#and like is it inherently less valuable and “pure” if you fall in love with someone who isn't your soulmark or whatever?

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: The Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ Charles

4.25/5. Releases 9/19/2023.

Vibes: boss/employee, an Heir Hunt, a hero whose love language is hypercompetence, soft romanticism with just the right amount of angst.

After inheriting an earldom, Rufus finds himself in a dispute with his uncle--who brings up another snag in Rufus' inheritance, one Luke Doomsday. Rather than fight Luke, Rufus decides to hire him as his secretary and make him his ally. The allyship thing becomes rather complicated, however--not only because Luke is a part of a famous smuggling family, but because Rufus actually super wants to bone him. And Luke might be up to more than Rufus realizes...

KJ Charles is one of those authors with such a strong, distinct voice. That's consistent here, as is the rich setting and sense of subculture inherent in her Doomsday books. I think I might still prefer The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen, but that's pure taste (and me being in love with Joss Doomsday). This was a more than worthy followup, and the boss/employee romance that everyone who's uncertain about boss/employee romances should read.

Quick Takes:

--Yes yes Rufus is Luke's boss, and this is something they actually talk about (and, in a very consensual and flirty and normal way) fetishize together. But rest assured, the power dynamics are fully acknowledged and confronted. Like, Rufus initially does feel a bit bad about lusting after his secretary, and he does make it very clear that Luke does not have to do anything he doesn't want to do. (Luke is... significantly less concerned.) I appreciated that.

I also appreciated that Luke points out that an official legal title does not necessarily... peak power... make? Which is a theme throughout this book. Yes, Rufus is an earl, but so many people look down on him despite his title because he is an ex-soldier and isn't able to read very easily, among other things. Yes, Luke is this lower-class guy who's risen up to become a secretary (in part because his cousin Joss Doomsday is absolutely railing a local baronet, bless) but the Doomsdays are also quite powerful in the era. Their power may not be "official", but it has a lot of reach that Rufus and his family can't quite grasp. So that does give Luke a bit more leverage in the relationship, and I found that so different from a lot of historicals that worship the title.

--Going back to reading being a struggle for Rufus... I loved how this was approached by the book. I never got the sense that Rufus needed to learn how to read more easily in order to be seen as a valuable person by anyone who mattered. Anyone who got on Rufus about this issue was an asshole. The main reason why he really "needed" to do anything was because he needed to know what he was looking at re: certain documents related to his responsibilities as earl. The problem was practical, versus being connected to Rufus's intellect in any sense; and it wasn't presented as him being this poor little lost boy, either. It wasn't condescending.

It did give Charles a great opportunity to weave in one of the most touching parts of the novel, however. So much of Rufus and Luke's romance is about the little things that they say and do for each other.

--There's a lot of cozy domesticity in this book? Much of it takes place on this estate that Luke and Rufus are trying to whip back into shape, and they spend so much time working together. You really get this lived in sense of their relationship, despite the fact that they haven't been together all that long.

--In a similar sense, this is one of those books where you just kind of feel like love creeps up on the leads in this very normal way. Like, there aren't a lot of BIG ROMANTICALLY CODED EVENTS (though there are a couple). Luke and Rufus falling in love is woven in throughout the story and in their everyday lives. Like, there isn't some big "omg I love him" moment; you just know that they have truly slipped into love together. It's really lovely and really quietly romantic, and I loved that.

The Sex Stuff:

KJ Charles writes sex in a way that is explicit, sexy, and like... often kind of funny? The sex in this one starts fairly early, which is something I appreciated about Country Gentleman and something I appreciated here. Like, they're definitely into each other by the time they start hooking up, but... they also just really want to throw down, you know? I loved that Rufus and Luke falling in love was aided by this sexual relationship between adults. This is very much one of those books where they're like "OH DON'T WORRY, IT'S JUST SEX, WE WON'T FALL IN LOVE!!!" Which I am trash for.

I really had a good time with this one. KJ Charles is just one of those undeniably strong writers, and I have to just give a blanket recommendation for her books.

Thanks to Netgalley and Sourcebooks Casablanca for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[slocumjoe]

2 headcanons per companion

Cait:

- Touchy person. After learning and understanding that it doesn't inherently mean pain, learns to speak and hear it as a love language. Her touches are very jock, though. Shoulder slaps, light punches, hair ruffling, kind of an older brother form of physical affection. Often gets into play-fights with MacCready.

- Has a lovely singing voice, but no one knows because she never sings. Ever. If she sang, it would be a quiet, raspy croon. The type of singing you'd expect to hear in a castle ruins at the coast during a storm. Haunting and enchanting.

Curie:

- Amazing baker, not so good at cooking. Baking is a science, cooking is more about intuition and creativity. She's a by-the-books girl, and unless she has an exact recipe, her cooking is going to taste like anxiety. Great at breads, burns eggs. Always makes delicious muffins, her soups and stews are flavorless and soggy.

She has no idea. Thinks it's fine, and no one will dare tell her to stick to dough-based foods.

- The first time she got drunk, it was off wine. She woke up with her head in agony and on the roof of a shack about 50 miles away from Sanctuary. And with a tattoo on her back. Doesnt know about the tattoo. No one knows about the tattoo. It's a spoon. A very poorly done spoon. Possibly a ladle.

Danse:

- This man may as well be a bear. He has a big appetite, sleeps like he's hibernating for winter, is covered in thick body hair. Danse will wake up only for his natural alarm, his clock alarm, or someone walking up to him and telling him to get up. No noise or physical disturbance will wake him. Nothing. As for his stomach, he isn't a glutton, but look at him. Big guy needs fuel. He can eat a normal amount and be fine, but could get himself kicked out of Golden Corral.

- Speaking of food. He eats everything with no reaction regardless of if he likes it or not. It looks like he's bored even if he's eating the rare good meal. Food is just something neutral, with cons to certain things. He prefers plainer flavors, but is immune to spice. Can drink an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce, Sriracha sauce, and a chile sauce with no expression. The blank stare and spice immunity aren't synth things, Curie and X6 are just the opposite.

Deacon:

- Takes long walks at night through settlements. Feels at peace in liminal spaces. The ruins of Boston and all the other destroyed cities don't have the same effect. Something about being the only one aware, living unnoticed in a place filled with people. It's lonely, but nothing gives the same clarity.

