained notoriety by letting their voices crack over the jagged edge of minor scales and double stacks - the way god intended.

Debut album A Cure To Poison The World brings that mission statement to life with a short and sweet love letter to the MySpace era of post-hardcore and emo bands. Damien Douleur is an absolute powerhouse of a frontperson and quickly steals the show by transporting the listener back in time with an immediately familiar sense of desperation and dramatic flair. First track "This Is How The World Ends" is the perfect introduction to the band, swinging out the gates at full speed with a drum roll straight into dark sustained power chords and a grim, violent look into how this world is going to end (spoiler alert: with a moment of silence, death staring into you). It quickly showcases what the band has to offer, and is very polite in the fact that it doesn't waste the listeners time. You'll know in the first 15 seconds if this band is for you or not.

The run of songs from the intro to about the mid way point of the album doesn't miss a beat, and I really appreciate the bands effort to switch things up with the subtlety required when pulling influences from a relatively small pool. Even when the song structures begin to feel repetitive or trite, the hooks are passionate and catchy enough to pull you back in. Third track "Less Than Zero" in particular sticks out to me as a refreshing diversion from smudged eyeliner worship to a more melodic punk offering full of chanted backing vocals, "whoah whoah's" and riffs that would sound right at home on Rise Against's The Sufferer and the Witness. Meanwhile, sixth track "Cursed" brings the tempo way down for one of the best slow dance rock ballads I've heard since MCR's "The Ghost of You". This song builds up into an epic swan dive moment as Damien sings, "as the years go by, I hope that there's a smile on my face when I die" before crash landing back into the chorus like Altaïr into a haystack. It's a simple, yet universal sentiment that is nothing short of beautiful in it's expression.

Where this album loses steam and begins to show it's cracks for me is with seventh song "Two Lovers Left Alive". This song strips away the drums, bass and electric guitar and leaves Damien alone with an acoustic guitar, wisped along by the soft winds of a synthesizer as he sings about (if my hypothesis is correct) some kind of immortal vampire searching for a long lost lover, separated by an infinite amount of space and time? The story is cute, but being unshrouded by loudness, this song just illuminates the reliance on cliché emo tropes that are spattered all over this album like defiant scrawls on the inside of your high school locker; coffins, corpses, and chemicals galore. The lyrics on the album are mostly fine - covering themes of suicidal ideation, apocalyptic doom and the macabre - but the hints of emo vampire romanticism come off as a little too campy for me.

Thankfully the energy picks back up with the next three tracks before closing out with another crooner which gracefully avoids the same pitfalls of "Two Lovers Left Alive" by beefing up the arrangement of instruments to provide a more apt backdrop for Damien's voice. "Before I Go…" also features a few creative spins like a Spanish influenced acoustic bridge, a triumphant electric solo, and a short spoken word poem which culminates in a satisfying bookend to the journey. As good as the closer is, the pinnacle of this last chunk of songs is definitely "Diary Of A Masochist". This was my favourite of the singles released in 2023 and remains one of the strongest and most engaging tracks on the record. A majority of this album, whilst enjoyable, doesn't deviate far from the formula displayed in the first few minutes, but "Diary Of A Masochist" pulls out all the little hooks and daggers to crank that formula to it's most potent form, creating a song riddled with dynamic twists and one of the most intense vocal performances to back it all up. The attention to detail here is just on another level, and it makes me wish that same labour of love was applied more liberally throughout the 36 minutes runtime.

So, now we return to the original question. Is The Requiem more than just a nostalgia act, doomed to eat their own tail? The short answer is… it's too soon to tell. No, they aren't doing anything new, but it's done with such a high standard of quality and reverence for their predecessors that it doesn't even matter. They aren't beating a dead horse; they are resuscitating that motherfucker with 10,000 volts of electricity, and to speculate any further would just soak the fun out of listening. Whether or not the formula will hold up on subsequent releases is another question, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there (and I hope we do). In the meantime, I'm just gonna enjoy the gift that is A Cure To Poison The World; an imperfect, yet highly enjoyable chunk of third wave emo worhsip that resonates just loud enough to pump some fresh blood into your tired heart.

[pencilxpaper]

Mostly FREE Vampire Books

I am not as well-read with vampires, but I'm making up for lost time. Here are the vampire books I have read and my take on them.

In this, Carmilla, Dracula, For the Blood is the LIfe, Already Dead, I am Legned, and the first three novels of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. For all books, I will try to include a link to either a free version or to a borrowable version from the internet archive. You can make an account and check out the books legally.

Carmilla by LeFanu, Joseph Sheridan

The classic. The one, the only. It's a short read, which is disappointing. However, the ending is very gory with a scene that would have looked amazing in a modern movie. If you want a steamy reading of the novel on audio book, Audible has THIS beauty with a full cast and some heavy breathing. However, this audiobook version is provided free by the internet archive.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

I love this book. I did Dracula Daily this year, and I'll probably do it again next year. I'm going to listen to the audiobook of it for funsies. The beginning is, i think, the best part. The ending was disappointing, but the novel is still very exciting and scary.

For the Blood is the Life By F. Marion Crawford

I feel like this short story is actually a better example of a "modern" vampire story. I've read a lot of older vampire stories, and they all are a little too steeped in old lore to be really satisfying as a modern reader. However, this one has everything. A really creepy beginning. An exciting story. A romantic vampire seduction leads to potential death. The vampire is a woman and justified, so in a modern retelling, I think she would be the hero.

I am Legend by Richard Matheson

I read this on audiobook at 2x speed, because the POV character is kind of a jerk. An interesting look at trying to explain vampirism from a scientific perspective. It does not have the same ending as the movie by the same name. Misogyny abounds. But a woman ends up winning in the end so... maybe? I will admit, I'm still not sure how I feel about this one. On the one hand, it was engaging. I enjoyed the author trying to explain away the lore from a logical perspective.

Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and Queen of the Damed

Interview with a Vampire was a fine book. I read it at the same time I was reading Dracula for the first time, and there were definitely moments where Dracula outshined it, but then others where Interview was obviously more interesting because it was more modern. The movie is more engaging and a shorter investment of time. However, Armond is different in this one, so you kind of have to read it to get the next book (OR, watch the movie and read the Wikipedia summary of the book to get the differences). Vampire Lestat is a really good book for the most part. It lags after the middle but picks back up for the ending. I could have read more about Lestat's early days, and I could care less about all the exposition. Queen of the Damned was not a fun read. I can not stress this enough. It was mostly boring. I only read it because I've been told you have to read it to enjoy the rest of the series, which gets better. Lots of exposition. Any chapter in Letsat's POV is great. Everything else is not very exciting. Overall, I don't like Anne Rice. I HATE that her vampires communicate telepathically. It's cool and all, but it makes for very boring reading. Entire chapters where the characters are standing still in a room, not saying anything, not doing anything, while one of them "talks" to the other about the past with their mind. There was real potential here to "show" us what was happening, but oh no. It's all done through exposition. It was really innovative for its time, but because so much of her lore has been incorporated into modern vampire stuff, it doesn't feel fresh anymore. Especially when we get to Queen of the Damned, Anne feels very pretentious in her writing. She includes poems from her husband that I don't feel like add anything to the text, and in fact take you right out of it because you're reminded that she's literally including her husband's poetry. ALL THAT SAID, the books provide that FEELING of wanting to read vampire fiction. They're very atmospheric, so I will continue to read them and enjoy them for that aspect.

Already Dead by Charlie Hudson

The only non-free one on the list. I included it, because I read it. Main character is a vampire detective, but he doesn't have fangs. I think vampirism is a stand-in for AIDS, but that's a guess. An interesting concept and I did sort of enjoy the read, but it lacks (for me) the classic vampire lore to make it really fun.

That's all for now. More later as I can pull them to gether.

@rinniiart, I hope this wasn't too much. I wanted to take some time and find free versions of things as I went so you and others wouldn't have to shell over a lot of money.

[rumoursfromines]

Sylvia Plath, born 1932, was an American poet, novelist, and diarist. She was extremely prolific writer and throughout her short life produced over 400 poems, a novel, several short stories, and many journals and letters. A lot of her work, especially her more famous works, deal with mental illness and what it was like to be an ambitious woman in an age where women couldn't even have their own credit cards.

Her biographical background, I think, is one of the things that make her relatable to modern audiences. Sylvia Plath had a complicated childhood. She lost her father at eight years old to illness and was raised by a chronically ill single mother who struggled financially. This pushed Plath to outperform all of her classmates and to start earning her own money by sending her poetry out to magazines from a young age. At the same time she lived a very fulfilled social life with plenty of friends and dates. She was also very upfront about not wanting to be reduced to a mother and housewife in her future, defying expectations for women in her day and age.

By all accounts, Sylvia Plath was an extremely interesting writer. However, with such a large selection of texts to choose from, it can be difficult to pick a place to start. Which is why I've decided to compile all of my Plath knowledge into this (hopefully somewhat complete) post. Below the cut you will find brief summaries of her important works sorted into different categories. Happy reading :)

Disclaimer: I've seen many people on social media be taken aback by some of the themes in Plath's work, especially the racism and the holocaust imagery present throughout her work. I feel like for some people this might be useful to know before they start to read. Plath was a white American writing in the 1950s, so common social attitudes will be reflected in her work. It's important not to internalise her own bigotry as you read. Keeping this in mind, I still think her work is worth your time and attention.

the basics:

Ariel is probably Plath's most famous poetry collection. It centers around the themes of gender, death, and rebirth. The first edition of this collection was published posthumously and edited by Plath's husband. The collection was restored to the order Plath originally intended poems to be in in 2005 and published with a preface written by Plath's daughter, Frieda Hughes.

The Bell Jar is Sylvia Plath's only published novel. It is a semi-autobiographical account of her 1953 New York internship with Mademoiselle, a lady's magazine. The main character, Esther Greenwood, is meant to be having the time of her life working for a fashion magazine in New York until things get too much for Esther to handle. A large chunk of the novel is dedicated to Esther's complicated recovery from depression.

the niche:

Three Women is both a poem and a radio play. It tells the stories of three women in a maternity ward, all handling their motherhood differently. It is included in the poetry collection Winter Trees.

The Colossus is the only poetry collection Plath published in her lifetime (so automatically the only one where she had full artistic control over the content of the book). The poems here discuss topics such as about death, trauma, belonging, and womanhood.

Crossing The Water is a poetry collection that was published posthumously, along with Winter Trees, by Plath's husband Ted Hughes. These collections contain the poetry Plath wrote in her last creative spurt before her death. CTW centers around the themes of womanhood, depression, and endings (do you sense a recurring theme?), whereas WT deals with family dynamics and motherhood.

the extra reading:

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath edited by Karen V. Kukil were published in the year 2000 and provide insight into Plath's inner life and context for a lot of her work, since much of it was inspired by events, be they important or insignificant, of her life. These journals range from 1953 up until 1959. The time between the last surviving journal until her death is covered by fragments, as Plath's very last journal was destroyed.

Red Comet by Heather Clark might be the single most detailed biography of Sylvia Plath on the market right now. It covers everything from her ancestors' immigration to the state, her parents' experiences in school, and the aftermath of Plath's death. It is definitely not a casual read (1000+ pages) but definitely worth it if you find yourself fascinated by Plath's work.

Pain, Parties, Work by Elizabeth Winder is a partial biography of Plath's time spent interning for Mademoiselle 1953. It paints an interesting picture of the writer, portraying her as a motivated young woman with a fulfilled social life who struggled with her mental health nonetheless. It's much shorter than Red Comet (<300 pages) and provides interesting an background for The Bell Jar.

