#Summer Stringfellow

[poppletonink]

Midnights: An Inspired Reading Recommendations List

To All The Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han (Lavender Haze)

All The Bright Places by Jennifer Niven (Maroon)

Yolk by Mary H.K. Choi (Anti-Hero)

The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han (Snow On The Beach)

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid (You're On Your Own, Kid)

Solitaire by Alice Oseman (Midnight Rain)

Moxie by Jennifer Matthieu (Question...?)

Six Of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (Vigilante Shit)

Women Don't Owe You Pretty by Florence Given (Bejeweled)

Nana by Ai Yazawa (Labyrinth)

Instant Karma by Marissa Meyer (Karma)

Anne's House Of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery (Sweet Nothing)

Once Upon A Broken Heart by Stephanie Garber (Mastermind)

Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow (The Great War)

Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman (Bigger Than The Whole Sky)

Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (Paris)

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (High Infidelity)

One Of Us Is Lying by Karen McManus (Glitch)

The Secret History by Donna Tartt (Would've, Could've, Should've)

The Bookish Life of Nina Hill by Abbi Waxman (Dear Reader)

Better Than The Movies by Lynn Painter (Hits Different)

[rockislandadultreads]

Goodreads Choice Awards 2022: Historical Fiction Opening Round Nominees

Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow

In the summer of 1995, ten-year-old Joan, her mother, and her younger sister flee her father's violence, seeking refuge at her mother's ancestral home in Memphis. Half a century ago, Joan's grandfather built this majestic house in the historic Black neighborhood of Douglass - only to be lynched days after becoming the first Black detective in Memphis. This wasn't the first time violence altered the course of Joan's family's trajectory, and she knows it won't be the last. Longing to become an artist, Joan pours her rage and grief into sketching portraits of the women of North Memphis - including their enigmatic neighbor Miss Dawn, who seems to know something about curses.

Unfolding over seventy years through a chorus of voices, Memphis weaves back and forth in time to show how the past and future are forever intertwined. It is only when Joan comes to see herself as a continuation of a long matrilineal tradition - and the women in her family as her guides to healing - that she understands that her life does not have to be defined by vengeance. That the sole weapon she needs is her paintbrush.

Four Treasures of the Sky by Jenny Tinghui Zhang

Daiyu never wanted to be like the tragic heroine for whom she was named, revered for her beauty and cursed with heartbreak. But when she is kidnapped and smuggled across an ocean from China to America, Daiyu must relinquish the home and future she imagined for herself. Over the years that follow, she is forced to keep reinventing herself to survive. From a calligraphy school, to a San Francisco brothel, to a shop tucked into the Idaho mountains, we follow Daiyu on a desperate quest to outrun the tragedy that chases her. As anti-Chinese sentiment sweeps across the country in a wave of unimaginable violence, Daiyu must draw on each of the selves she has been - including the ones she most wants to leave behind - in order to finally claim her own name and story.

Peach Blossom Spring by Melissa Fu

It is 1938 in China and, as a young wife, Meilin’s future is bright. But with the Japanese army approaching, Meilin and her four year old son, Renshu, are forced to flee their home. Relying on little but their wits and a beautifully illustrated hand scroll, filled with ancient fables that offer solace and wisdom, they must travel through a ravaged country, seeking refuge.

Years later, Renshu has settled in America as Henry Dao. Though his daughter is desperate to understand her heritage, he refuses to talk about his childhood. How can he keep his family safe in this new land when the weight of his history threatens to drag them down? Yet how can Lily learn who she is if she can never know her family’s story?

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart

Growing up in a housing estate in Glasgow, Mungo and James are born under different stars - Mungo a Protestant and James a Catholic - and they should be sworn enemies if they're to be seen as men at all. Yet against all odds, they become best friends as they find a sanctuary in the pigeon dovecote that James has built for his prize racing birds. As they fall in love, they dream of finding somewhere they belong, while Mungo works hard to hide his true self from all those around him, especially from his big brother Hamish, a local gang leader with a brutal reputation to uphold. And when several months later Mungo's mother sends him on a fishing trip to a loch in Western Scotland with two strange men whose drunken banter belies murky pasts, he will need to summon all his inner strength and courage to try to get back to a place of safety, a place where he and James might still have a future.

Take My Hand by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

Montgomery, Alabama 1973. Fresh out of nursing school, Civil Townsend has big plans to make a difference, especially in her African American community. At the Montgomery Family Planning Clinic, she intends to help women make their own choices for their lives and bodies.

But when her first week on the job takes her down a dusty country road to a worn down one-room cabin, she’s shocked to learn that her new patients are children - just 11 and 13 years old. Neither of the Williams sisters has even kissed a boy, but they are poor and Black and for those handling the family’s welfare benefits that’s reason enough to have the girls on birth control. As Civil grapples with her role, she takes India, Erica and their family into her heart. Until one day, she arrives at the door to learn the unthinkable has happened and nothing will ever be the same for any of them.

Decades later, with her daughter grown and a long career in her wake, Dr. Civil Townsend is ready to retire, to find her peace and to leave the past behind. But there are people and stories that refuse to be forgotten. That must not be forgotten. Because history repeats what we don’t remember.

[nolut]

CLICK THE LINK TO LISTEN

Apart from Dean Wilson, who else predicted the result against Middlesborough? Brian Horne on the Millwall summer camp in Portugal and Stringfellows in the 80s. Paul Loding - Come and join training at 7.30 pm at St Pauls, Salter Road. Millwall Lionesses reviewed. PLUS

[tired-pidge]

Things no one wanted or needed to know OC edition

Sexualities

Ellie: Bisexual | Biromantic - open about her interests in both men and women, doesn’t want to fall in love.

Em: Homosexual | Homoromantic - GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS, total disaster gay, will die if a pretty girl smiles at her.