- Hates subway tunnels. Go on forever, too long to see what's at the end, something could be at any corner - they creep him out. If you still, you'll hear something. Machinery even when the place is inactive. Shuffling. Even stiller, might hear breathing echoing from way down a tunnel. Hates it to hell and back. Has to take a long smoke break if he has to go in one alone.

Hancock:

- Weird with kids. Likes them, but worries about himself. He isn't the...best example. He has no filter, they can tell something is wrong about him, and he just doesn't know how to act. They're just tiny humans, but there are rules. He doesn't want to accidently hurt them or inspire them to follow his screwed up footsteps.

- He doesn't care about what people think unless he cares. Some schmuck sneering at him when he pops a mentats? That guy's issue. Nick's frown? Curie's wide-eyed fretting? The way Cait's face goes soft and her eyes crinkle in sympathy?

...that matters.

He starts using less.

MacCready:

- Extravert. He needs his space, but hates being alone. Not having a support to fall back on is terrifying. The most anxious he'd ever been since Lucy died was his time alone in the Commonwealth. Sure, he had people, but not...not people of his own. Not a family. Leaving his boy was hard and being alone just as. Was often nauseous and prone to headaches until the SoSu.

- Hates the acknowledgement of intimate body parts in public. Hancock and Cait went on a tirade of sex jokes and he was just as, if not more, squeamish as the other prudes. While exploring a vault, a sex ed video came on the projector and he was red as a tomato for hours. It didn't help that he was standing in front of it and...well. You know what happens when you stand in front of projectors.

Goes all blushy when more adult talk comes up. Apparently Danse didn't know what m*sturbation was and that moment in that room nearly had him crawling out of his skin.

Nick:

- Has a little switch in his brain that decides if he's capable of math. One day he'll be a walking calculator, another he'll forget that 7 is more than 6. He was a weird math student. Did all the reading and none of the work, aced the tests. You put him under pressure and he'll crank out the craziest equations, but you ask him to multiply two 4 digit numbers and you can see a little blue swirl in his eye before he sighs and goes to fetch scratch paper. Being a good tester doesn't mean he's not a born theater kid.

- Coat pockets are portals to other dimensions. Has everything you need. Bobby pins? Check. Ammo? Check. Food rations? Clean water? Smokes? Check. A small statue of Cappy? A page from a magazine that was never released due to a MLM scam in the publishing company? Half a pair of sunglasses?

Sometimes puts random garbage in his pockets just to screw with Ellie. Other times, genuinely doesn't know where things come from. Once found a yao gui claw in his chest pocket. It's a good luck charm, but he never picked it up and no one could have slipped it in. Jokes about the coat being haunted, but only half joking.

Piper:

- Opposite to Nick, things go missing in her coat. Nick calls it "the washer" for some reason. She'll drop a pen in a pocket and never see it again. Double checks the pockets for holes and splits before heading out. Still loses things. Once lost a whole pistol.

But more interestingly. She lost a purple gel pen.

Week later, Nick pulls a purple gel pen out of his pocket.

Has a corkboard for the theories about the connection.

- Makes an amazing stew of yao gui, carrots, potatoes, stingwing honey, and various herbs. Its a family recipe that just isn't a normal stew, there's something different about it. When asked, will joke that it's human meat. Very few people realize she's joking. Either way, it has a flavor that sets it apart from other stews.

The secret?

There's a mutated form of garlic in the southeast part of the Commonwealth.

Only her family knows where it grows and what it looks like.

Preston:

- Not so much of a night owl as much as he just...doesn't have a steady circadian rhythm. You can find him in the kitchen at 1 pm asleep on the counter in the middle or awake at 1 am making a 3 tiered cake. Doesn't have an alarm clock. His sleeping pattern bothers even the poorest sleepers. Danse is visibly upset when he describes his schedule.

- His history of partners, both romantic and purely sexual, is crazy. He has the most interesting and horrifying stories. One girlfriend was convinced she was the reincarnated Mistress of Mystery. A boyfriend cheated on him with his step grandmother. He was once involved in a multi-person break up because apparently his boyfriend was in a poly relationship that went south on all fronts due to a chem deal's profits going missing as they were about to split the caps.

Don't ask about Marge.

Marge was...probably something he imagined during a fever.

X6:

- His pantries and fridge have nothing but junk food. He likes vegetables and fruit, but they take up valuable sugar space.

Once ate a giant, 200+ year expired cheesecake and puked for an hour. When Nick found out, popped a fuse. X was out of commission for...so long. Turns out he's lactose intolerant.

- Has been flirted with so many times. Each time, turned pink and lost all control of his words. He becomes a stuttering, cherry-cheeked mess at romantic interest. Not because he reciprocates, he just wasn't trained for it. There is no protocol for "Wanna come back to my place?"

Someone kissed his cheek and he actually ran and jumped out of a window to escape. Hancock has it on video and sometimes watches it to produce serotonin.

[hiccanna-tidbits]

Soulmate AU, for the reasons mentioned here highkey

[decadentrpg-blog]

WELCOME BECKY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF PROSERPINA BLACK

Admins Note: The Queen of master manipulation has arrived and I couldn’t be more excited! I absolutely adored the power and ambition that your Proserpina exudes. But as high and mighty as she is, every queen has their weakness too. She speaks sharply, glistens like a diamond and commands attention as any Black could. I can’t wait to see the schemes she creates and the strings she threads across all who fall for her ploys. Your faceclaim request for Vittoria Ceretti has been approved. Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

OUT OF CHARACTER.

Name / Alias: Becky

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 21

Timezone: PST

IN CHARACTER APPLICATION.

Full Name:

PROSERPINA. In actuality, is there a more suitable moniker for her than Proserpina? A woman in two parts: sweet Spring, the perfume of roses blooming from the heart of her, wildflower honey tone, and cruel Winter, the carmine of her lips turning morbid with fanged smile, poison steeped words cocked and primed. An ode to a goddess who is all cycles and rebirth, manipulating herself to be everyone’s dream of spring, only to reveal a heart of desolate winter; she wears both flowers and sin equally well.

EVE. God’s beloved creation, the world’s first woman, crafted from flesh and bone of man — by man’s account, a woman who had it all: paradise, the love of a God, the adoration of a husband — and the first to gamble it all for knowledge. By any and all means, Proserpina can relate: what good is having it all without the fear of losing it all? Sugar tastes all the sweeter after acid, as victory is to loss. She embraces the implications of her middle name with pride — if it were her in Eve’s place, she’d have eaten the apple whole. And so, she is what she is called: temptation’s mistress, creation divine, agony’s sweet kiss.