Obviously there will always be more things by and about Sylvia Plath to read. Her letters, for example, have been released in two different editions: a two volume collection of the letters written throughout her life and another collection of letters written from England to America, edited by Plath's own mother, Aurelia Plath. I hope my little selection can help you find your way around Plath's bibliography. Happy reading :)

[bookstoreadbtr]

Norris, as he is affectionately known, is a man of many adventures and remarkable stories. His love for exploration has taken him from the New Mexican High Desert to Mount Fuji in Japan, and even to the depths of the Australian Great Barrier Reef. However, his greatest adventure has been the journey of marriage, which partly inspired him to pen his debut novel, The Wayward Mage. This book launched the Adventure of Jack Wartnose series, a captivating fantasy epic. Despite initial setbacks, Norris found renewed inspiration during the COVID-19 shutdowns and has since become a successful author. As he prepares to release the fourth book in his series, The Condemned Mage, in October 2024, Norris shares insights into his writing journey, challenges, and inspirations in this exclusive interview.

When did you discover your passion for writing? My senior year in high school, I received my first laptop as a birthday gift from a good family friend. Don't know why, but later that night I decided to open a word document and started screwing around with a story of a mercenary on his deathbed. Through my college years and immediately afterward, I started to write a number of short stories, poems, and even longer novels. Never went anywhere with them except posting excerpts on a now defunct forum at the time. Some years later, my hard drive crashed, and I lost everything I had written. Had an external backup, but somehow in the same week I also lost that one. So, at that point, I gave up. I still had the ideas rattling in my head, but no desire to put them down after losing so much progress. Fast-forward 10 years to the COVID shutdowns and it was during this time I had a dream (literally, don't laugh) about a man walking into a medieval tavern and being accosted by the bar maid for "loving and then leaving her" almost twenty years prior, before they eventually got back together. It was so humorous I woke up chuckling, and decided to write it down for fun. Then I wrote a little more, having these two characters marry for a happy ending. Next, a thought came to mind: why is marriage always the ending, the "happily-ever-after?" In reality, marriage is just the beginning of the adventure! I should start there instead. 90 days later, I finished the first book in my award-winning series, "The Adventures of Jack Wartnose," and am now beginning the process of launching the 4th book in the same series October 2024. 

What encouraged you to become an author? In part, I've always been a storyteller. When I was deployed overseas in the Navy, I would write to my family and friends every week with tales of my misadventures. Some of these took hours to write up as I loved explaining in detail the places, cultures, food, and/or "trouble" I encountered. Regardless how long they ended up, no one ever admitted that they were bored reading them. And while I spent a few years where I had put my storytelling skills aside, I never stopped telling stories in my head. Now that I've begun writing again after a years' long hiatus, it's also in part this burning need that drives me to continue today. 

Did you have any fears of publishing before you started? Absolutely! "Would I find success?" "Would people actually read my book?" "Would I be able to afford to keep writing?" Thankfully, I didn't listen to them and kept writing and publishing. I have found a small amount of success, thankfully, but nowhere close to where I could safely quit my day job and devote myself full time to writing. People do continue reading my books and really enjoy them. I just got my first official fan email outside of the family, friends, and fellow authors that read my books. So, that's a small victory! I hope more people will continue to buy and read my award-winning books. Publishing ain't cheap, you know. LOL.

What were three things you learned about the publishing process? a. Just because you published your book doesn't mean you're done with it. There's marketing, promotions, and also occasionally editing your published manuscript whenever a reader finds a misspelled word. And trust me, they will find it. Even after you've done multiple self-edits and had friends/family and a professional proofread it! b. Publishing starts months before the actual date: getting ARC readers, talking with bloggers to get them to read and promote your book, social media blitzing, and booking spots on promotional sites (especially the high-end ones, you need to reserve your spot months in advance). c. Self-publishing is a full-time job and very expensive. It is a big investment at the start! If you treat it as such, you'll have a better chance of success quicker simply because you have more time to devote to learning and perfecting the craft/business. If you bootstrap it like I do, success will take longer as you have to make time away from your regular breadwinning job and familial responsibilities to write and promote it (not to mention having to budget in order to fund the projects). Just be sure that you understand the risks and rewards as they apply to your situation. 

What was the most surprising thing your learned in the process? How difficult it is to build an audience. Makes sense when you realize that tens if not hundreds of thousands of books are being published each year around the world. Everyone is vying to get readers to check out their book, so competition is very stiff. I believe firmly that my books offer audiences a unique fantasy adventure story about family and redemption, with plenty of humor and romance to keep fans of stories like Princess Bride happy; yet also has enough lore, action and character intrigue to please fans of that type of fantasy.

Where can your future fans follow you on social media? Amazon Author Page - author.amazon.com/home

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/167731782-a-s-norris

Facebook - @asnauthor; https://www.facebook.com/asnauthorpage/

Instagram - @asnauthor; https://www.instagram.com/asnauthor/

Twitter - @asnauthor; https://twitter.com/asnauthor

Do you have a website? Sure do!

It is there that visitors can sign-up for my monthly newsletter and receive a free prequel novella to my Wartnose series, "The Wayward Apprentice." Be assured, I will not sell you information.

To read full interview pick up the lasts issue of ReaderZeen, available now!

[coreymichaelsmithson]

The Balance of A Year

Every December, I relish the chance to look back upon the course of the last year and reflect upon all that has happened, all that has changed, all that I've learned, all the ground I've lost and gained. 2023 offered me many moments of deep fulfillment and happiness, but it also brought along a number of profound struggles ... for it seems that in order to experience joy, one must also be willing to endure a commensurate amount of sorrow. The waveforms of life may arrive with extreme amplitudes or in seemingly relentless frequencies, sometimes bringing the crests and troughs of fortune too closely together for comfort.

Midnight at January 1st of 2023 found me standing in precisely the same place as I had stood at the previous New Year's Eve: making crap coffee for an AA meeting in a badly lit kitchen in Dickson, Tennessee. I was not yet a local, still visiting from Florida ... but a few days prior, on Christmas Day, my soulmate Daniel had invited me to come live with him, with a handwritten note that read, simply, "Welcome home." And thus, it became clear that my time in St. Augustine, wonderful as it was, would soon be drawing to a close. So I resolved to savor every last bit of it.

