#Lifesaving Poems

[anthonywilson]

Uniformed comedians

I’ve been saying Tom Paulin’s line about ‘uniformed comedians’ a lot this summer. I don’t really want to go into the details, except to say that we had need of them. ‘We’ as in not me directly, but those who are dearest to me. I’ve blogged about the poem here before. A poem that’s been in my life for almost 40 years and which I’m finally beginning to understand. In the words of Mark Halliday,…

[boopydoopydoop]

The Quiet Love of Strangers

no one is unloved,

though love's not always known.

in this world of many billions,

you're never quite alone.

tell me, have you ever had

that feeling in your chest?

a love for all your fellow man,

The flawed through to the best.

have you ever given comfort,

to a stranger you don't know?

Or given one a compliment,

And watched their smile grow?

do you feel for people hurting,

Without needing their name?

Encourage those in hardships,

Just because you've felt the same?

These things are love for fellow man.

It's not unique to you!

they're feelings shared by many,

which means you're cared for too.

And what a joy to know!

That despite its pain and dangers;

The world is oh so filled,

with the quiet love of strangers.

[lune-de-miel-au-paradis]

Thank you for all of your creative and fantasic ideas dear fic writers. You make all my dream secret scenarios (romantic/spicy/angsty/dramatic/sad) exist, with the most beautiful fictional males ever. You make the best place in this portal for my escapism.

You are all inspirinspire me and I admire you all.

Thank you for all your hard and wholehearted works !💖💖

The devil works hard but fanfic writers work harder

Ps. Y’all are amazing and the most creative writers ❤︎. keep up the amazing work ✩

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please." 

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink. 

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed. 

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment. 

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much. 

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you." 

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner. 

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over. 

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed. 

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...." 

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her. 

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in. 

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place. 

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly. 

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

@thedroneranger

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@callsign-magnolia

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@t-nd-rfoot

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@wintercap89

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@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

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@amiets2

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@lonelysoul50

@sweetwhispersofchaos

[thefollow-spot]

'Merlin' and 'Lancelot' by Edwin Arlington Robinson

This is the first full book I've typeset and bound that is not fanfiction—which means I finally have something to show off to the normies in my life LMAO!

'Twas a Christmas gift for my lovely Misery (@whoawhataconcept), who has dragged me right after her into a fascination with Arthuriana ❤️

✨ Details below the cut! ✨

🤍 NEW METHODS 🤍

Printing at home: In the past, I've sent my typeset PDFs off to a local print shop to be printed, but with access to a home printer for the first time, I battled the fucking thing to print it entirely at home. I had a lot of trouble getting my printer to do the whole thing (I think it was so long that the printer's memory started giving up), so I eventually ended up sending the PDF to print in smaller signature groups at a time. Due to misprinting, I ended up with many good glue sheets & pages to protect drying boards and such

Leather-core for endbands: I finally splurged and bought some leather jewellery cord to use as the core in my sewn endbands and it was FANTASTIC!

Ribbon bookmark: 🤍🤍🤍

Backed papers: I purchased two large sheets of artisan paper for the endpages and the cover material. Both were too flimsy for my comfort, so on the advice of some folks at @renegadeguild, I backed some cut-down sheets with regular printer paper using a mix of 50/50 PVA and rice paste. I pressed them flat between protective sheets and they came out perfect!

Paste mix: I enjoyed working with the PVA-paste mix so much that I used it for the rest of the project for pretty much all of my gluing :)

Using an actual book press: Not much to say here except that I finally have an actual press and it made everything 100% easier haha!

Cricut stencil: My sister donated her time and cricut to help me title my cover and spine (under the dust jacket). We cut out stencils with cricut's stencil material & with stick-on vinyl (when we ran out of stencil material LOL). The spine turned out lovely but with some bleed; the cover was a bit of a mess since the stencil material started peeling up the fibres of the cover paper (which I had somehow not thought to seal). But live and learn!