Summer: Heterosexual | Heteroromantic - Hasn’t got laid in way too long. Is trying internet dating but only because Em set it up for her.

Marisol: Bisexual | Biromantic - 70/20 ratio with females being the 70. Will casually flirt with you regardless of the situation.

Animal Association

Ellie: Barn owls and mexican black kingsnakes

Em: Bluejays

Summer: Ragdoll cats

Marisol: Violet-backed starling

Nickelodeon V Cartoon Network V Disney

Ellie: Another Jetix kid, mainly because it had the most martial arts/fighting type shows on it. She was really into The Jackie Chan Adventures and American Dragon: Jake Long. Also Power Rangers.

Em: Cartoon Network - Anything Scooby Doo related and she’s there.

Summer: Didn’t really watch TV when she was a kid, preferred reading. A big fan of Lord of the Rings as a child.

Marisol: Disney - Wizards of Waverley place for the win

[broadwaybaggins]

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me. Actually, I'm calling in all the favors you owe me," she said. First line fanfic

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me. Actually, I'm calling in all the favors you owe me," she said.

“I owe you favors already? That doesn’t sound like me.” Emma grinned at Mary as she rifled through her dufflebag, searching for the contraband candy and other assorted junk food that she had stashed there. Lights’ out for the campers had been thirty minutes ago, and the counselors were meeting up to “unwind” after the long day--which meant drinking, s’mores making, and other such shenanigans.

“I’m serious, Emma. Oh, hey, Cheeto me.” Mary caught the bag of Cheetos that Emma tossed her way and opened it in one practiced motion. “I need to know everything you can tell me about that Jed Foster.”

“Ah. Trouble in the health lodge?”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Only if you call him second-guessing every single decision I made trouble. He even asked me if I was sure I wanted to use that brand of calamine lotion on Hattie’s mosquito bites.”

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you about him. He’s a bit...prickly.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. You know what he told me? ‘I know more about these things than you.’ As if we’re not both pre-med and there’s really that many ways to treat a damn mosquito bite. What is his problem?”

Emma shrugged, opening up a bag of Sun Chips. “He usually works here with his girlfriend, but she got a fancy internship in LA instead this year. Didn’t even talk to him about it, so I guess he’s pretty pissed. He shouldn’t take it out on you, though, that’s not cool.”

Mary sighed, running a hand through her bobbed hair. “It’s not. At least he’s decent with the kids. That’s about the only thing that kept me from trying to beat him to death with an Ace bandage.”

“He’s nice once you get to know him, I promise. It just...takes a while.”

Mary considered her thoughtfully. “Samuel said the same thing. I guess that’s as good an endorsement as any.”

“Laaaaaaaaaaaay-deeeeeeeeeeees!” a new voice sang, and Emma watched as Anne Hastings strode into view. She had a tote bag emblazoned with various logos for Broadway shows slung over her shoulder, and from inside it Emma could hear bottles clinking. “I hereby declare this party started.” She took one strap of the bag off her shoulder and began to rifle through it. “What’s your poison? I’ve got wine coolers, Fireball, a little bit of peach schnapps--”

Mary made a face. “Got anything good in there?”

Anne fixed Mary with a withering look. “Excuse me, baroness, but some of us actually have to rely on our paltry counselor’s salary! I was a bit limited in my selections at the local excuse for a liquor store!”

“It’s okay, Anne. I’m sure the others will have something else if Mary prefers,” Emma said quickly, wanting to avoid an argument. She had seen the way Mary had bristled at Anne’s baroness comment, and how Anne’s eyes were glinting with annoyance. “Frank usually brings some Bud Light or something. It’s all good.”

“Fine,” Mary said after a second. Anne responded by reaching for a wine cooler out of her bag and taking a swig. “Come on, girls,” she said, linking arms with Emma and leaving Mary to bring up the rear. “The fire waits for no woman.”

They quickly made their way to the firepit where the other counselors were gathering. They walked quickly and quietly, not necessarily because they were afraid of being caught--the only real danger was if they woke up Mrs. Brannan, whose tiny cabin was right next to the dining hall--but because the act of sneaking around made everything seem so much more fun and exciting.

They were among the last to arrive. Samuel and Charlotte were there, sitting close together, Sam’s guitar propped against the log next to them. Emma saw Alice wearing tiny cutoffs and what was perhaps the tiniest bikini top known to man. Emma wasn’t sure how she wasn’t freezing her buns off. Anne immediately abandoned them when she spotted Byron, launching herself at him as if he were a soldier returning from war that she hadn’t seen in years. 

“How long has that been a thing?” Mary asked as she watched Byron shove his tongue down Anne’s throat. She turned away and reached for one of the Bud Lights that Emma had mentioned. She popped the top and took a sip, grimacing. “Beer is gross.”

“And yet we drink it.”

The arrival of Jed Foster caused both girls to turn towards him. He, too, was clutching a can of Bud that was currently sweating into his palm. A guitar was slung over his shoulder like a backpack. “Hey, Jed,” Emma said kindly.

“My dear Miss Green. How is life in the art barn?”

“Oh, you know how it is.” 

His eyes flickered over to Mary almost nervously. “Mary.”

“Jed.” She nodded at his guitar. “You play?”

“When the moment calls for it,” he said coolly.

All right, this was interesting. Despite her earlier animosity, Emma could see clear interest in Mary’s eyes as she gazed at Jed. Anne would say that Mary had a lady-boner for him, and Emma wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong.

“I’m gonna...get a drink,” she mumbled, leaving the two to work through their mutual sexual tension in their own time. She turned and almost immediately collided with a warm body that smelled of campfire and pine. She knew because her nose collided with his shirt.

“Woah!” Emma felt hands on her upper arms--she’d worn a tank top and was already starting to feel chilly, but the contact caused warmth to go straight through her--to steady her. “My bad. Sorry, Emma.”