In earnest, I hurled myself into the final three months of my life as a Floridian. I walked each sunset along the beach of Anastasia Island, trying to soak up every detail, studying the textures of sand and surf as if I would never see either again. There, on the First Coast's splendid and dynamic shores, I witnessed three rocket launches, discovered a sunken sailboat, found a drowned raccoon, and tripped over a dead pelican that had been half-buried in a dune. I caught an electrifying performance of Stravinsky’s "Petruska" at the Jacksonville Symphony, gobbled up as much sushi and Indian food as I could afford, and barely slept. I continued my therapeutic use of psilocybin, taking threshold-level mushroom trips on the beach ... sometimes accompanied by a close friend, sometimes alone, often barefoot. I hung out with terrific pals, swam in the Atlantic, burned a bunch of old artworks, and painted my fingers to nubs. To offset some of my overdue rent, I pulled weeds, hauled mulch, sprayed fungicide on fruit trees, cleaned the pool, and sweated through a lot of yardwork.

Knowing that the all-you-can-eat buffet of casual hanky-panky I'd gorged myself on in Florida was bound to dry up in rural Tennessee, I nonetheless managed to have a few meaningful liaisons with various men. I enjoyed a very sweet encounter with a professional male model, whose jawdropping pulchritude was eclipsed by his inner kindness. I had a soothing late-night reunion with an itinerant Turkish healer, whose hands were still gentle and sure, and whose voice was a balm for the spirit.

In March, I finally wrapped up one of the most ambitious artistic projects of my entire career ... The [C] Paintings, a collection of one hundred 12"x12" oils, all executed using only Titanium White and Ivory Black. This series of metaphoric illustrations, which took four years to complete, pushed me further (stylistically, technically, and conceptually) than I had ever gone before as a painter. I sold signed prints of these works, and eventually published a hardcover book.

In addition, I finished four fine art commissions: “WARRIORS”, “CARDINALS”, “OWL”, “MICHIGAN SNOW”, and an abstract diptych, “FROST KING I & II”. I pushed the needle forward on "BIG TOP" and "JEWELS", two large and intricate canvases. I created a music video for Daniel's gorgeous charity single, “SOUL ON A CHAIN”, did some pre-viz on an upcoming animation, and had the great honor of being interviewed about my writing for a podcast.

I published my book of “COLLECTED POEMS” and the short story cycle "SOUVENIRS". I released the long-overdue paperback edition of my first novel, "YOUNG PIM AND THE GOBLINS". I brought the first draft of my fourth novel, "THE FABULOUS MEDICINE SHOW", to the 95% mark. I wrote five essays: "MESSAGE FROM AN INJURED BIRD", "SIMULATIONS OF TENNESSEE", "EDISON'S MEDICINE", "DEBUSSY IN THE BONEYARD", and "I GAVE MY HEART TO THE JUNKMAN", which was inserted as a sad but fitting coda in a new edition of "THE PAMELA DIARIES".

Productive as it was, my year was marred by a few heartrending losses. The most distressing of all happened in early January, when I had to say goodbye to my beloved soccer-mom minivan, Pamela. My poor old hooptie finally shat the mattress. We had shared 99,700 miles in the course of six years, driving through every conceivable landscape and weather condition, through tornadic thunderstorms and forest fires and mountain snows, through godawful jobs and traffic jams, through countless sunsets and twisting wilderness roads and ghost towns. If you hadn't followed any accounts of our many adventures, you simply wouldn't believe the things we had gone through. It boggles my mind, to recall all of our close calls and spiritual victories and hair-raising rides. Pamela framed some of the most beautiful and terrifying things I've ever seen with her windshield. I'll never have another friend quite like her again, and it still hurts every day to think about how much I miss her.

2023 claimed the lives of several other loved ones. One of my very favorite teachers, a vibrant woman who taught me more about the process of mark-making than any other artist, finally folded after a long decline. A handsome musical theater singer, on whom I harbored a bit of a crush, widowed his lovely husband after suffering from a late-onset neurodegenerative disease. An extraordinarily gifted sculptor and very generous instructor left behind a sprawling artistic and educational legacy.

But good things came along, too, as they always do. The most significant shift this year, of course, was that I left Florida and moved to the middle of Tennessee, so that I could be with my Daniel, that goofy tattooed carny with a heart of gold and the voice of a '50s crooner. I traded my sandy stretch of coastal paradise for McEwen, a hamlet of maybe 1700 people, a place with no stoplights but a dozen churches, two cemeteries, and a Dollar General. 

Getting here, however, would prove to be no mean feat. I had no money at the beginning of the year, no job ... and with the loss of Pamela, no transportation. My printer also died, right when I needed it most. Luckily, though, I managed to rake in a few grand by selling prints of The [C] Paintings, enough to get a new printer and fund my move. I was able to purchase another car, "Scout", from my housemate and his family, under an extremely generous contract on their part and with the help of my dad. I rented my first U-Haul, one outfitted with a vehicle towing rig, and I drove the 700-mile distance in a state of utter disbelief. Seven years ago, I didn't even know how to turn on a car. Now here I was, driving a moving van through the winding hills of Appalachia, towing my second car behind me.

Tennessee welcomed me with a major tornado outbreak on the day after my arrival, which seemed somewhat auspicious. Worse storms would follow.

2023 was a terrible year in terms of monetizing my time. Both of my primary client relationships ended abruptly, under somewhat mysterious circumstances, for no clear reason. Afterward, I could not find sufficient or sustainable work, no matter how hard I tried, and thus I spent the latter half of the year in the worst financial shape of my life, basically living at or below the poverty line for months on end. Being so broke meant that I missed yet another wedding, one that I had been looking forward to attending for months. I went without health insurance for most of the year. This marks the lowest income level I've ever recorded in my adult life, a shockingly meager amount that I cannot even bring myself to type here. On paper, at least, I've never been this poor ... and I've been pretty goddamned poor.

This led to one of the deepest depressions I've faced in a long while, a valley of extreme self-doubt, defeat, and demoralization. There were times in which the train tracks that bisect our town seemed to offer two equally grim solutions: hop a boxcar and escape my woes like an old-timey hobo, or just throw myself under the groaning wheels and be done with it.