🤍 BOOK INTERIOR 🤍

Copy-editing: Done by they lifesaving and gracious @highlynerdy, who saved me from agonizing over if the raw text source I took from had typos or mistakes. Thank you again, Gracie 💛

Typeset: I was inspired by the original typesets from when these poems were first published, updated to my own aesthetic sensibilities (as much as I had patience for)! The main body-text font is 'Lancelot' which seemed the only appropriate font to use for this project <3

Art: (Not pictured) I included some art by Edward Burne-Jones, "The Beguiling of Merlin", and "The Failure of Sir Lancelot"

🤍 EXTERIOR DESIGN 🤍

Cover: I originally wanted to do this book in blue, but when I went to the paper store, I could not find any marbled blue paper that wasn't wildly over-budget, so I ended up doing another red book. I tried to stick to a colour scheme of white-heavy monochrome + red + metallics.

Dust jacket: Much to my dismay, I realized that I've been lucky in the past, with access to a small nonprofit print shop where their ordering process involves emailing them and describing what you need. To print a dust jacket, one needs access to a print service with "large format" printing, and as I've discovered, that usually means an industrial printing service. Sorely missing my usual nonprofit print shop, I ended up going with a custom photo printing service, requesting a large photo print on their thinnest paper. Due to my special instructions, the cover came back almost-perfect. The edges were jagged, and the paper was a bit too thick, but it is perfectly serviceable and I'm overall happy with how it came out.

[tickety-boooo]

~Aziraphale's Flaming Sword~

Here's my poem for @isiaiowin's GOetry Monday prompt: Concrete! Let me say, this took soooo long to lay out! My hand is killing me! :D I really love the symbolism of the flaming sword in Good Omens, and how it's Aziraphale who gets to wield it. I posted earlier today with more thoughts about Aziraphale's sword if anyone's interested in reading more of my rambling xD Text under the cut:

Before the wild, unpredictable flames were tamed by humans, They adorned an ancient blade made for a guardian angel, Ever burning without a source of energy, as if by one's will alone Wisps licking at the air, emitting a heat that burns simply by proximity. To the peaceful guardian, it was a lifesaving gift, a tool for protection A symbol of the guardian's compassion and empathy for humanity Until it changed hands throughout the ages And its fire fueled the rage and violence and war Of those who would do harm to the world Causing devastation across time And yet, in the hands of a brave child That sword of fire and light and warmth Would defeat the evils of man when wielded with compassion and empathy.

[witchygirlgray333]

Journal prompts / ideas

Poems (either ones you've written or just ones you enjoy or connect with)

Book review

Film review

Write about your day

Collage

Vision board

Habit tracker

Calendar page

Notes from something you're learning

Quotes you like

Draw some outfits you like

Search up creative writing prompts and do those

Meditate and write down your thoughts before / during / after (I don't do this everytime or sometimes I'll only write afterwards but when I write before, during and after it's always really interesting to read back on and see how much has changed)

Stickerbomb page

Films to watch

Books to read

Wishlist

Bucket list

Highlight of the day (I like to have a page in my journal where I write a short sentence of my favourite thing that happened that day, it's nice to look back on and it's nice especially for days when I'm not feeling well enough to do a longer entry)

Gratitude list

Random thoughts

Drawings and sketches (I'm not even good at drawing but I love drawing or sketching in my journals and just expressing myself)

This one is more for chronically ill people but making notes for doctor / hospital appointments which helps so much! I have severe memory loss so a lot of the time I'll turn up to an appointment and have totally forgotten about anything I'd hoped to say so this has been a total lifesaver

Along with what I said in my last point about living with severe memory loss my whole journal works towards helping me deal with living with the memory loss. I'll probably do another post soon about more in depth ideas for journaling to help life with memory loss but I write down SO MUCH. I've got to do lists, a calendar page, my night routine (I'll also have my morning routine written down once I've actually worked one out!), things I need to do everyday (such as brushing my teeth, washing my face etc), contact info for people I'm close to, labelled photos of my loved ones (it can be really scary when I don't recognise people so having these pages really help), a list of things I can do throughout the day (I'm on bedrest but having a list of things that I enjoy doing written down is a nice reminder, some of the things on the list at the moment are make tiktok videos, do makeup, watch a movie or tv show, journal, scrapbook etc)

[eggzeroni]

I got bored and I was thinking: "What if Sherlock was good with words...?" And then I remembered I could make that happen, so here you are. If Sherlock wrote a poem for John. Let me know if you want John's poem to Sherlock. Enjoy.