“Henry!” There he was, wearing the same outfit as earlier when they’d been in the loft together, but now his sleeves were rolled up a little and he was barefoot. There was a band-aid on his thumb that hadn’t been there earlier. “What happened to you?”

Henry shrugged. “Little disagreement with a bee. Jed and Mary fixed me up. Can I get you a drink? We have quite a selection. Beer, or beer. Or...” he grinned and held up another six-pack, already half gone. “Beer!”

“Anne brought some stuff, but I think she’s...busy.”

“That’s one word for it. Has she worked here long?”

“Yeah, this is her...” Emma tried to think. It was a little hard to focus when he was looking at her like that, the firelight shining on his face. “Fourth summer? Fifth summer? I can’t remember. Fourth, I think. She started when she was like seventeen.”

“What’s the deal with the accent?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Like, is it an act, or...”

Emma laughed. “I can see why you’d think so, but it’s actually real. She’s English. Or half English, at least. I can’t remember which parent.”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

Henry winced as Byron’s voice rang out through the camp. He had climbed up onto a stump just outside of the circle of logs around the fire and held one of Anne’s bottles high above his head. “Isn’t he worried about waking the kids?”

“Byron doesn’t worry about anything.”

“Your attention please!” Byron bellowed. “Counselors of our beloved Camp Green Wood! Another summer has begun! Another summer of camraderie, friendship, and shenanigans--”

“Get to the fuckin’ point, Hale!” Frank called out, his arm slung over Alice’s shoulder. His words caused a ripple of laughter around the circle.

“Come on, let’s sit down. He does this every year and we need to be sitting for it, it’s a whole thing,” Emma leaned up to whisper in Henry’s ear. They made their way to the circle and sat down on the only remaining empty log, between Mary and Jed and Sam and Charlotte. It was a bit crowded by this point, so Emma ended up with her entire side pressed up against Henry. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d stolen a bottle of Alice’s signature Georgia Peach body spray.

Byron put a dramatic finger to his lips. In case the message wasn’t abundantly clear, Anne’s loud “Shhhhhhhhh!”, followed by “Shut the fuck up, Stringfellow!” brought about the desired dramatic silence.

Byron hopped off the stump, still brandishing the bottle. “I hereby declare the summer officially....” he paused for effect. “Started!”

He smashed the bottle against the stump like he was christening a yacht. It exploded, and the assembled counselors let out appreciative claps and cheers that almost drowned out Anne’s screech of “I didn’t put the tarp down! You said you’d let me put the tarp down! YOU ARE CLEANING UP EVERY BIT OF THAT BROKEN GLASS, BYRON HALE!”

“He does that every year?” Henry asked, his expression unreadable.

“Every year. And every year he forget to do it in a way that doesn’t release broken glass everywhere. You can set your watch by it.”

“This place is crazy,” Henry remarked, but he didn’t sound scared off by this fact. Someone was passing around a bag of marshmallows, and Henry took two and handed one over to Emma.

“What kind of marshmallow toaster are you?” he asked. “Let it get nice and golden, or put it straight in the fire?”

Charlotte handed Emma one of the marshmallow skewers, and Emma answered by sticking it right into the center of the flames. Henry looked aghast.

“No!” he cried. “No, no, wrong! You’ve got to do it slowly, gently...”

“It’s no use, Rev,” Charlotte said, nudging Emma with her shoulder. “I’ve tried to talk her out of it so many times. Our Emma just lives for chaos.”

Emma retrieved her burning marshmallow and quickly blew out the remaining flames, leaving it charred just the way she liked it. “You’re both wrong. This is the only way to do it.”

Sam had been strumming his guitar gently, tuning it as Jed worked on his. Mary perched nearby, eating a s’more and pretending she wasn’t watching. Sam gave one final strum and looked up. “All right! Any requests?”

“You promised me some Sheryl Crow,” Charlotte reminded him.

“Later, Char. You don’t start a set with Sheryl Crow.” Jed’s face implied that such a thing was ludicrous. Emma wondered how much trouble she’d be in if she throw her flip-flop at him.

Perry, one of the junior counselors, had been creeping their way. He tapped Sam on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Huh? Oh, sure, why not.” Sam conferred with Jed for a moment before counting them off. “Okay, one-two-three-four.”

“When I wake up, oh I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you!”

The song was met with a mix of groans and cheers. Henry looked up from assembling his s’more with precision and laughed. “This is definitely gonna be an interesting summer.”

Emma grinned and hoped she wasn’t imagining the way he seemed to lean closer to her as he said it.

[nanowrimo]

“In fiction, setting can be an under-utilized tool. It should be as important as the characters and you can use it to engage your reader, reveal characterization, and much more. How does your character interact with the world around them? How does the setting interact with the characters? What are the emotions evoked in your character by the space? Make sure to think about these questions to bring both your characters and their surroundings to life.“

—Lisa Stringfellow writes middle grade fiction and has a not-so-secret fondness for fantasy with a dark twist. Her debut fantasy A Comb of Wishes was published on February 8, 2022 by HarperCollins/Quill Tree Books and was named an ABA Indie Introduce and an Indie Next Kids’ title. The book has received starred reviews and is included on 2022 summer reading lists by The Horn Book and the TODAY show’s Read With Jenna Jr. Lisa’s work often reflects her West Indian and Black southern heritage. She is a middle school teacher and lives in Boston, Massachusetts, with her children and two bossy cats.

What kind of sensory details do you usually add to your story settings? Let Lisa know, or thank her for her Camp Care Package!