But I stayed alive and kept hustling. I beat the shit out of my laptop's keyboard, as I grabbed whatever writing assignments I could get. I ghostwrote brand messaging for an open-source monitoring application, cleaned up the text for a book on gut biome health, laid out the paperback for a theologian's analysis of biblical systems, proofread a veteran's memoir, and performed a grinding edit on a client's sci-fi novel. I helped make some didactic signage for MoMA and other arts institutions, dipping my toe into AI imaging for the first time.

Tennessee brought some unexpected work my way. My first gig was for a good friend's home staging company, hauling furniture and décor into and out of listed real estate properties, making fake "homes" out of empty houses. The two of us camped it up while fluffing throw pillows and tossing plastic houseplants into a truck, and it came as a great relief to have another gay pal with whom I could be as swishy and fey and arch as I liked. I helped build a golf simulator, did construction site cleanup at two different apartment complexes, and packaged vehicle springs for a defense contractor. I learned two things during my brief stint in the military industrial sector: I have a pathological need to keep my workspaces in order, and the Pentagon is getting fleeced on plastic toilet seats.

I did an 11-hour photo assistant gig at the CMA Fest in Nashville, lugging gear for a boss nearly two decades younger than myself, and a 14-hour personal assistant gig for an NBC television series. During the latter assignment, I ferried passengers in an enormous yacht of an SUV through rush-hour traffic in downtown Nashville, some of the most nerve-wracking time I've ever spent behind a wheel. I busted my hump in a sooty warehouse for an ornamental door company, where I learned how to use a strapping tensioner to band crates. I also narrowly avoided being crushed by falling iron jambs. I shoveled sodden insulation and charred debris from the burnt ruins of a cabin on the grounds of a nineteenth-century grist mill, getting stung three times by wasps in the process. I hauled hundreds of furniture boxes into a ridiculously bougie preschool, while flirting with one of my coworkers. Unfortunately, the gruff little sexpot got in a fight with a fellow mover, and he fled the scene before I got the chance to seduce him in one of the empty coatrooms.

I also had a few abortive bromances with confused dudes. I canceled my dalliance with a smoking hot lifeguard when his misogyny reared its ugly head. I stepped away from two different bisexual guys I'd once lusted after, when it became clear that they themselves did not know what they really wanted from me.

I dropped out of a few friendships that had clearly passed their expiration dates. I had to leave behind a former coworker, a gal who I had once adored, when she proudly admitted that she was using online scams, credit card theft, and food stamp fraud to fund her way of life. Nope.

My phone headset crapped out. My computer monitor, shimmied by the vibrations from a passing freight train, toppled from my desktop, missing the head of our napping pit bull by inches.

In October, I flew up to Minneapolis, where a long-time collaborator and I completed our screenplay, “THE LAST BONANZA”. While there, I spent a week exploring one of the city's most beautiful and eclectic neighborhoods, happily tits-deep in orange leaves and Halloween décor, spellbound by Minnesota's autumnal glory. I discovered Tiny Tim’s crypt, toured a formal rose garden, and watched a pair of squirrels mate. I went to a boisterous backyard party, where I sat on a bench and comforted a bereaved mother who had recently lost her daughter. My friend and her spazzy but sweet little rescue dog did so much to soothe my soul ... so much laughter, so much barking, so much firmly-established trust.

Over a long weekend, I headed over to Memphis, where I met up with several of my oldest and dearest friends from my former life there. One of my soul sisters and I explored a muscle car museum in the Edge District, checked out the lobby of Sun Studios, and wandered over many of our old stomping grounds ... including my "field of ghosts", the empty lot where my home once stood, where I spent five years with my poor mad beautiful William, where he finally lost his struggle with addiction and mental illness and rotted away into the floorboards. The building itself burned down a few years ago, clearing away the last physical remnants of a very sad tale.

Happily, though, The Volunteer State balanced things by continuing to yield oddball delights. I checked out the Dickson County Fair, where I fed sheep, a cow, and an alpaca, watched my first teen beauty pageant, eyeballed some prize-winning pies, and stuffed my face with funnel cake while taking in the dirt-kicking splendor of a Jump n’ Run. I toured Nashville’s Parthenon, hand-fed a peacock named "Peter", petted several goats and pigs, held a chicken in my arms, encountered a camel in a church parking lot, took second place in a Spades tournament, befriended one of the NEA Four, and sat on the sidelines of a swim class for special needs kids. Scout and I drove up some scary-ass country roads, sometimes narrowly avoiding armadillos or deer, and crossed some of the prettiest scenery that Central Tennessee has to offer. I helped a buddy unload his moving truck of heavy shop tools, crates of ammo, and massive furniture. I mashed 15 pounds of potatoes for an AA potluck, and startled a committee of vultures lurking by the railroad tracks. I bounced around a bed with a fun pair of good ole boys, right across the street from a cemetery. On a starry autumn night, a bunch of cool folks and I gathered round a campfire on a friend's farm, where Daniel played the ukulele and our hostess thumped on her hammered steel handpan. It was a magical evening, blemished only by the dozens of fire ant bites Daniel suffered while sitting on the ground.

It's a simple life we lead here in McEwen. My sunset walks now take place in a boneyard, rather than a beach. Our town sheriff is a cordial hunk, and he always waves at us whenever he happens to drive by. Our house, which sits on pilings and sketchy cairns of brick, is crooked and drafty and crammed with sentimental bric-a-brac. This spring, Daniel and I strung up chandelier pendants in our windows, so we could see rainbows every afternoon.

From our front porch on Main Street we watched McEwen’s homecoming parade ... complete with marching band, pom squad, firetruck, and beribboned princesses throwing candy. Daniel told me that a few years ago he saw a plump little pre-teen go by on one of these floats, eating all the candy herself and tossing empty wrappers at the passerby.

Nobody says "bless her heart" like a Tennessean.