Dear John Watson,

If I had the words to describe love, I can say that I would be relentless. You always stand with me every time i’m ready to go on a case, Even though i know that sometimes, you want to punch me in the face, hoping it'll put me in my place.

I’m the drug addict, and you’re the lifesaver. I have proof, too, because you’ve saved mine many times, and compared to me, you’re far braver. You’re always there for me, even in my darkest times, You stay up late with me, solving crimes.

No matter how far gone i am, even when i’m on my knees, You help me to my feet, and together, we make great memories. I’m always far ahead of you, but you always try to catch up with me, you really are a rubbish jogger, But i’m fine with that, because you’ll always be my best friend, and we both know: I’d be lost without my blogger.

[dudewheresmynug]

OC Tag Game

Thank you so much to @dancing--lights for tagging me in this post! I really loved learning all about Livia, and she is so pretty 😭🥰

Aaaand big thanks to @hellomehlo for the tag as well! Every new thing I learn about Rue makes me love her more and more! 😍

OC: Lydia Thorne

GENERAL:

- Name: Lydia Thorne

- Alias: Rook, Lydia, Lydi/Lyds (by friends), Coco/Coco Puff (by her mother, and teasingly by Neve sometimes)

- Gender: Female

- Age: 27

- Spoken Language: Common, Tevene (which she learned after getting a posting in Tevinter when she first joined the wardens).

- Sexual Orientation: Bisexual (disaster)

- Occupation: Between 9:30 and 9:40, Lydia was an apprentice at the Fereldan Circle. When the mage rebellion hit, she made her way back home to Crestwood, where she helped her parents tend their farm...sooo....student, then farmer? Then, she became a Grey Warden. As for after Veilguard, I don't know!

FAVORITE:

- Color: Periwinkle! Maybe a canary yellow or an apricot would be on her list too. I feel like she has an overall darker aesthetic to her, so having her enjoy lighter, softer colors is a good balance <3

- Entertainment: Nature walks would be her number one. Having spent her entire childhood in the Fereldan circle, Lydia greatly values outside time, especially when she can find something particularly scenic, or if there are animals (preferably ones not trying to kill her). I'd say she would also spend a lot of time in Harding's room, helping her tend her garden. Davrin's personal storyline was such a lifesaver for her!

- Pastime: Reading!!!! Lydia will read for entertainment and to get a deeper understanding of things she finds confusing or scary. I'd say that Lydia is generally very approachable at most times, but if you get her while she's in the middle of reading or research, you're going to get ignored at best. As for other pastimes, I'd say she's a doodler and that she enjoys writing poetry :) Lots of her poems would be about emotions, or about nature....aaaandddddd also probably about Neve once she starts crushing on her (though she'd never admit it). She has a little notebook full of her poems that she keeps tucked away in her room.

- Food: Noodles for sure, especially if they're spicy. If there's any chili oil, chili flakes, or anything else that she can use to make her food as hot as she can take it, she WILL be taking it. She also has an immense sweet tooth, so chocolate is an honorable mention.

-Drink: Lydia is a lover of fruit juices, especially orange juice. She also enjoys coffee (though I chose the hot chocolate option for her in Veilguard haha), but she needs to take her coffee with plenty of cream and sugar, otherwise she won't touch it.

HAVE THEY...