[jeanmoreaux]

*✧ — AUGUST WRAP UP

you all remember the text post i wrote about how overreading is a sign i am not coping well with something and actually procrastinating life. and how an anon in my inbox said “i tell my sister's boyfriend the number of books i read this month and he thinks he should congratulate me, but it's literally a shameful catholic confession that i should atone for with penance.”? this post is my shameful catholic confession. nothing more to add. if things keep going like this september might look similar.... someone pls send help. (don’t worry, i am doing fine, i’m just being dramatic.)

highlights of my months were all the new favourites, my reread/kind-of-buddy-read of loveless (shout out to jo for putting up with me) AND my reread of the hunger games and catching fire. these books still slap so hard. can’t wait to start mockingjay once i am done with my library books.

2022 reading goal: 169/100 books

2022 pages goal: 59,566/35,000 pages

previous wrap ups

as alway, feel free to drop book recs, questions, or opinions in my inbox; i am always happy to talk to you about books! <3

* –> newly added to my favourites shelf

follow: my goodreads | my storygraph | my bookstagram

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

* Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus | ★★★★★

The Midnight Library by Matt Haig | ★★★☆☆

Youngblood by Sasha Laurens | ★1/2☆☆☆ | review

Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson | ★★★★★

Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa, translated by Alison Watts | ★★★☆☆ | review

Unfollow: A Memoir of Loving and Leaving the Westboro Baptist Church by Megan Phelps-Roper |  ★★★★1/2

Heaven by Mieko Kawakami | ★★★★☆

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende | ★★★★★ | review

The Trees by Percival Everett | ★★★★☆

Upgrade by Blake Crouch | ★★1/2☆ | review

Lady Susan by Jane Austen | ★★★★☆

Out There: Stories by Kate Folk | ★★★★3/4

* Briefly, A Delicious Life by Nell Stevens | ★★★★★ | review

Sanditon by Jane Austen | ★★★★☆

In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens | ★★★☆☆

Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong | ★★★★★

* Kindred by Octavia E. Butler | ★★★★★

Beautiful World, Where Are You by Sally Rooney | ★★★★1/2

Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow | ★★★★☆

Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton | ★★★1/4☆ | review

Lore Olympus (Season 2) by Rachel Smythe | ★★★★☆

The Mirror Season by Anna-Marie McLemore | review

Fiona and Jane by Jean Chen Ho | ★★★1/4☆

* All the Lovers in the Night by Mieko Kawakami | ★★★★★ | review

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler | ★★★★1/2

Funny You Should Ask by Elissa Sussman | ★3/4☆☆☆

Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler | ★★★★★

Nightcrawling by Leila Mottley | ★★★★1/2

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton | ★★★3/4☆

The Daughter of Doctor Moreau by Silvia Moreno-Garcia | ★★★★☆

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reread

Loveless by Alice Oseman | ★★★★1/4

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins | ★★★★★ | review

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins | ★★★★★ | review

Sadie by Courtney Summers | ★★★★★ | review

[myfontz]

Nicky Laatz (1 di 2)

Nicky Laatz è lo studio basato a Città del Capo, Sudafrica e che porta il nome della sua fondatrice.

website

[jomiddlemarch]

When good Americans die, they go to Paris, part III

Alice, in September, Mary had said and lying awake in the spill of moonlight beside his wife, Jed marveled again at how perfectly Mary the remark had been, the exquisite economy of words married to an unexpected loveliness, a reflection of her graceful, incisive mind and unfortunately for Henry Hopkins, the incontrovertible truth.

Jed often found himself thus, his mind still restless, too alert to drift off as easily as Mary did, even more so with her pregnancy. When it had been Eliza next to him, her bright hair like a silver plait between them, he had stewed and fretted, finding consolation only in the stratagem of various complex surgeries, more often rising bleary-eyed and resentful; he did not feel guilty for it now but he accepted he had been wrong to hold her slumber against her, wrong to assume it was either peaceful or dreamless. As Mary slept, he was able to let his mind roam without any underlying vitriol poisoning him. Memories came to him in equal measure with innovation and if Mary woke to find him still thinking, her hands caressing his face were often enough to bring him Morpheus’s welcome—or Aphrodite’s delights. Tonight, his thoughts turned to his old friend Henry, who, for want of either, had fled to Paris. In the dim light of the waning moon, Jed remembered that late summer. That early, terrible fall.

They’d been busy enough, even though it was nothing compared to Chickamauga. General Meade spent the month in battles that were half skirmish, half debacle, but there wasn’t a full-on annihilation and if the rates of dysentery remained steady, so did their supply of rice, sorghum, meal and lye, which went a fair way to keeping the hospital tolerable. They’d been happy enough, more than Jed felt he personally deserved—Mary had made a sanctuary of the house he leased on Prince Street, without any of the elaborate draperies and bric-a-brac that Eliza had favored, placing her few ornaments to advantage and making sure there were fresh flowers and books in equal profusion. Anne Hastings was as close as she could come to contentedness, having finally achieved the Head Nurse position and so had become almost kindly to Mrs. Foster when she visited the wards to write letters and sit beside the boys her husband had stitched together.

The efficient running of the hospital meant Major McBurney had ample time to devote to his own esoteric devices and studies. He was rarely seen on the wards but only required endless pots of whatever passed for coffee to be delivered to his office on a tray; there had been no sequelae to the peach tart fiasco. Henry Hopkins and Emma Green, though both attentive to their vocations, were growing closer in a way too sweetly innocent and shy for anyone to remark upon; not even Byron Hale could find it within himself to comment on the roses in Emma’s cheeks or the way the minister’s voice rang out when he sang hymns of an evening. Perhaps he was yet another example of hubris, but Jed freely admitted he could not have imagined that by month’s end, he’d be standing up for Major Clayton McBurney at his wedding to ashen-faced Emma Green, officiated by Henry Hopkins in a frayed and mended frock coat, his voice even, each word as final as the clods of earth thrown in an open grave.

If only it had not rained so much—then perhaps the body of the murdered Union officer would not have been so readily revealed in Mrs. Green’s dahlia bed. If only his feckless killers had gone through his pockets, finding the slim leather folio in its oilskin wrappings, the letters and notes incriminating Alice Green as a Confederate spy and member of the Golden Crescent only slightly wilted by their time underground.