BLACK. The most noble and ancient House of Black. Toujours Pur. Always pure. It’s a mantra that’s been repeated over and over, all but branded into every recess of her brain. She is very much the pinnacle of her house’s ideal — dark hair and romantic features, sharp in all the wrong ways and beautiful in all the right ones. Beautiful, empty beasts, does the House of Black raise, and she is no exception.

Sexuality: “Bisexual” — She hardly likes to define such things as pleasure, which to her, is without boundaries: and as Oscar Wilde once wrote: “To define is to limit.” She doesn’t mind men, both in that she won’t begrudge them their presence, and that she barely heeds them past a certain point, all at once — but she does enjoy toying with everyone and anyone. Simply put, she enjoys cutting her teeth on the fractured egos of men, and enjoys lavishing her attention and affection on the lovelier things in life, namely, women.

Gender/Pronouns: cis, she/her

Hogwarts House: Slytherin ( expounded upon in headcanons. )

Head canons:

KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. A firm believer in the idea that if you have the information, you hold the cards, she was a little bit of a dilemma for the hat during her sorting. Despite the very firm and sure Slytherin she eventually got, the hat debated the merits of sorting her into Ravenclaw — purely for the half-starved approach she takes to all things learnable, gorging herself on knowledge, insatiably learning. She was always near top if not top of her classes in Hogwarts, but her quest for knowledge hardly stopped at classroom limits; any tidbit about anyone was considered useful and interesting, and stored away for further examination. After all, you can’t be a mastermind if you’ve no mind of your own.

POWER IS POWER. And yet, ultimately, she was sorted into Slytherin. Knowledge is nothing if you don’t know how to convert it, how to wield it, weaponize it. She may share traits with Ravenclaw in her pursuit of knowledge, but rarely, if ever, is she satisfied with leaving her knowledge in theory, in abstract — no, knowledge in practice is what delights her most. A well uttered spell, or a difficult non-verbal cast, or even the right whisper in the right ear — knowledge is nothing but a whimsical theory if not put to use.

It’s this inborn cunning and ambition that surely sees her into Slytherin.

HEIR UNAPPARENT. The elder sister to a single brother, she hardly is slated to inherit much more than the Black name, although she is privy to the deep wallets it comes with, until, at least, she’s married off into some other pure-blooded family. And yet, it was soon apparent to her as it was to her parents that her brother could barely hold a candle to her own mantle of manipulation and conquest. And so the deal was struck after her graduation, perhaps to both her father’s dismay and begrudging pride: he would turn a blind eye to how she conducted affairs and who she consorted with, and she would manage the Black empire from the shadow of her younger brother, ever watchful, and ever-present to insure that their fortune never diminished, even as he ruled in name. It barely bothered her; the shadows were where she best operated — far less scrutiny. After all, what was one more puppet to her collection? Aelius would appreciate the company, she was sure.

She’s been sent to New York to scope out the possibility of expanding business over to the Americas, and it’s a rush, gambling with the family name and fortune. After winning for so long, she imagines failure must taste sweet — the only flavor she’s never quite sampled, only knowledge she’s not quite accrued — and that subsequent victories would be even more so.

GRACE OF BIRTH. Proserpina was born on May 22nd, making her a Gemini. Gemini’s are witty, charming and resourceful, but commonly reviled for being two-faced. Known for fun wordplay, Proserpina takes that trait to another level, subtle barbs laced across the flat of her tongue, sharp enough to flay the flesh off any unsuspecting person who gets too close. She incites and thus is insightful; she wields words as one might a sword or a wand.

The twins Castor and Pollux rule over Gemini, and so represents the inherent duality of her — both serpent and flower, both spring and winter. Intelligent and adaptable, Proserpina can read the room and anybody in her line of sight like no other. Listen closely, and people will tell you how to conquer them.

STYLE, NOT FASHION. Proserpina rarely cleaves to society’s fashion standards; this is to say she is not fashionable, no, never one to be influenced when she can be the one influencing, but also to say she is never out of style. Expensive cuts of jewelry are commonly found tastefully adorning her figure, as are luxurious cuts of mink and ermine, and dark swathes of silk and velvet cling lovingly to her like a second shadow.

WANDLORE. Yew wood, dragon heartstring, 12 ½ inches, pliable — an unusual wand by all means: deceptively dainty, elegant, light in coloration, but a powerhouse when it comes to spellwork.

Yew — a rare wood, with a rumored predilection for the dark, and a notorious dislike for mediocrity and timid owners, hewn from a tree that is all at once long-lived and life-sapping with its toxins. It’s a contradiction wrapped in shadows, perfect for her, by any stretch of the imagination. That said, Proserpina tries to minimize usage of her poisonous wand, powerful though it may be.

Dragon Heartstring —  known for being a particularly strong and flamboyant core, it’s quick to learn, much like its owner. And much like her, the wand derives its power from the core, able to master spells quickly and executing them without hesitance.

Pliable — wands are known to be extensions of their owners, and whilst stubborn and inflexible in her ideals, Proserpina is undoubtedly adaptable, always landing on her feet, no matter the situation. Such is the life of the eternal victor.

HIGHEST HEIGHTS, DEEPEST DEPTHS. Proserpina’s patronus is a fox: naturally cunning and brilliantly charismatic. People with foxes as their patronus are known to be observant, ambitious, and manipulative. Silver tongued, and willing to use other such skills to their own benefit, the fox often gets their way. It’s fitting for her, is it not? People watch as the fleet footed vixen erupts from the tip of her wand, wiling around the crowd, curling around her heels.

Her boggart happens to be herself — her, but different in several subtle ways, almost imperceptible to any but herself. She sees the wear and tear on her clothes, the hollow of her cheeks, the fear in her own eyes. Her boggart is herself, but ruined. A foolish woman fears nothing, a cowardly woman everything, and a wise woman, herself — secure in the knowledge that nothing will ruin her more than herself.

CONNECTIONS.

FOND // FAWNED. She remembers her first impression of the girl: a little fawn, wide-eyed and on tenuous legs, walking as if she was haunting the halls, quiet as a mouse. It was something endearing, to watch as she grew into the loveliness bequeathed to her. Back then, she was wildly off limits — purely something to keep a keen eye over, a budding flower in the greenhouse that needed the pests swatted away, needed space to grow — but recently, her little doe’s found a voice and a blooming bit of courage, and has come to play. And who is she to deny pretty girls that which they desire?