- Passed University: She was still an apprentice (roughly 15) when the circle fell, so she never technically "passed". However, she was made to take her harrowing a few years later, around the time she was 22, when she joined up with the wardens.

- Had Sex: I'd have to say yes honestly, probably with another warden? She's flirtatious but it's rare that her flirting has gone much further than just that.

- Had Sex in Public: I don't think so, at least not before Veilguard. She's used to not having privacy (in the circle and in the wardens) so she values sex as a private thing. After she gets with Neve, though?? Maybe, pfft.

- Gotten Tattoos: Nope!

- Gotten Piercings: Yeah, she has a helix piercing on one ear, and the piece of jewelry is in the shape of a dagger because she wanted to be edgy (she cried the whole time she was getting pierced lmao).

- Gotten Scarred: Plenty of scars, honestly. She probably got a few on her journey from Calehnad back to Crestwood, and has definitely received more when she joined the wardens.

- Had a Broken Heart: By love? No. But, when she made the decision to leave her parents (for the second time) in order to find a purpose for herself? Well, she suffers from that broken heart constantly.

ARE THEY:

- A Cuddler: Oh yeah, Lydia is a hugeee cuddler, and a hugger, and overall just a very physically affectionate person. You go girl.

- Scared Easily: Not at all! Someone would have to catch her entirely by surprise, which is very rare. I feel like Davrin would be able to get her a few times (and would have to dodge a lightning strike or two as a result).

- Jealous Easily: I don't think so. She's typically very levelheaded. She does tend to get in her own head a lot, but it's mostly introspective.

- Trustworthy: Yes! She's very used to being told that she's not trustworthy or that she's evil because she's a mage. She prefers to tell the truth when she can (though she will do what needs to be done if there is no other option). She also really wants her friends to trust her. When she saved Minrathous over Treviso, she put a LOT of energy into helping Lucanis and the crows, and doing whatever she could to get back into his good graces. Entirely healthy? Not really, but that's just how she is. Overall, though, I'd trust her with my life. Yes she's pixels what of it.

FAMILY:

-Siblings: Two older brothers, both dead, and she's never met them. The first brother was born over ten years before her and was killed during a big commotion in Crestwood, when he was separated from his parents. The second brother, born three years before Lydia, was unfortunately stillborn. Lydia was her parents' third and final attempt at having a child. What a devastating surprise it must have been for them when she turned out to be a mage.

- Parents: I don't have Lydia's parents' names figured out at all :( But, I'd say they probably grew up together, married young, and tried to start a family. One of Lydia's first memories is playing with her father in some hay at their farm in Crestwood. Another one of her memories is her mother screaming and crying and being hugged by her father as Lydia was taken to the circle by Templars, at age 5. Lydia has had nightmares about that sight for years, and, when she escaped the circle, she was determined to make it back to them. She ended up having a nice reunion with her parents, and they protected her fiercely, and she helped out as much as she could around their farm. But, after a few years, she became restless and felt as though she should do some good for the world (I hc that Lydia was very inspired by the Hero of Ferelden). So, she left to join the wardens. Her goodbye with her parents was just as tearful and painful as the first one, and the nightmares of her mother's screams returned. When Lydia found out that one of the eluvians at the lighthouse would take her to Ferelden, she was desperate to visit home, but fear of not wanting to leave her parents again kept her away.

- Children: Noooo, but I would say she will do what she can for any child that seems to need something.

- Pets: I thought it would be funny if Snowball from Crestwood actually belongs to Lydia, and that, at some point during one of her meetings with the Inquisitor, she learns that the Inquisitor killed him, and she's PISSED. Also, she's Fereldan, so get my girl a MABARI!!!!

This was a lot of fun to do!! Thank you again for tagging meeeeee <3

Absolutely no pressure at all, but I love hearing about all of your Rooks!!! I'm going to tag @gayspacepiratesss @theawesomerocket @catcatbutter and @neve-gallus-girl-detective

[pebbleduniverse]

When everything sucks and I feel like there's nothing I can do, I create something. A pen sketch in black ink in the corner of a page, an origami star, a photo of the sky, a few random chords on my ukulele, moving some rocks around outside to make a pattern, anything.