If only Frank Stringfellow had been involved in the commission of the crime and the disposition of the corpse—his past actions promised that he would have minimized any remaining evidence, even if it meant setting off a bomb, there would have been nothing left of the officer but his brass buttons melted into a solitary ingot. If only Alice had not come to her sister, frantic, unkempt, attracting every eye with her blonde curls plastered wet with rain (or tears) against flaming cheeks, the sly coquette far removed from the young girl who finally saw what the future held for her: prison and then the noose.

If only there had been any other member of her family she could turn to in a crisis, but the Green family pride could not conceal their many weaknesses. If only their morals had not been concentrated in one single soul, the one they’d virtually cast out.

If only…

“It doesn’t do to underestimate incompetence, Jedediah,” Mary had said when he’d paused for breath. They sat nursing cold cups of chamomile tea at the dining room table the night of the wedding, the lamplight gold on Mary’s chestnut hair. “It doesn’t do any good to anybody.”

“And that’s what Emma Green, excuse me, Emma McBurney has done?” he asked.

“She did all the good she was able. Alice is her sister. What else could she do?” Mary asked. She hadn’t sounded so weary in months and he searched her face, her beautiful dark eyes, the way she held the belly of the china cup in her hand very gently, but as if she might yet find some warmth in it.

“Was this your doing?” he asked. “I don’t mean to sit in judgment, just to understand—”

“No, she didn’t come to me. I didn’t help, I could never have planned this. She went to Matron, to someone who wouldn’t shirk from doing something like this. Who understands better than any of us how and when to sacrifice the queen.”

What Emma McBurney, née Green, had done was practical: she had gotten herself engaged to the senior ranking Union officer in Alexandria, a well-connected, well-bred man with Southern sympathies, if his time at Princeton was anything to go by, a man of wealth and power. A man who could send his wife and sister to stay with relatives in the North, at the family estate or a more secluded cottage on the seashore where his wife and her sister might regain their health from the fevers that had laid them low in Virginia. A man who, with a wave of his hand, could summarily dismiss any rumors about conspiracies or treason before they became allegations. A man broken by the War yet with his sense of honor still intact, a man who would marry a young woman he’d compromised. A man who could be compromised, if a young woman was willing to risk everything, to lay her hand on a scarred cheek and murmur about only wanting to help, a young woman who made sure that Matron opened the door wide at just that moment, to create a tableau that could not be unseen by Sister Isabella and Dr. Hale, Emma Green in the arms of Major Clayton McBurney, Emma Green in love.

What Emma had done was sacrifice herself for her sister’s life and honor. She’d kept her plan a secret and she hadn’t spoken a word to Henry Hopkins since Major McBurney announced their brief engagement. She’d been determined to be a good wife and she’d agreed with everything her betrothed said, only asking that her sister might come to stay with her, away from the battle-front. Emma had worn one of her mother’s silk dresses cut down and retrimmed to the wedding—it was a deep blue, the color of the Union, much darker than her eyes. She’d trusted that Henry would understand what she’d done and that she never expected to see him again.  

Within a week, Mrs. McBurney and her sister had boarded a train bound for Saratoga Springs, bid adieu by Mary Foster and James Green; Major McBurney had been most extremely correct, kissing his wife’s gloved hand as she stood at the threshold of the hospital, then returned to his study, shaking his head. Within a week, Mary became ill, taking nearly all of Jed’s attention until she was able to rise from her bed and keep down more than dry toast, until they determined her illness would be of fixed duration and promised a joyous, fruitful end. Within a week, Henry Hopkins had lost his faith and his heart and any fear for his safety.

Within a week, it was October.

[deracinemagazine]

Volume VIII | Summer 2021—Now Live

Volume VIII is now live! Click here to read the latest issue.

We are deeply thankful to our contributors and readers for your support. Without you, Déraciné would not be possible. We hope that you will stay safe and healthy this summer.

Contributors: Robert Beveridge, Laura Stringfellow, Marie Fields, Chris Blexrud, Sydney Faith, AD Knoss, Jana Bauk, Michael Russell, Richard LeDue, Shiksha Dheda, Eli Dunham, Claire Loader, Goddfrey Sue Hammit, Scott Hermanson, Elisa Subin, Timothy Johnson, Alfredo Salvatore Arcilesi, Aron Brown, Valerie Wayson, Talya Jankovits, Kyle Hemmings, Wayne Wolfson, T.W. Selvey, and Jj D'Onofrio.

[fericita-s]

Mercy Street Characters as Hamilton Lyrics:

Charlotte Jenkins: When you’re living on your knees, you rise up. Tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up. Tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up.

Samuel Diggs: There’s a million things I haven’t done but just you wait, just you wait.

Anne Hastings: I am the one thing in life I can control. I am inimitable, I am an original.

Jed Foster: One last time, please relax, have a drink with me.

Mary Phinney: I’m a little nervous, but I can’t show it.

Emma Green: I am not throwing away my shot!

Henry Hopkins: We’ll never be truly free until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me.

Belinda: Raise a glass to freedom. Something they can never take away.

Matron Brannon: We in the shit now, somebody gotta shovel it!

Alice Green: I will never be satisfied.

Frank Stringfellow: ‘Cause when push comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love

Silas Bullen: Ladies! … There are so many to deflower

Byron Hale: Time to get some pistols and a doctor on site.

Eliza Foster: You forfeit all rights to my heart, You forfeit the place in our bed. You sleep in your office instead, With only the memories of when you were mine, I hope that you burn.

Mama Green: Talk less! Smile more! Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for!

Summers: I'm a General! Whee!

Percival Squivers: I never had a group of friends before, I promise that I’ll make y’all proud.