KINGMAKER. Some people are socially adept, good at reading any room they walk into, good at reading people — and others, not so much. Those who don’t know how to rule shouldn’t, in her honest opinion, but if he wants so badly to play king, then she’ll let him — so long as he never forgets who’s granted him the throne. She plays by chess’ rules: kings are the weakest pieces on the board, mere figureheads. Everyone knows queens are much more valuable — but if he wants to take the flak for the decisions she makes, who is she to turn away a blank check?

HEARTBREAKER. Every connection that Proserpina has ever made serves a purpose, be it for social advancement, business connections, or even simply for pleasure, there is always an underlying motive that serves in her best interest. Her relationship with Genevieve was no different — another bridge to cross or burn, and she thought she was prepared. Not only prepared, but scared to proceed without burning: the closer the relationship got to not purely serving her best interest, the more control seemed to flee from her grasps. So she broke it off, expecting never to look back, and yet as Orpheus could not tear his eyes from Eurydice, a backwards glance was all it took to doom her once more: confirmation that she wouldn’t be able to help herself should the opportunity present itself.

In Character Paragraph:

She sighs when she lands in the fireplace, brushing nonexistent floo powder off her coat, stepping out into the familiar sitting room, looking for any signs of movement, searching for wards. There is neither scurry nor spell to be found, so she continues out on her way, heels clicking ostensibly loud against the marble tiling of the floor; usually, that’s the way she likes it — to be heralded before her arrival — but she so enjoys catching people off guard, at their truest, if one will, when she has business to attend to, so she slips the heels off and makes her way down the halls of the manor to the study on silent feet. The floor is shockingly cold against the pads of her feet, but it bothers her not — not when she’s single-minded in following the dark hallways of the house to the only point of illumination.

The study door is cracked open slightly, and she pushes in, meticulously careless, letting the door swing out and ricochet off the adjacent wall, eyes on the figure pacing the study. The crashing of the door startles him, and he whips around, blue hex warming the tip of his wand and then slamming into the doorframe next to her head; she turns to see the miniature crater blasted into the expensive wooden frame, and it sends her heart flying with adrenaline, even as she turns back to the man. She could easily repair the damage done with a wave of her fingers, so simple is the spell, but she hardly wants to afford the man any measure of convenience.

“You missed,” she notes instead, stalking closer to him, hips swaying, smile cocked; she, the predator, he, her unwitting prey.

“Merlin, Proserpina,” he swears crossly. “You can’t come sneaking into my house in the dead of night— this isn’t a joke. If a hex hits you, it will hurt.”

“Do you promise it will?” she asks archly, craning forward as he leans back.

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, just turns from her.

“Fine,” she dismisses with a sigh, waving a hand vaguely, moving once more to perch on top of his desk, errantly pushing stacks of scrolls and tomes to clear a spot for herself, uncaring of the mess she makes. “I’m here for business anyway, not pleasure.”

“Then you should have owled,” he says coldly, his back insistently to her, as if in hopes of dissuading her stay. He peers at the spines of all the books lining the shelves, eyes flicking over each worn title with a nervous celerity that tells her he’s not actually looking at them.

She takes advantage of this lapse in attention, shuffles through the papers on his desk; this prompts his concern, and he turns around. He starts with long strides over to her, a warning on his lips, a frown brewing in the purse of his lips — but not before she finds what she’s looking for. She holds the envelope between her index and middle finger, displaying the wax seal of her family, tilting her head to the right, unimpressed. “I did,” she drawls, impressing her point further most unnecessarily. “I don’t take well to being ignored.”

He moves to grab the letter, and she jerks it away from his grasp, raising her eyebrows in reproach.

“No, no, darling,” she coos, all sucrose condescension. “This letter was a limited time sort of offer, and I’m afraid my patience has quite expired since.”

Silence swells, stifling, between them, as she holds his gaze, and he hers. He doesn’t want to back down, that much is evident — and yet, it becomes increasingly apparent who has the upper hand, and it’s with a sigh that he relents. “So now…?” He asks, swallowing concealed distress.

“Now,” she purrs, contented. “You take what comes. If I say jump, you ask—“

“—I ask how high,” he finishes, disgusted.

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snaps, a voice of poison, honey, and ice, before amending herself with a smile.

“And if I say no?” He hedges, cautious, watching her measuredly.

“Oh!” She exclaims, before dissolving into delighted laughter. “Did I say this letter was an offer?” She asks, revlon red lips bursting with faux-incredulity. “How absentminded of me. I should have said this letter prompted an offer from you, if you’d read and responded in timely fashion, of course — but then at least you could’ve had the reins on making the offer, no? Well, tell you what: why don’t you take a look for yourself, my dear?”

He takes the envelope slowly, gingerly, watching her like he thinks she’ll jerk it away again — she lets it slip from her fingers easily. He reads the first line in alarm, eyes flashing to her face, and she winks. He reads the rest voraciously, before peering at the included photos, a subtle sneer on his lips as his own movements taunt him from the frame; she waits, humming lightly, slipping her heels back on — she can tell he won’t last much longer.

“Still want to say no? I can assure you, I’ve been very instrumental in keeping this from the police and the press.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it,” he answers, a forced smile put upon his lips. “What do you need from me?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything from you,” she says in turn, tapping a finger against her smile contemplatively. “Yet. No, today’s little drop in is just to make sure that when I do call, you’ll be ready to respond. You will be, won’t you?”

“As if I had a choice,” he says through his teeth — half grimace, half smile.

“Honey,” she says in mock sympathy, hand wrapping around his bicep, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, before it melts into patronization, baring her teeth in a half-hearted approximation of a grin. “We always have a choice.”

She slides off his desk, landing with a neat click of her heels on marble, already sauntering away, already uninterested in the defeated man left in ruins behind her. “No need to see me out,” she calls over the clicking of her heels, not even bothering to turn to address him, conquest grin on her lips for no one but the dark in front of her to see. “I know my way.”

Extras: I didn’t have the time for any extras, my apologies!

[aikainkauna]

I still can't reply to replies because of Tumblr's new interface, so I have to respond to this very good point by @acitymadeofsong this way.