We share our home with four handicapped dogs: one blind, one deaf, one blind and deaf, and one neurotic. Our nightly routine is firmly established at this point ... we walk the mutts through the quiet streets of our town, playing Twenty Questions while they bark and tug and play Maypole with their leashes. It's our own wackadoodle Iditarod, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Afterwards, Daniel will cook us a scrumptious dinner (usually something with goat cheese, pork loin, sweet potatoes, couscous, and a shit-ton of cilantro) while I edit my manuscripts. Then we sit down on the recording studio sofa to watch reruns and eat out of mismatched bowls.

In January we celebrated Daniel's fourth year of sobriety, and in November I marked my eleventh. Much of the social life that we share is centered around the local recovery community. Honestly, I haven't missed booze one bit, and I do find myself getting a little bored by the topic of addiction. There really isn't a lot else for us to do here, it seems, besides attend these meetings. But that's okay ... it's been my privilege to befriend so many remarkable people, many of whom are rebuilding their lives after unimaginable cataclysms. There is a strong feeling of family among the sober, and I love our tribe. Our "heading to town" events these days are usually speaker talks or functions or festivals. We'll sometimes pop into to a rehab facility just to hang out with our buddies.

Daniel and I are planning to break our glut of AA holidays by spending this New Year Eve among friends, at a little get-together hosted by some lovely lady friends from our LGBTQ group. For the third time in my adult life, I'm thinking of making some potato salad for a holiday party. Lesbians still like potato salad, right? Strange as it may sound, this quotidian harbinger of middle age — hatching a plan to spring my best potato salad on partygoers — seems like the most joyous thing imaginable. It sounds absurd, I know ... but I actually choked up at the supermarket when I tossed a shaker of dill weed into my shopping cart. Sometimes being a grown-up is about acknowledging the plenitude represented by the smallest of acquisitions. For those of us who are constantly toeing the precipice of despair, even the task of selecting a kitchen spice is a luxury.

I am so lucky to be alive, unfathomably so. The more I think about it, the less probable it feels. I feel blessed ... blessed to be allowed to wave off another year marked by upheaval and goodbyes and emotional earthquakes, to push a cart through Walmart in a state of Zen mindfulness, to transform dullness into bliss by the alchemy of gratitude, to sanctify the gift of uneventful days, to value any hour devoid of catastrophe, to appreciate stillness, to savor the quiet country life, to share a sofa with one or more dogs, to curl against my sleeping boyfriend and murmur "I love you" into his neck, to have made it this far with limbs and eyes intact, to have exactly enough money left in my bank account to buy a tube of toothpaste, to see rainbows cast upon crooked walls, to cherish so many beautiful and brave friends, to give thanks, to survive another trip around the sun, to be here, to be here with you.

[klarionthewizard]

The WIP List

As written to demonstrate why this is named the Writer's Block:

-original novel (first draft editing)

-original story, reverse Hades/Persephone vibes (currently a worldbuilding notebook)

-James Asher roleswap fic (two pages)

-the other James Asher roleswap fic with same swap but different setting bc I lost the original notebook for six months (four pages)

-continuation chapter of Veers Makes Piett's Crew Look Rational (seven pages of ideas in a notebook, three sentences of actual writing)

-a Maximilian Veers as the Grand Inquisitor fic ( half a page)

-a Maximilian Veers as a witch fic (four pages but I decided I hated the way I wrote the magic system so I'll probably start it over soon)

-original fiction of a vampire in college (fifteen pages)

-a short story collection that I wrote in high school that I have since decided I hated and am thus rewriting (Originally 120 pages, I've kept like, 30)

-assorted poems of varying quality

[thoughtsby]

You Belie

The respect you chase

When You Be Lie

U-Me vs

with a quickness lose face

Mocking our Us

No surprise no more grace

We both had a pass

And for you i lit up the town

While you lied on the daily

About fuckin these clowns

Goddamn. That's her dad

There go Marcus' face

beLie five more times

All the trust

zero trace

Her choices all seem

Not stacked with tens, but fives

She doesn't quite feel

That we're both still alive

Fuckin stall?

Zero game

Minor league

Zero shame

In and out like a boy

7 minutes he came

Whatchou gonna do with the next 53?

Good question

Like clockwork, she starts looking for me

Bout to call me daddy

But i get a b p

Not the oil, not the dad

Poems talking bout me

But just as I feared

She's shifts all of the blame

into three higher gears

Buying time I suppose

Till her fiction appears

Dodging again

The ironic-est twist

Of detail left out

Adding bitch to my list

For each one of my calls

The others have six

They're omissions not lies

She doesn't think much

Again she dons the guise, disrespecting

The man that I am

She won't even try

Tho my back is up straight

And my head is held high

Realizing too late

That she drowned me with lies

So many days

i put your needs before mine

Your complacency framing

My low self esteem

Once secure in its place

I forgot I was dope

Till all of your friends

Reached out to help cope

And as good as that feels,

You'll need to arm yourself

Rip off your pants,

imma fuck your sister,

your mom

And even your aunts.

So get your ducks in a row,

And name the lead Plot

Jump them over the holes

Omissions and Nots

The thing I need most

Is to back me up G

Forget about He

Cuz it's all about me,

No way you don't see

The lie to yourself

Pussy on notice

And false perceived wealth,

That i never meant much

A year or three late

it was really just you

Spreading lies and the hate

Set flame to our pattern

Did I rank below Lou?

Or noch, Mike, and Josh?

It was more than a few

Fake stay in your lane

Inflict maximum pain

Scurry home to the desert

Prognosis the same

So fuckin lame

Wasting time

playing games

You throw us away

Every day that you say

Secrets no more

Now you're basically gay?

Except that's a lie,

Finger banged by some guy

Or bareback five strangers

Let concern for me fly

My safety, my health, my kids,

You don't try

But I see you now

I see through your guise

And I'm wanting to grow

Tho call me your man

While he's sharing your sheets

In the fire from pan

Come crying to me

From a 9 to a 2

Motherfucker he can't conjugate

No one's sorry for you

-----

If i follow again,

You're the last of your kind

Fit Benny on doubt

Cuz I'm outta my mind

And partially blind

The advantage got taken

Am I a sucker?

Or kind?

Just spread super thin

So confused

Where you been?