[poppletonink]

Summer Reading Wrap Up - June 2023 - August 2023

June 2023

Schoolgirl by Osamu Dazai - ★★★★☆ - Review

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson - ★★★★☆ - Review

Recitatif by Toni Morrison - ★★★★★ - Review

Better Than The Movies by Lynn Painter - ★★★★★ - Review

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid - ★★★★☆ - Review

July 2023

Six Of Crows by Leigh Bardugo - ★★★★★ - Review

Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow - ★★★★☆ - Review

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath - ★★★★★

Cinderella by The Grimm Brothers - ★★★★☆

Best Friend's Brother by Zeppazariel - ★★★★★ - Review

Inkcap and the Nethers by Kylie Dixon - ★★★★☆

August 2023

Girlcrush by Florence Given - ★★★☆☆ - Review

Violet Bent Backward Over The Grass by Lana Del Rey - ★★★☆☆ - Review

The Lost Boys Issue #1 by Tim Seeley - ★★★★☆

The Lost Boys Issue #2 by Tim Seeley - ★★★★☆

1984 by George Orwell - ★★★★★

How To Get Over a Boy by Chidera Eggerue - ★★★★☆ - Review

Kristy's Great Idea by Raina Telgemeier - ★★★★☆

Komi Can't Communicate Vol. 1 by Tomohito Oda - ★★★★☆

The Lost Boys Issue #3 by Tim Seeley - ★★★★☆

All Good Things by Amanda Prowse - ★★★★☆ - Review

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon Vol. 1 by Naoko Takeuchi - ★★★★☆

She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen - ★★★★★ - Review

Atomic Habits by James Clear - ★★★★☆

The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han - ★★★★☆

The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston - ★★★★★ - Review

[sagiow]

We run a very tight ship - Chapter 4

kickass awesome moodboard courtesy of @jomiddlemarch​

Read the first three chapters here or on AO3

“Welcome aboard, Miss Green. Ready to set sail for the grandest of voyages?”

Emma smiled tightly, forcing her eyes to follow her lips, and knowing they failed. Instead, she averted them, hiding their escape behind a wholly unnecessary adjustment of her glasses. She stood between the First Mate and the chaplain in the haie d’honneur greeting her family aboard the most luxurious ship of their fleet, in the most breathtaking of atriums, by the grandest of staircases - so the heavy-handed brochure said. Captain Summers bowed low to the young lady, and lower to her mother beside her.

“Captain Summers,” she offered her hand daintily, never more the great lady then among her grossly underpaid staff. “I trust everything has been arranged as instructed?”

“To the letter, Mrs. Green. Your guests have been given all the best cabins, the most prestigious reserved, of course, for the bridal party. I must say, your daughter has truly outdone herself with the decoration and planning. Alexandria Line’s future is bright indeed,” he enthused, to Emma’s inner cringing. Dial it down, dude.

“Well she better has!” snapped the bride-to-be. “My wedding is the event of the year in this town and probably all of Virginia: it has to be absolutely perfect in every way. A question of Green family pride, which I’m sure she has very close to heart,” she added sweetly, as a cat offering a cleanly killed prey to its owner, and Emma braced for her to start eating the head. “After all, it’s probably the only Green wedding she’ll ever have the chance of organizing.” Crunch, there it is.

Ignoring her gift, Emma distributed programs to the guests, the embossed letters popping elegantly from the cotton cardstock. “We will let y’all settle in and hope you join the Captain tonight at eight for a welcome dinner,” she explained, her voice pleasant and professional, just greeting regular guests onboard as she did twice a month, every month of the year, year after year since her very first summer job as a stewardess; despite her mother's protests, Papa Green knew the value of learning the ropes from the very first rung up. “Do spend tomorrow getting acquainted with our wonderful Empress Queen and her numerous amenities; I personally recommend our luxurious spa and state-of-the-art virtual golf course. The rehearsal will be held on Tuesday, giving us Wednesday for any and all last-minute adjustments, and we’ll have the ceremony on Thursday. Reverend Hopkins is our onboard chaplain, and will be performing the service.”

On cue, the tall man next to her stepped forward, his hands clasped piously before him, visibly not as comfortable with discomfort as she was. “It’s a great honor to be marrying you, Miss Green,” he said, but cut himself short. Oh no, you beautiful doofus.

“You'll be what now, Reverend?” exclaimed the groom-to-be, his arm wrapping around Alice’s waist possessively. “Maybe buy me a drink or two before you marry my fiancée?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stringfellow,” the chaplain stammered. “I misspoke. I meant-”

“Oh, lighten up, buddy. I’m just fuc- sorry, screwing with ya. Just don’t misspeak – or stutter, ugh-  during the actual wedding, will ya?” 

God, please do, she prayed intently, while Frank turned his devilish dark eyes to her.“Hey, Soon-to-be-Sis, you better have stocked up on that premium bourbon I asked for, and left a case in the Honeymoon Suite. Which, as I also specifically requested, now better have mirrors on the ceiling and a heart-shaped hot tub."

"Oh Frank, no!” gasped Alice, shoving him away forcefully. “I insisted on 1896 Paris Art Nouveau, not 1986 Niagara Falls By-the-Hour Motel!”  

“Just fucking with you, babe,” he replied with a slap to her ass. Always the gentleman, Frank. “No, seriously though, Em, one major problem with that that fancy schedule of yours: when the hell’s the bachelor party?”

“The bachelor party’s anytime we’re not in her fancy schedule, Bro!” shouted a man descending the stairs. He was not clad in the cruise line’s signature green and white uniform, but in the most garish Hawaiian shirt and ostentatious sunglasses Emma had ever seen, as did the rest of the group of young men behind him. This time, she did not bother to hold her irritated sigh.