It doesn't matter how small it is, but it gives me a bit of power over my world. I can make my own fascinating sanctuary of tiny, seemingly insignificant yet truly lifesaving things even while there's chaos in the world around me.

a torn corner of a poster taped to a wall. a sticky note with something kind on it. a painted-on bottle cap. a photo stuck to a bookshelf. folded up blankets on a chair. a poem scribbled on an old piece of paper. a thought I can't get out of my head posted to a blog. tiny details, but so important.

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Living the Outskirts by Susan E. Hamilton

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/living-the-outskirts-by-susan-e-hamilton/

Living the Outskirts portrays coming-of-age and beyond in western Washington’s Christmastown, USA. Our protagonist pokes at hot tar plugging potholes, watches movies at Babe Blue Ox Theater, tosses diary pages to gulls at the county dump, cries over a Boscoe sundae, questions eternity while picking sour pie cherries, looks up from the bottom of a shutting manhole, sends black-edged aerograms to bees, and witnesses the “clear-cut” that changes her hometown forever. #poetry #life #hometown #childhood #nature

Susan E. Hamilton has kept the right side of her brain thriving with poetry and painting during her careers in oceanography, biochemistry, and medical writing. Her poems have appeared in several Pacific Northwest publications. Her first chapbook, Informed Consent, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018.

PRAISE FOR Living the Outskirts by Susan E. Hamilton

In Living the Outskirts, Susan E. Hamilton tells the story of a once prosperous logging town now languishing, delivering her tale with wit and aplomb. The writing is so lucid that we feel we could map her hometown of Shelton, Washington: there, the Babe Blue Ox Theater (named after Paul Bunyan’s prize ox); there, the Batstone Funeral Home, there, the county dump, where the detritus of living can be alternately relinquished and reclaimed. Hamilton allows us the guilty pleasure of bursts of nostalgia, but never for long, as she moves from childhood into somewhat haunted young womanhood. Her protagonist learns that the eyes of the special needs children at Roger’s School burn most brightly, and that movement, whether it be the centrifugal spinning of a playground merry-go-round or the wavering lines of a pool during a flummoxed lifesaving class, signals the need for flight. And it’s in the act of leaving that the poet “takes the space as [her] own.”

–Dave Karp

Throughout the poems in Susan E. Hamilton’s Living the Outskirts, memory calls like the “3-short / 1-long blast” of Mom’s whistle—inescapable, tender, complicated, strange—and personal history is inseparable from the entanglement of place, rooted in the lived details of the collapsing logging town of Shelton, Washington where the speaker grew up. Though “Nostalgia bleeds like a postmark,” these unsentimental poems dig with careful attention through the personal and collective midden, unearthing treasures and sorrows. Amidst the dross and humus, the poems find nourishment too, sour pie cherries and lobster mushrooms, wild strawberries and take-out, the world’s tiniest, saddest sundae. And there is a pervasive generosity toward life, especially toward the under-sung or unprotected: the poems will always side with the snakes, rats, and bees. In this way we gather how a self can grow: we are our past and the place we first rooted, but that doesn’t mean we are doomed to be a Weeping Fir Tree. Framing and threaded through the collection are ekphrastic poems that offer an additional lens: perhaps it is through connecting to art—and the art of the poems themselves—that a path forward is possible.

–Sierra Nelson

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #life #hometown #childhood #nature

[courtesansjewelbox]

Day 470/1,000 of Bradbury Reading Program

Read one poem, one essay and one short story a night for the next 1,000 nights.

I can’t believe I’m still doing this. I gave up around Day 467 in September last year after many stops and starts and then had the urge to restart it three days ago. Aiming to reach Day 500 by the end of summer and then we’ll see. (Fall is usually really busy work-wise)

Why bring it back? Because it feels like I’m always starting something and never finishing so I wanted to intentionally read complete but shorter pieces and make incremental progress that way. I started this in the middle of 2021 so at this rate I will finish it in another three years or so. Maybe longer.