And yes. This is a big problem, because it seems like many writing gurus and teachers and BOFQs seem to treat it as an either/or thing: either you write sparse, sober prose *or* turgid, purple prose; there's *nothing* in between. Now, I know that especially in the zine era, there were mountains of azure orbs and limpid pools around. So that led into an attitude where every bit of poetry and every metaphor resulted in a kneejerky "that's badfic!" reaction from the critic and the readers and the writers themselves. And that deprived us of a lot of really good poetry, I feel. Hell, *I* have a superbly honed sense for romance cliches myself by now--and don't get me wrong, this puritanism did, in fact, help me as a writer in a "know the rules before you start rolling up the rulebook and smoking it" kind of way--but this terror of the dread demon of purpleness has got me to a point where I have to *constantly* slap myself upside the head to remind myself that it's not only ok, but *in character* for me to put poetic thoughts and lines into my characters' heads and mouths when I'm writing Thief of Bagdad fic.

The movie itself is a really great example of beautiful, poetic language that does hold together well even now, despite there always being some whiny, cynical asshats in the audience who think they're tough by moaning about its "corniness"--and I always think that they are doing themselves--hell, even their very own humanity--a disservice. "Were you never an innocent, dreaming child?" I think. "Are you *happy* in having thrown your dreams of romantic adventure and beauty onto the pyre of postmodern nihilism?" Because of course, those people aren't--the whole point of that film was to allow people to escape (especially since WWII broke out during filming), and it's *explicit* about the value and power of the mind of an innocent child. It's the last, defiant dying cry of Romanticism before the war crushed it. Its dialogue and storytelling were unabashedly Romantic even for the time, a loud cry in favour of the fairytale without a *shred* of cynicism, thanks to which the film is so incredibly pure--and thus refreshing, a merciful respite, a balm. So it was serving that same urge that I am defending here, really; therefore, I would be committing a crime against it were I not faithful to that same spirit of hope and passion that ran through it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the whole sparse prose mafia thing. I think that this is also heavily cultural. I keep seeing posts on here from American kids complaining about their teachers wanting to make everyone write like Hemingway. Ah, Papa Hemingway. Now, he's a particularly painful example in that you can see the guy *did* feel, and did have even crazily romantic emotions, but his work reads like a classic process of machismo crushing all that, suffocating that, and him just not having been given any tools for handling those emotions because society robs men of that. If anything, it should be analysed as a warning example of how the culture of masculinity fucks guys over.

But in other countries, it's crazily different--I knew a Spanish girl who was an aspiring academic, and even at her university, the teachers pressured everyone to write academic text in this really old-fashioned, formal, conversational style. As in, "we should be grateful for the way the ancients..." and "the old truth of X has been aptly demonstrated by the brilliant Y here..." and all these other near-Victorian turns of phrase that are nowhere near a neutral, impersonal scientific POV. And then you've got the extreme politeness and formality in highly-educated Indian correspondence, and conversely txt spk being universal among even grown-up Middle Eastern and South Asian folks on the internet (I always wonder if this is because of having to switch between different writing systems, some of which skip many vowels), etc. So the cultural expectations of what's good language use is hugely varied.

But, yeah, poesy is being weeded out more and more as somehow embarrassing and naive (and always with that unconscious feel of its emotion being "feminine"=weaker, lesser, thus less strong and valuable--even the word "sentimental" is an insult when it just fucking means "something with feeling!"), all over the world. Yet, just like love and passion and intense emotion and awe at the grandness of grand things (the definition of Romanticism, obvs) cannot be killed because it's such an inherent part of human nature, poetry has found ways to survive through song lyrics--and a lot of bad writing that doesn't know what bad writing and cliches are. People still go for it, just like they still do ritual and devotional and spiritual things in a seemingly secularised Western world, because that kind of thing is how the human psyche works. (And there's a gender divide there as well, sadly--why is it that the rantiest, angriest atheists and puritan fundamentalists are angry men aiming to strip weaknesses and frills from human behaviour in favour of bleak brutality, and then it's either ditzy hippie chicks who are into all the fluffy superstitious New Age stuff or superintelligent academic women setting out to construct feminist witchcraft? Oh, wait, candles and incense and yoga and being kind to yourself and others are *girly.* Reason and strict rules and punishments are upright and manly!) Why are humans like this and can't just seek a balance from the best bits of both reason and compassion... *sigh*

So, yeah, that crazy polarisation is just lame, in everything ever, because... variety and diversity, please. I digressed hugely again, but one has to point this out because people really don't seem to see how stupidly b/w--and gendered--it all is. We've been lured into this idea that just because in society, the default for "human" is male/masculine and therefore, pursuing that leads to equality somehow, whereas it's just rubbish--and not just because of the poisons of modern ideas of masculinity, but because just like all gender bullshit, ideas of what's manly have varied like crazy from place to place and from era to era. Looking at history, you've got beautiful and emotionally complex poetry and Romanticism from guys, but now we're all supposed to just suffocate that and be bland and dead. To serve what purpose (if we're not aiming to become emotionless killing machines, the only reason a culture of sparseness/emotional coldness was ever developed for), I don't know. What if Bob wants to be as wild as a Dionysian devotee and compose wildly florid songs in praise of the moonlit meadows of Arcadia--where does he turn to hone his craft; who listens to him sing? What if Anne wants to be swept up in the arms of a wild romance and make her prose shine and glisten like the dew on that moonlit grass, without slipping into a limpid pool on the way? Where's the cave in which XYZ could hone hir poetry to soar like that of Inanna's dragtastic priests in fervent, orgiastic abandon?

My only answer to that would be to just... well.

Read tons of old shit.

Write tons of new shit.

And then *interact* about it, be *supportive* about it, *discuss it.*

Because, just like you said, we don't have enough of that right now.

But even then, I would just say, even to poetic writers whose work I might find bad, *keep fucking going.* Because if you are dedicated and exercise a constant, honest self-awareness about your flaws, you'll keep getting better. Even if you are writing in a vacuum, or think you're writing in a vacuum (because fuck knows it feels like it in today's "too scared to comment" culture), KEEP WRITING. You owe it to yourself and your soul, as an act of fierce honesty towards what you really are.

Besides, and most people don't seem to realise this, writing poetic language is *hard.* Even if you're not writing rhyming couplets, just constructing a sentence is more difficult if you want to evoke really specific images and emotions; the word order itself gets more difficult when you step outside the "see Spot run" style. That's why Twilight is so bad: because the sentence construction is clunky and godawful, and because the thoughts are really vague and drifty and not definite. When saying a bitch fancies a guy, saying "She also thought of other things" is horridly opaque, especially when it's not even meant to be mysterious: if you want to be mysterious, you have to signal that better. So you'd be better off saying "other thoughts also entered her mind, thoughts she was unable to understand or process; therefore she pushed them into the deepest peripheries of her mind, out of sight." Because that shows to us a hint of why these thoughts are vague and unprocessed; the *prose* can't be vague even if the heroine's experience is. That draws the reader in and helps her understand what's going on; the vague "other things" just leaves one hanging and WTFing.