“Jimmy my boy! I knew there’d be no better best man for me! Finally, some good fuckin’ plannin’!” The two men embraced, slapping each other vigorously on the back. “You,” Frank then pointed to a helpless steward. “Take my stuff to my room, she’ll tell you which. And you,” he added with another clap to Jimmy’s chest. “Take me to the booze.” And without as much as a goodbye to their families, they stormed off across the atrium, a frat boy riot of jeers, shouts and high fives.

Slowly, Emma returned her attention to her overly merry mother, her smug sister, the clueless captain and the confused churchman. “Well, boys will be boys,” dismissed the matriarch, to relieved chuckles all around. “But they are right. There is so much to celebrate! Young love, and such a brilliant match! Alexandria Line and Stringfellow Sails coming together, what a dream! Come, dear, let’s get you settled in.”

With a gracious gesture, she motioned for the remainder of the bridal party to follow them and she closed the parade with a touch to Emma’s arm. “Do come by shortly, darling, I want to review the menu for tonight,” she said. “I do hope you’ve given our family’s famous desert its rightful place of honor.” That ancient apple nightmare? Yeah, rightfully in the trash, Mother, but she only agreed meekly. 

The families gone, the crew followed suit with visible relief, until Emma was left with the silent reverend, who shuffled his feet, perhaps regretting not having managed to vanish along with the rest.

“Uh... my congratulations.” He somehow made it sound like both a question and an apology. “They seem... swell.”

She could only do what she was taught best to do in such cases: smile and nod. And scream internally so loudly that each and every one of her cells shook.

“I can hear that,” he said, startling her. How the fuck- “The hamsters spinning, in your head. Something’s bothering you. Anything I can do to help?”

She looked at him, at the kind concern she’d seen so many times offered to the crew members on their long voyages away from friends and family, now focused solely upon her, and it was both wonderful and terrifying at once. She tucked an imaginary loose wisp of hair back into her bun and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just the pressure of planning this event. It’s different when it’s... personal." Like your harpy of a baby sister marrying your jackass of a high school sweetheart.  

“I can imagine. Tall order you’ve got there. What was it, 1896 Art Deco?”

“Art Nouveau,” she corrected. “She’d have decapitated you for that mistake. Actually, no, that’s too swift and painless. Eviscerated’s more like it. With a blunt butter knife. Or her bare hands, if she hadn't just gotten her nails done.”

“Lovely. I see why the hamsters scamper thus; you’ve let the viper into their cage. You need a mongoose to chase it off: I might have just the thing.”  

Curious, she let him continue, cradling the leftover programs against her chest to muffle the embarrassingly loud drumming that emanated from it. “I have to cover for José at the jazz bar tonight, you should come by. I’ll make you the special drink I concocted for the occasion: the Blushing Bride. Now I see the name’s totally wrong. And the formula, too; I think it’ll need less subtlety and a lot more bitterness. Will you please help me?” he asked, leaning closer, with that somewhat shy smile of his that just begged to be kissed.

Instead, she pushed her glasses up her nose from the half-millimeter they had slid down, and felt in horror her body do that weird half-shrug, half-nod shuffle that it thought conveyed casual nonchalance. Real smooth, nerd. “If I’m released on time from that sure-to-be-extensive menu review... sure.”

“I’ll have you paged urgently at ten, something about the swan that’s being fattened for the wedding dinner,” he winked. “Or the peacocks they probably requested to act as ringbearers or footrests. Ha, Peacocks... that should be our safeword – uh, shit, no, uh... I meant code word. Code!” Oh no. He’s even more beautiful when he blushes.  

Oh shit. He said safeword... as in sex. Kinky sex. With him.  

Oh fuck. Now I’m blushing too. And my palms are sweaty. That’s gonna stain the paper. And leave marks. That he can probably see. Nooooo.

“I’ll... let you get to it, then,” he stammered again, backing away before waving awkwardly and turning to sprint. Don’t look at his ass, don’t look at.... oh fuck me, I'm staring at a pastor’s ass. I’m going to Hell. I’m getting brutally murdered by my family first and going straight to Hell afterwards.

I just have to find a way to stop the world’s worst wedding first, and have less than five days to do so, and a beautiful chaplain-cum-bartender that’s familiar with safewords to not fuck along the way.  

I'm so unbelievably screwed.

[tired-pidge]

OC fact of the day No.5

Summer and Dick dated for around a year during high school but had a rough break up shortly after her discovering about his nightly escapades. 

[broadwaybaggins]

So fresh, so fine

“Do you think she does this on purpose? Like, to torture me?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder at the pool deck where her sister was sauntering up to the lifeguard stand.

“Who?” Anne’s voice was muffled. She poked her head out from behind a precarious tower of inner tubes and various other flotation devices. She had decided that pool noodles would be excellent fake swords and bayonets for the pageant (why the production needed fake weaponry, Emma had no idea), so they were raiding the pool house for ones they could use. Emma’s suggestion that they go and buy some that were actually new and clean had been shot down, not by Anne, surprisingly, but by her own father. James had patted Emma on the head and told her to “just try and do it on the cheap, sweetie,” and now, here they were.

“Alice.”

“I hate to be the one to say it, but it doesn’t really seem like she’s doing anything.” Mary was standing in the doorway of the pool shed, leaning against the jamb with her arms crossed over her chest. It was her break time from the health lodge, so Emma and Anne had recruited her to be an extra set of hands. “She’s just...walking.”

The playlist that had been going all afternoon switched tracks, and suddenly Lady Antebellum’s “You Look Good” blasted through the speakers above the pool at full volume. Mary’s eyes widened.

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

Emma wasn’t sure whether Alice had planned this specifically, but she wasn’t about to throw away her shot. Immediately her hips began to sway even more as she strutted her way to the lifeguard stand, turning the pool deck into her own personal runway. Emma was pretty sure she wanted to die.