My goals are just to finish some books that I started ages ago: Lifesaving Poems, Tove Jansson’s Letters from Klara, and Jane Rule’s Loving the Difficult. But of course I also want to try new books and new authors.

I find that short stories are the hardest for me to read—but rewarding too when I find a good one. Easy but interesting essay collections are tricky to find. I do read poetry more often but it’s also easy to read a few poems and never finish a book so I’m hoping this will help me do that.

I usually read in the morning because that’s when I have the energy and fresh attention span. I write the titles down in a table and put hearts for my faves, skull emoji for really gross or depressing ones and write notes so I can remember them better.

All this to say, I’m excited to be back. It is worth doing, but the important thing is to stop when I need a break and not be too hard on myself. There’s no hard deadline. I can do this forever.

[coralsgrimes]

Alright, since it's past midnight it's technically my birthday already.

Not gonna write a whole poem here cuz I have no energy for that left and it's not like I'm gonna get any sleep tonight so if someone wants to make me a present then you can consider donating to the Believe Family Foundation and/or the Hospitallers.

If you do, Coral is grateful from the bottom of me heart. Thanks and see ye muffins next time.

[echthr0s]

idk why everyone's so scared of reddit. reddit is like the akashic records to me. when I have a specific question about anything 9 times out of 10 I get the best results from doing my search with the "site:reddit.com" filter added. reddit fully introduced me to the delightfully insane rabbit hole that is TES lore. reddit is where I found out about the lifesaving (hyperbole, but only barely) properties of Gold Bond powder -- and NOT all the damn commercials I had to hear from them on the radio in the nineties. reddit is where all the people with the same ultra-specific tech problem I'm having have gone to beg for answers. reddit is without a doubt the one place where all the most autistic people in the world congregate to write dissertations about whatever hyper-niche thing they care about because somebody on reddit is gonna give a fuck, and if not, then some future person doing a hyper-niche google search will be incredibly grateful for it

reddit is also the best source for hobby drama, fun bots (there was a great Ben Shapiro bot in my city subreddit recently, lmao), people being demonstrably weirder and more unhinged than you (if you're like me and sometimes need that bit of perspective), people being exactly as weird and unhinged as you (thank god I'm not alone), people having the funniest relationship drama imaginable (offsets the people who are having the most awful relationship drama imaginable), legendary stories that are so indescribably cursed that you will never recover (the jolly rancher that was very much not a jolly rancher comes to mind...), and learning way too much about a subject you hadn't even cared about until you hit the 'random subreddit' button and got introduced to your new sudden-onset hyperfixation. also, poem for your sprog is there.

[holofoiltowercard]

Tarot Christmas Calendar, Day 6

I have been away for a long while, mostly because of health issues and then work commitments, which have come as a lifesaver at a time of great uncertainty. I wish I could devote more time to Tarot, but it seems that for a good while I will be very much tied down. However, I still want to celebrate the holidays approaching, and hopefully give my book a boost in the process because it is lovely and I firmly believe it would make a great gift to Tarot beginners and veterans alike - if you like Tarot or know someone who does, consider supporting a small creator like me and get them the book!

For the Christmas Calendar, I have drawn a card for each day, and shall post the poem for that day! Enjoy!

DAY 6: QUEEN OF CUPS REVERSED

Buy the ebook

Buy the paperback

Buy the hardcover

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Thursday: New Book Picks

Daughters of Latin America edited by Sandra Guzmán

Daughters of Latin America collects the intergenerational voices of Latine women across time and space, capturing the power, strength, and creativity of these visionary writers, leaders, scholars, and activists—including 24 Indigenous voices. Several authors featured are translated into English for the first time. Grammy, National Book Award, Cervantes, and Pulitzer Prize winners as well as a Nobel Laureate and the next generation of literary voices are among the stars of this essential collection, women whose work inspires and transforms us.