You'll live in my house

Buy some clothes,

Buy some shoes

Buy a phone

With fuck yous

All neatly included for free

At no cost

If you ignore the few months

I was totally lost

I'm a man not a mouse

I brought you here, sure,

But your logic is flawed

Nobody keeps a ride score

But If they did and saw you

They'd say you were trash,

And I'd correct them

For you.

But they're right, in fact

When you act like you do

So no crutch for me

I wrote this poem for you

Like warm sidewalk gum that'll stick to your shoe

Turn your black

Into blue

Till you find someone new

And by lunch there's no doubt

You'll have at least two,

Command no respect

Till my unseen support

Sends a pattern in short

While your 4 outta 10 starts to court

I'm sick to my stomach

Once again you're a ghost

Walking with trash

Strange gets all your most

You'll tell a few lies

Maybe work in a toast

At my expense sure

You'll have your own roast

So...

Fresh after your mention

Of your elsewhere-dick-session

I'm a glutton you'll find

For stories that kill

This one is the Besst

But I've had just my fill

I won't even know

Seed dried on your chest

You'll kiss me so hard

And say I'm the best

You'll grab a fresh shard

And in caves my chest

But when i find out,

And I always do, Boo

Cuz all of your friends

Like me better than you

Well... shit,

I just might

Turn the tide

In one night

Hit em all

With one ball

Say goodbye

And don't call

Have you wondering out loud

How YOU had the gall

Your loyalty

Matched

stature

Impossibly small

[makingqueerhistory]

Heyyy so I've scrolled through your book club lists and book recommendations but I'm really curious about what your absolute favorite queer centric books are, whether history, autobiographical, or fiction? If you have a list, I'd love to see it! Thanks so much, and sorry if this has been asked before. Sending love and wishing you and yours safety!

Can I give you my top three for nonfiction, then fiction, or is that too much? I am going to do it.

Nonfiction:

The New Queer Conscience: This book really got me thinking about what the “community” part of queer community means to me. It really packs a punch for such a short book, and I need to get my hands on a physical copy.

The Trauma Cleaner: This might be a bit more of a controversial pick, and it might not be in my top books of all time, but I think about it a lot and just want to include it here. If you are up for a messy (in all possible ways) book, this is for you. I think it has a fantastic exploration of what loneliness does to people. Following this transgender woman through her life really made me feel like I was sitting down with her for a long emotional chat in a coffee shop.

Double Cross The True Story of D-Day Spies: In a time when there is a worrying rise in neo-nazis, this book is so important to me. It reminded me of something I think our culture has forgotten. I think in our attempt to glorify the efforts of people fighting Nazis, we have mythologized the Nazis themselves, and this book looked me straight in the eye and said, “Nazis lost for a reason.” It includes many great stories, but it is also a fantastic reminder that Nazis were and are humans. The most impressive thing about them is generally how pathetic they are when you strip away the propaganda and grand-standing.

Fiction:

Beyond the Pale: there is this amazing poem written by tatiana de la tierra “lesbian texts are passed from hand to hand and mouth to mouth

between lesbians. they are located on the skin, in the look, in

the geography of the palms of the hands.

lesbian literature exists in pieces: in flyers, newsletters,

magazines, chapbooks, bathroom stalls, notes, novels, e-mails,

love letters, on tiny scraps of paper.”

and every time I talk about this book, I think of that poem, both because of the themes within it and because a lesbian woman let me borrow this book in the first place. I don’t cry a lot when reading, but I sobbed with this book. If you are looking for a fun happy-ending read, this won't be the one for you, but if you a looking for a book that hits you right to your bones, pick this one up, please. (Also please check out trigger warnings first)

Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: This book captured my experience within the queer community more thoroughly and authentically than any other book before or since. Lighter than the last one, but by no means light, this book means so much to me. 

Into the Drowning Deep: This is a horror novel, and I just love it. It might be a bit less deep than the others, but I love it so much. If you read Jurassic park and thought: “this should be queerer, also why does this book seem to hate fat people so much?” this is the book for you.

[millylotus]

Story Index Post

I'm going to be posting a bunch of stories right about now, and I want to have it all lined up so people can find them easier. Hope ya like 'em.

Poems

Sol Born of a Wish

The Nebula

The Coven in the Woods

The Rabbits are not what it seems to be

The Desperate Broken Prince

The Demon Heart [Talia Al Ghul]

The Sunspot Prince [I've always liked bringing up the fact that Duke Thomas is probably a minor god]

In Madness

I call for a sacrifice to be my savior: my he be swift and kind (We worked on Tanka poems in class today :D)

In Madness (Dionysus invites Ariadne into his world)

Princess Most Holy (Ariadne's life in one poem)

Little Brother (Ariadne mourns the Minotaur)

A Ring Lost In A Decade Is Still Lost (Ariadne misplaces the engagement Ring Dionysus gave her)

Parking Lots, Angry Birds, Forgotten Gods (A mortal approaches Ariadne at midnight in a Target parking lot)

Sherlock & Killer

Sherlock : Francesca "Frankie" Linly Bonet (Frankie's back story and the songs I used to make her)

Ghost Zone Lore

How Ghost Are Born/Spawned

How to care for Young Ghosts [Lair]

Danielle's Rebirth

Valerie Spots them

Ghost Classification

The GS Batfamily AUs

I have a google spreadsheet document that I keep all my AUs in for the batfamily.

BASE AU

Bat-Family Ages

Inheritance In The Bat-Family

Cullen Row / Mockingbird

New Baby Jitters

The Malones

Miscellaneous AUs

Madrigal Batfamily

Circus Robins

Birds Migrating East

This is a Justice League and Harry Potter, world mash crossover fic. Where every bat has some form of magic or another. And Tim, Steph, Duke, and Damien are sent to protect Harry in his fifth year. While Zatanna joins the Order. And Constantine infiltrates the Death Eaters.