“I’m thinkin’ everybody better stand in line,” Alice sang, her accent more pronounced than ever.  Her hips swiveled to the sultry beat of the song as she stuck out her chest and pouted her lips. “‘Cuz they need to know that your body’s comin’ with me tonight!” This lyric was directed to Frank, standing by the lifeguard stand with his shirt off and an appreciative grin on his face. Alice hooked a finger in his direction, beckoning him closer.

Emma buried her face in her hands. “I used to like this song,” she mumbled. And that guy, but let’s not open up that wound.

“Jesus Christ. That’s practically obscene. There are children here.” The disdain in Anne’s voice almost made up for the fact that there was a tiny spider making its way across her shoulder, unnoticed. Emma quickly brushed it away before Anne could see.

“That didn’t stop you and Byron from going at it last night.” Mary’s tone was almost diplomatic.

Anne shrugged. “The kids were sleeping. Nobody saw. What happens ‘round the campfire, stays ‘round the campfire.”

“This isn’t Vegas, Anne,” Mary protested.

“Someone might want to tell that to Baywatch over there.”

Frank had reached Alice now, and he spun her around. Her eyes caught Emma’s, and Emma watched her sister flash her a wicked,, triumphant grin. Emma wanted to melt right onto the deck. She wanted to take up residence in the pool shed and never come out, fading into camp legend and becoming one with the spiders and ancient floaties. She wanted--

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Emma hadn’t even seen Frank move, but the next thing any of them knew, he was hoisting Alice into the air. There was a tremendous splash that soaked the deck of the pool, and Alice sprang up like a cork a few seconds later, soaked and spluttering. Water streamed from her drenched blonde hair, and mascara ran down her face in thick, watery black lines.

Emma’s gasp of shock quickly turned into nervous giggles. After a beat, Mary and Anne joined in, holding onto each other and practically screaming with laughter. 

“FRANK!” Alice screamed. “I’m gonna kill you, Frank Stringfellow! Just look what you did! Look at my hair!”

“She knows she’s a lifeguard, right?” Mary asked. “She knows getting wet is part of the job description? It’s really important to me that she knows that.”

“She knows,” Emma choked out, then dissolved into giggles again as she watched her sister struggle to heave herself up the ladder on the side of the pool. It was slippery at the best of times, and it was probably past time to replace it.

“Lighten up, Alice! It was just a joke!” Frank protested. Alice managed to flop over onto the concrete, laying there for just a moment to catch her breath before hopping to her feet. Frank, seeming to realize that he actually was in deep shit, took off running.

“You dick! “ Alice screeched, running after him. “I’m going to kill you, you little--”

“Language!” Anne sang after her before bursting out laughing again.

“Do you think we should tell her that her swimsuit is halfway up her ass?” Mary mused.

“No!” Anne shook her head immediately. “Best let her find out on her own.”

[mercurygray]

I wish you'd write a fic where...Anne Hastings reveals a hidden talent

Oh, look, my hand slipped. Some Summer Camp AU. 

It was the bottom of the ninth, the bases were loaded, and the Camp Green Wood Girls Softball team had just chalked up an out.

"Good job, Isabella, nice try, we'll catch 'em," Mary said, trying to maintain a positive outlook as the erstwhile team coach. "Jesus, it's not the world series here, what does he want?"

"Complete and total domination," Emma said sadly from her spot on the fence next to Mary, surveying the softball field with a sigh. It was only through sheer grit that they'd clawed their way to only being down three runs -  and then the boys had decided to have Jimmy fake some kind of shoulder injury so they could bring Frank back as a pitcher in the middle of the inning, just to finish them off. "The boys have won the annual softball game since forever. And Frank just hates losing on principle."

"By three runs? Come on. Give us something to hit so we can at least save our dignity here."

"Frank doesn't believe in other people's dignity," Emma replied flatly. "He's more of a 'Sherman's March to the Sea' kind of a guy."

Civil war history references were not really Mary's strong suit. "Long fiery agony?"

"Burn it all to the ground."

Mary looked at the scoreboard and the 'take no prisoners' look on Frank's face, and tried not to look too damaged as she considered the state of her batting order and rouse what little team spirit she still had remaining after a brutal afternoon, wondering when it was acceptable to start drinking. "Come on, Anne!"

Frank looked like he was going to enjoy this particular humiliation, and ground his baseball cleat into the pitcher's mouth with particular relish as Anne squared up to the plate, adjusting her grip on the baseball bat and pausing, for a moment, to set her bat down and adjust her ponytail to requisite perkiness.

"C'mon, Stringfellow, strike her out!" "They don't even play baseball in England!" "Finish her, Frank!

Hair ready, Anne resumed her stance and Frank let fly - swish. "Strike one!"

The boys were eating it up, getting rowdier from the dugout as the possibility of striking out a batter with the bases loaded - and thus winning the game with truly humiliating show - began to materialize in front of them. "C'mon, Anne," Charlotte roared from second base. "Don't listen to them, you got this!"

Anne squared up again and looked Frank straight in the eye. Wind up, release - swish. "Strike two!"

The boys' dugout was practically manic, while the girls, from their side, tried to drown it out with various platitudes about girl power and (this from Alice, currently on third base) Frank's ability to follow through.

Out came the ball, and - THWACK. Anne drilled it deep into left field, the softball flying so hard and fast it should have been considered into the out-forest rather than the out field, Kendrick stumbling over his shoes trying to track it as it sailed up, up over the trees and out of sight, one absolutely, stunningly picture-perfect home run.

The crowd went nuts.

Anne touched two fingers to her baseball cap in mock salute to a very deflated looking Frank as she did her victory lap while the rest of the girls jumped and screamed for joy as their runners came in, Charlotte pounding the rest of the bases like she'd just won the World Series and then jumping on Anne's shoulders as she came back to home plate. "Where the fuck were you keeping that one, Hastings?"

"Pocket of my cricket whites," Anne replied with a smile, as the mob overwhelmed them. "Now, what's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?"