An eclectic and inclusive time capsule spanning centuries, genres, and geographical and linguistic diversity, Daughters of Latin America is divided into 13 parts representing the 13 Mayan Moons, each cycle honoring a different theme. Within its pages are poems from U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón and celebrated Cervantes Prize–winner Dulce María Loynaz; lyric essays from New York Times bestselling author Naima Coster, Pulitzer prize-winning playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes, and Guggenheim Fellow Maryse Condé; rousing speeches from U.S. Representative Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, and Lencan Indigenous land and water protector Berta Caceres; and a transcendent Mazatec chant from shaman and poet María Sabina testifying to the power of language as a cure, which opens the book.

He/She/They by Schuyler Bailar

Go‑to expert on gender identity, Schuyler Bailar, offers an essential, urgent guide that changes the conversation. Anti-transgender legislation is being introduced in state governments around the United States in record-breaking numbers. Trans people are under attack in sports, healthcare, school curriculum, bathrooms, bars, and nearly every walk of life.  He/She/They clearly and compassionately addresses fundamental topics, from why being transgender is not a choice and why pronouns are important, to more complex issues including how gender-affirming healthcare can be lifesaving and why allowing trans youth to play sports is good for all kids. With a relatable narrative rooted in facts, science, and history, Schuyler helps restore common sense and humanity to a discussion that continues to be divisively coopted and deceptively politicized.

Schuyler Bailar didn’t set out to be an activist, but his very public transition to the Harvard men’s swim team put him in the spotlight. His choice to be open about his transition and share his experience has touched people around the world. His plain-spoken education has evolved into tireless advocacy for inclusion and collective liberation. In He/She/They, Schuyler uses storytelling and the art of conversation to give us the essential language and context of gender, meeting everyone where they are and paving the way for understanding, acceptance, and, most of all, connection.

The Golden Girls by Bernadette Giacomazzo

Over the course of seven years and 180 episodes, The Golden Girls altered the television landscape. For the first time in history, Americans (and, later, the rest of the world) were watching sexagenarians - and one octogenarian - leading active, vital lives. These were older women who had careers, families, lovers, and adventures, far from the matronly television characters of the past.

In The Golden Girls: A Cultural History, Bernadette Giacomazzo shows why this iconic sitcom is more than just comedy gold. She examines how, between all the laughs and the tales of St. Olaf, these women tackled tough issues of the time--issues that continue to resonate in the twenty-first century. From sexual harassment, ageism, and PTSD to AIDS, inter-racial relationships, and homosexuality, Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia weren't afraid to take on topics which were once considered taboo.

The Last Two by Boštjan Videmšek

Meet Najin and Fatu—the last of the northern white rhinos—as well as the scientists, conservationists, and rangers who are fighting for the species’ survival. The last two remaining northern white rhinos, an already functionally extinct species, are kept behind three electrical fences and protected by a squad of rangers at the Ol Pejeta Conservancy in Kenya. Both are descended from the last male northern white rhino, Sudan. Najin is his daughter, while Fatu is his granddaughter. Along with Sudan and another male named Suni, they were transferred to Kenya in 2009, in the hope that returning them to their natural habitat might help them regain their zest for life and reproduction.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go to plan. With the deaths of Sudan and Suni, the northern white rhinos’ destiny is now in the hands of their Kenyan caretakers and a team of scientists at the BioRescue international consortium, which is developing and using several different techniques to resurrect the species, including assisted reproduction and stem cell technologies. Will science prevail, or is it too late?

Journalists Boštjan Videmšek and Maja Prijatelj Videmšek explore this question by taking readers on a journey through the history of the northern white rhinos. They introduce the rangers, conservationists, and scientists fighting for the future of the northern white rhinos and dissect what led the species to the brink of extinction, from wars and climate change to poaching and the black market. The Last Two offers hope for the future of the environment and the fight to save the many species that call Earth home.