Lore

Chapter I [May]

Chapter II [Four weeks later/July]

Chapter III [That Night/July]

Chapter IV [Three weeks later/June]

Chapter XI [Couple Minutes Before the Arrival of the Birds, and Batdad]

Chapter XII [In Number 12 Grimmauld Place]

Chapter XIII [Right when Dumbledore walked in]

Short Stories

Wilbur Confronts Sally (all I had to do was write a scene about a conflict for one of my classes and this is the angst I get) [Fanfiction]

Prompt: Five passengers are riding a train when something happens (It's a zombie apocalypse and someone's water broke)

The 8th and 9th wonders (Don't really know how to explain this one)

Cassandra Sanvanterules (DnD character I was thinking about using)

Saint Lucifer (I remember writing a lot of this down on paper but I don't feel like pulling out all my old journals)

Ender Bunn (One of the stories I finished for a Minecraft OC... I've changed them if your wondering)

Liminal Sanctuaire (A little story of puppy love that I had to make for school)

what a way to go. (A captive escapes their hell, but in the vast emptiness of space, they find no one) WARNINGS: TW SU!CIDE, TW SELF MUTILATION, TW SELF HARM, TW SELF CANNIBALISM

Chills (Just two love bros playfighting, and drinking beer)

But Never Enough (Abandoned Story Idea)

Boy Isn’t Right

Hello Lovely

But Never Enough

Unfinished Stories/Fanfiction

Moon Goddesses (Creation Myth)

A Kingdom Old and Forgotten (Was supposed to be a DSMP fanfic set in the modern world thousands of year after the DSMP fell, but then I got bored)

William's Family (In a Pirate AU, Wilbur's dad [Phil's brother] is lured over the side of the boat by a siren and dies. A couple years later the same siren Comes back to give Wilbur to Phil) [Fanfiction]

Esmaray's Wish (Pirate AU the siren who lured William of the edge has some thoughts of the night) [Fanfiction]

Jordan Needs to Move (In an apartment complex AU where all the MCYT families live together. Jordan moves away from his wife after divorce to Dream Family Apartments. (Not actually owned by Dream, but by his dad)) [Fanfiction]

I'm Not Gonna Be the Side-Character Anymore (A stereotypical Manhwa Harem goes wrong when one of the Harem boys defects and leaves)

The Animals Feed (Noble families are comprised of the Chinese zodiacs. And they all choose their heir, by making the twelve children (all of different zodiacs) fight to the death in different ways)

The Time of Fea (A story of two sisters who run away into the Fea populated woods)

OCs from a long ass time ago. That I honestly forgot existed.

Spirit of Bleak Winter & Knight of Shadows [DC x DP, Ship: Bruce/Danny - Frostbat] (Just a one-shot for a prompt I saw and loved)

[transitofmercury]

Horrible Histories Movie ✧ Fanfic Recs!

There aren't many fics for this fandom, but of the few out there, there are some that I absolutely adore. These are all great and I've tried to keep my thoughts as brief and coherent as I can manage. I just thought I should mention that this post has been crossposted to Dreamwidth. If you do check any of these out, don't forget to give some love to the authors, I'm sure kudos and comments (even short ones) would be appreciated!! <3

One ✦ Catullus Spinning in his Grave by misura

Title: Catullus Spinning in his Grave Author: misura Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Atti/Orla Words: 2066 Author Summary: "In hindsight, Atti definitely should have said it with flowers."

Atti attempts to confess his feelings for Orla with a very lengthy poem he has written for her, keyword attempts. This is just brilliant, Atti and Orla sound so much like they do in the movie, and it feels like a very natural romantic development on their friendship at the end of the movie. It’s adorably sweet and awkward and there are so many parts that make me laugh. I’d start listing all my favourite lines, but people should experience it themselves (and also, at that point I might end up copy pasting the whole fic here).

Two ✦ Everything I Need to Know About Love I Learned From Latin by Acacia_May

Title: Everything I Need to Know About Love I Learned From Latin Author: Acacia_May Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Atti & Orla, Atti/Orla Words: 1384 Author Summary: "Completely fed-up with Atti's utter obliviousness, Orla attempts to take matters into her own hands and get him to express his feelings with a Latin grammar lesson. Things do not go as planned... Or Storytime with Rattus Rattus/Horrible Histories' Twisted Fairy Tales: The Fairytale of the Amazing Celtic Warrior Princess and the Intelligent Yet Somehow Totally Oblivious Roman Legionary. Atti/Orla pairing, naturally. This is just super silly fluff for fun as well as kicks and giggles! Hope you enjoy this! Thanks for reading!”

Orla tries to get Atti to express his feelings through a Latin lesson. This also plays with a fairy-tale style type of storytelling in a similar way to the Twisted Fairytale sketches used to do in older seasons of Horrible Histories. This fic never fails to make me smile when I reread it because it is so fun and has so many hilarious parts, but it’s also a really sweet take on an Atti/Orla love confession. Something I especially love about this one is the way that, even if she isn’t as clueless as Atti is, Orla isn’t 100% confident in herself either.

Three ✦ Lost In Translation by Acacia_May

Title: Lost In Translation Author: Acacia_May Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Atti & Orla, Atti/Orla Words: 3814 Author Summary: "Atti's plans for a quiet and unusually uneventful afternoon at home are thwarted when his daughter begins to sing an old, familiar song and insists on telling him a story--ironically his story--whether he wants to hear it or not... OR It wasn't so much the fact that Timidius had taught his son, Marcus, a particularly personal and embarrassing song of Atti's from back in the day or even that Marcus had then gone on to teach it to Atti's own daughter, it was more that he had taught her the wrong words... Domestic & Family Fluff and Humor. Atti/Orla pairing. A bit of a sequel to "Everything I Need to Know About Love I Learned from Latin," but the stories can each stand alone and one is not needed to understand the other. Honestly this is just for fun and kicks & giggles! Thank you for reading!"

Domestic fluff future fic, very sweet story about a grown-up Atti and Orla, their kids, and Latin being an annoying language. There’s something about seeing Atti and Orla grown up, but still themselves that brings me so much joy. The way they are with each other, and their kids makes it so clear that they’re still the same idiots we see in the movie, but just a little more mature and surer of themselves, and it’s just lovely. It makes me want to bite something in a cuteness aggression, I-swear-I-wont-actually-bite-anything kind of way.