But... yeah. That's the kind of thing I mean. I still stubbornly believe you can get away with anything if you just work hard enough on the suspension of disbelief part, work hard enough on the characters to make their actions seem like they were the sorts that character would commit, if pushed.

I can't remember if I actually made a post at any point talking about Romantic/poetic writing and how to make it work? Probably on LJ, or then I am thinking of fic comments? Because, really, if there *is* need for such, I could throw something like that together. But I don't really feel like I'm some kind of authority on the matter, that's the problem. For all I know, most people consider my stuff too purple, and there's no telling how objective that is--whether it's just a matter of taste, or some (however ephemeral and subjective) standard one either achieves or falls short of. So I don't want to become like one of those conceited people who get really puffed up if they've been published once, and actually write fairly mediocre fiction, and then suddenly start behaving like they're gurus.

(Plus, I've had so much shit for creative word choices in DW and B7 fic that I fear it'd just look like I was defending overt poetry where it doesn't work. I'm *fully* aware these days of how fandom-specific it is, and that's why I've burrowed myself firmly into ToB, so I will never have to come out into sparse-prose writing ever again. I still remember groaning at a fic that randomly described Romana's inner labia as "petals," whereas with Jaffar looking at Yassamin's bits? For a guy who describes her eyes as "Babylonian," "Petals" is par for the course and wouldn't even stand out.)

Anyway. I just hope these rants and discussions will shake up and/or encourage at least some people who have had their poetry suffocated. I will go and have a look at my notes and old LJ posts to see if I have, indeed, written anything that'd come close to the sort of poetry-encouraging writing guide you describe. Because I do feel like I *have* written about getting away with it at some point. I'm sure it all boils down to a) "learn the rules and *then* bend them," b) "avoid the most *obvious* cliches," c) "describe the poetic stuff in a new, original way or aim for a perfect pastiche," and d) "choose a poetic world and stay there," but I'll have a look anyway!

Also, JFC, this became long! But it really is a matter worth talking about. I want a whole fucking literary salon dedicated to getting Romantic/poetic writing right, and celebrating the style without shame. Who's with me?

[samanthasweeney-blog]

where to from here?

They don’t teach you that the period immediately after you graduate university and leave, for the first time in your life, the education system, contains a lot of manic, circular thinking: what do I do now? That’s probably the point, though. They can teach you the intricacies of the Australian political system, what counts as negligence and what doesn’t, and how to analyse quantitative data, but they absolutely cannot teach you what to do with yourself after your degree ends. Nobody can. So, I am writing this blog partially out of the need to put some part of me into the universe and cry I am here! I haven’t disappeared! And also, to give myself a project, some kind of mental nourishment, while I figure out what to do now. As humans tend to do, I looked at graduating through an idealistic lens, impervious to the truistic notion of the grass is greener on the other side. Fed up with a tiresome routine of uni, work, repeat, I was eager to slow down. There is irony in the nostalgia I now feel thinking about my final semester, the sentimental longing I have for all of the plates I was juggling carefully, if a little frenziedly, in my mind. The proverbial rose-coloured glasses fell off after about a month, and the grass is not, in fact, any greener. My discomfort is rooted in having too much time, rather than too little. I learned recently about the ‘adaptation principle,’ which describes the mind’s ability to adapt to new stimuli over time, creating a new psychological baseline. As Jonathan Haidt writes: “nerve cells respond vigorously to new stimuli, but gradually they ‘habituate,’ firing less to stimuli that they have become used to.” What is initially novel and exciting can quickly become the revised norm, and our enchantment fades. While this explains why things are not as exciting as I’d (misguidedly) predicted, it does little to console a racing mind. Much of my discomfort stems from a lack of direction, like finding an open field at the end of a narrow path. I am an achievement-oriented person, and also a human being who is fundamentally programmed to seek purpose (hello, Jonathan Haidt) and to suddenly find myself void of a significant and meaningful pursuit does not a smooth transition make. What’s more, I’ve realised that this change of dynamic necessitates redefining how I measure my own success and achievement. How do measure your progress or your success without a framework, such as what academia provides? Is eating a good breakfast a success? Though a semi-rhetorical question, there is room to argue yes, eating a good breakfast is success. I discussed this with a close friend over coffee last week. Do we absolutely need a tangible and predominant pursuit or project in order to attribute purpose and meaning to our lives? Or do we need to reframe the way we assign meaning to our lives? My answer: a little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. With this in mind, I am trying to engage with the things that bring me joy, like writing and cooking, spending time with my friends, running. Some of these hobbies, like writing, nurture the part of me seeking a purposeful existence; the need to create. Others, done purely for the sake of enjoyment, help me reframe my perception of productivity and achievement, outside of the prescribed career-pursuit model. It’s a tough process, and I’m not immune to feeling like I’m stagnating or falling behind, like I should be working harder to pursue my career goals. But unlearning takes time. A helpful reassurance is reminding myself that I am exactly where my past-self wanted to be, an important achievement we all too often forget. Now reading: Breaking out of the repressive belief that you should only read one book at a time has been one of my greatest successes of 2019. I now love to read multiple books at a time, usually one fiction and at least one non-fiction, sometimes more non-fiction depending on the subject matter and the mood I’m in. Fiction is great to read before bed (but sometimes, you just get stuck into a really good psychology book and that before bed is great, too). Fiction-wise, I’m reading Choose Someone Else by Yvonne Fein, a collection of short stories centring on the moments when people feel ‘chosen,’ whether by a divine being or as the object of someone’s attraction. Written by a Jewish author, the contemporary Jewish experience and what it is to be the children of Holocaust survivors underscore her stories. When it comes to short stories, I am unashamedly voyeuristic: I enjoy most the (quasi) realistic stories that insert your directly into a character’s life for a period of time, a temporary window into another person’s existence. Fein is a master of this. Non-fiction, I’ve just started Big Coal by Guy Pearse, David McKnight and Bob Burton, which illustrates Australia’s infatuation with the coal industry and exposes the industry’s influence in the development (or lack thereof) of our economic and environmental policy. It is both eye-opening and infuriating to read about the extent to which mining companies can undermine laws designed to protect farmers, Indigenous communities, the environment. Perhaps most disappointing, yet unsurprising, is how the Federal and State governments enable this. An honourable mention goes to The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathan Haidt, which may just be one of my all-time favourite reads. I love a good psychology book, and this one combines psychology, philosophy and neuroscience to examine ancient edicts of wisdom regarding happiness. The analysis is saturated with insight, and nurtures essential self-awareness. Self-awareness is something we all need more of, and learning about the ways our brain is programmed to function and subsequently learning to identify these processes in action is valuable for all of us when it comes to being better versions of ourselves. Now listening: My October Spotify playlist is currently this:

On top of that, I’ve been enjoying 80s disco-electronic (is there a better name for this? I would love to know). Think, M People, Chaka Khan, Soulsearcher. The kind of music you can groove to, that is super catchy, and has a funky bass line. I’m also revisiting my love for Foals and Duke Ellington (partially inspired by the latest season of Big Mouth). Podcasts are among my favourite things on this Earth. On trend with this period of existential pondering I’m floating around in right now, two podcasts have provided me with endless ideas for contemplation. I Said What I Said – Growing Pains speaks on the difficulty of transition, discussing whether difficulty is inherent or arises from our resistance (subconscious or otherwise) to whatever transition/growth/evolution we’re experiencing. I’ve found the sentiment that our suffering is in our resistance to be weirdly soothing, and trusting in myself to figure things out with time, and to be open to new opportunities, has been a huge help. Ten Percent Happier – A Radical Approach to Productivity, Self Compassion Series, Jocelyn K. Glei, is so full of bites of wisdom I don’t even know where to start. I find that the concept of productivity can be really burdensome sometimes, another form of internal pressure we place on ourselves, sometimes without a clear intent or purpose in mind. This podcast challenges and redefines our understanding of productivity, placing emphasis on the need for us to accept our human limitations and value our successes as much as we value aspiring towards our next goal. The overarching message is one of self-acceptance and engaging with meaningful work. It’s imperative that we accept our achievements, our failures, our progress or lack thereof as vital parts of our experience overall, and prioritise what’s meaningful to us (in any form – not just work) rather than ‘performing’ productivity which is, really, not that fulfilling at all.

[dfroza]

the closing of an ancient Letter

that includes a warning for those who abuse power and money, as well as encouragement for those who stand in the truth of Love

from Today’s reading as the 5th chapter of the book of James:

[Destroying Your Life from Within]

And a final word to you arrogant rich: Take some lessons in lament. You’ll need buckets for the tears when the crash comes upon you. Your money is corrupt and your fine clothes stink. Your greedy luxuries are a cancer in your gut, destroying your life from within. You thought you were piling up wealth. What you’ve piled up is judgment.

All the workers you’ve exploited and cheated cry out for judgment. The groans of the workers you used and abused are a roar in the ears of the Master Avenger. You’ve looted the earth and lived it up. But all you’ll have to show for it is a fatter than usual corpse. In fact, what you’ve done is condemn and murder perfectly good persons, who stand there and take it.

Meanwhile, friends, wait patiently for the Master’s Arrival. You see farmers do this all the time, waiting for their valuable crops to mature, patiently letting the rain do its slow but sure work. Be patient like that. Stay steady and strong. The Master could arrive at any time.

Friends, don’t complain about each other. A far greater complaint could be lodged against you, you know. The Judge is standing just around the corner.

Take the old prophets as your mentors. They put up with anything, went through everything, and never once quit, all the time honoring God. What a gift life is to those who stay the course! You’ve heard, of course, of Job’s staying power, and you know how God brought it all together for him at the end. That’s because God cares, cares right down to the last detail.

And since you know that he cares, let your language show it. Don’t add words like “I swear to God” to your own words. Don’t show your impatience by concocting oaths to hurry up God. Just say yes or no. Just say what is true. That way, your language can’t be used against you.

[Prayer to Be Reckoned With]

Are you hurting? Pray. Do you feel great? Sing. Are you sick? Call the church leaders together to pray and anoint you with oil in the name of the Master. Believing-prayer will heal you, and Jesus will put you on your feet. And if you’ve sinned, you’ll be forgiven—healed inside and out.

Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed. The prayer of a person living right with God is something powerful to be reckoned with. Elijah, for instance, human just like us, prayed hard that it wouldn’t rain, and it didn’t—not a drop for three and a half years. Then he prayed that it would rain, and it did. The showers came and everything started growing again.

My dear friends, if you know people who have wandered off from God’s truth, don’t write them off. Go after them. Get them back and you will have rescued precious lives from destruction and prevented an epidemic of wandering away from God.

The Book of James, Chapter 5 (The Message)

A chapter in the pairing of the Testaments accompanied by chapter 26 of Jeremiah (as a mirroring of the 26th letter Z of the alphabet and the halfway point through the 52 chapters of the writing of Jeremiah)

[Change the Way You’re Living]

At the beginning of the reign of Jehoiakim son of Josiah king of Judah, this Message came from God to Jeremiah:

“God’s Message: Stand in the court of God’s Temple and preach to the people who come from all over Judah to worship in God’s Temple. Say everything I tell you to say to them. Don’t hold anything back. Just maybe they’ll listen and turn back from their bad lives. Then I’ll reconsider the disaster that I’m planning to bring on them because of their evil behavior.

“Say to them, ‘This is God’s Message: If you refuse to listen to me and live by my teaching that I’ve revealed so plainly to you, and if you continue to refuse to listen to my servants the prophets that I tirelessly keep on sending to you—but you’ve never listened! Why would you start now?—then I’ll make this Temple a pile of ruins like Shiloh, and I’ll make this city nothing but a bad joke worldwide.’”

Everybody there—priests, prophets, and people—heard Jeremiah preaching this Message in the Temple of God. When Jeremiah had finished his sermon, saying everything God had commanded him to say, the priests and prophets and people all grabbed him, yelling, “Death! You’re going to die for this! How dare you preach—and using God’s name!—saying that this Temple will become a heap of rubble like Shiloh and this city be wiped out without a soul left in it!”

All the people mobbed Jeremiah right in the Temple itself.

Officials from the royal court of Judah were told of this. They left the palace immediately and came to God’s Temple to investigate. They held court on the spot, at the New Gate entrance to God’s Temple.

The prophets and priests spoke first, addressing the officials, but also the people: “Death to this man! He deserves nothing less than death! He has preached against this city—you’ve heard the evidence with your own ears.”

Jeremiah spoke next, publicly addressing the officials before the crowd: “God sent me to preach against both this Temple and city everything that’s been reported to you. So do something about it! Change the way you’re living, change your behavior. Listen obediently to the Message of your God. Maybe God will reconsider the disaster he has threatened.

“As for me, I’m at your mercy—do whatever you think is best. But take warning: If you kill me, you’re killing an innocent man, and you and the city and the people in it will be liable. I didn’t say any of this on my own. God sent me and told me what to say. You’ve been listening to God speak, not Jeremiah.”

The court officials, backed by the people, then handed down their ruling to the priests and prophets: “Acquittal. No death sentence for this man. He has spoken to us with the authority of our God.”

Then some of the respected leaders stood up and addressed the crowd: “In the reign of Hezekiah king of Judah, Micah of Moresheth preached to the people of Judah this sermon: This is God-of-the-Angel-Armies’ Message for you:

“‘Because of people like you,

Zion will be turned back into farmland,

Jerusalem end up as a pile of rubble,

and instead of the Temple on the mountain,

a few scraggly scrub pines.’

“Did King Hezekiah or anyone else in Judah kill Micah of Moresheth because of that sermon? Didn’t Hezekiah honor him and pray for mercy from God? And then didn’t God call off the disaster he had threatened? “Friends, we’re at the brink of bringing a terrible calamity upon ourselves.”

(At another time there had been a man, Uriah son of Shemaiah from Kiriath-jearim, who had preached similarly in the name of God. He preached against this same city and country just as Jeremiah did. When King Jehoiakim and his royal court heard his sermon, they determined to kill him. Uriah, afraid for his life, went into hiding in Egypt. King Jehoiakim sent Elnathan son of Achbor with a posse of men after him. They brought him back from Egypt and presented him to the king. And the king had him killed. They dumped his body unceremoniously outside the city.

But in Jeremiah’s case, Ahikam son of Shaphan stepped forward and took his side, preventing the mob from lynching him.)

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 26 (The Message)

and not that it’s wrong to have money, of course, because we need it. and money holds no inherent evil, as it is entirely neutral being directed by the hearts of those who use it. and so it’s the heart of the matter that truly matters.

Today’s wisdom from Proverbs 22 for August 22:

A good reputation is preferable to riches,

and the approval of others is better than precious silver or gold.

Rich and poor have something in common:

both are created by the Eternal.

Prudent people see trouble coming and hide,

but the naive walk right into it and take a beating.

A humble person who fears the Eternal

can expect to receive wealth, honor, and life.

Thorny branches and traps lie ahead for those who follow perverse paths;

those who want to preserve themselves will steer clear of them.

Teach a child how to follow the right way;

even when he is old, he will stay on course.

The rich lord it over the poor,

and the borrower is the slave to the lender.

Those who sow injustice reap disaster,

and their methods of oppression will fail.

Generous people are genuinely blessed

because they share their food with the poor.

Expel a mocker, and watch the wrangling go with him;

rivalry and rude remarks will also stop.

Those who love a pure heart and speak with grace

will find that the king is their friend.

The Eternal keeps a watchful eye on those with knowledge,

but He subverts the words of the faithless.

A lazy person says, “A lion! Right outside!

I will surely die in the streets!

Yet another good reason to stay in today.”

The alluring words of a seductive woman are a deep hole;

the Eternal is incensed toward those who fall in.

Foolishness consumes the heart of a child,

but corporal punishment, properly administered, drives it far away.

If you take advantage of the poor or coddle the rich to get ahead,

you will end up destitute.

[The Words of the Wise]

Lend an ear, listen to these words of the wise,

and align your thoughts with my instructions

Because true pleasure will be yours by learning them, living them,

and being ready to repeat them to others.

In order that you will trust only in the Eternal,

I teach them to you this day—yes, even you!

In fact, didn’t I already write down for you

Thirty axioms of good advice and sound knowledge

To reveal to you what is reliably true

so you can answer those who sent you with these truths you’ve learned?

Do not cheat poor people just because they are vulnerable

or use shady tactics in court to crush those already suffering;

For the Eternal is ready to take their case,

and He ruins anyone who is out to ruin them.

Do not befriend someone given to anger

or hang around with a hothead.

Odds are, you’ll learn his ways, become angry as well,

and get caught in a trap.

Do not be a person to guarantee someone else’s loan

or put up collateral for the debts of an acquaintance;

For if you do and you can’t repay,

won’t you risk having your bed ripped out from under you?

Do not steal property from your neighbors by moving the boundary markers

your ancestors established.

And as for those who are skilled in their work,

they will be recognized and invited to serve kings

rather than regular folk.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

my personal reading in the Scriptures for August 22, day 63 of Summer and day 234 of the year:

[chinupacko]

15 Truths About Self-Love We All Need To Remember By ELYSE SANTILLI 

Self-love is about more than bubble baths. Self-love is about the way you view yourself, speak to yourself, treat yourself, and the dreams you have for your life. Here are 15 truths about self-love we all need to remember.

1. You are inherently enough.

There is a common myth in society that we have to earn or prove our worth by ticking off a certain number of external achievements — like having a large house, successful career, impressive partner and acceptable body shape.

The truth is your worth is innate — you were born enough. You are a soul of divine origins and you can never be anything less than that. You did not come here to prove — you came here to play and laugh and love and learn and express and rise and create your wildest dreams. Have fun!

2. Comparison is a waste of energy.

Comparison misses the whole point of your life — to be you. To be the unique once-in-humankind blend of gifts, passions, interests, quirks and magic that you are.

Comparison feels bad because it is out of alignment the truth — that we are incomparable. We are all valuable and shine in our own way — like diamonds and sapphires and rubies.

3. It makes sense to focus on your strengths.

You get more of what you focus on — so instead of focusing on your flaws and imperfections, focus on your gifts and strengths. Focus on what you do well, instead of only noticing what you do wrong.

Replace self-criticism with praise and acknowledge, and not only will your confidence grow, but you will blossom into your full potential, because flowers bloom best with nourishment and love, not judgment.

4. You are not your past.

The philosopher Heraclitus once said: “You never bathe in the same river twice, because it’s never the same river and it’s never the same you.”

In other words, you are a totally different person to who you were 10 minutes ago, let alone 10 years ago — your cells are regenerating, you are breathing fresh oxygen, and you are wiser from your experiences. So you are never the same you.

This means that your past does not define you — because in every moment you are a new person. When you forgive your past you are free to become who you desire to be and live the life you were born to live.

5. Self-care is not selfish; it is essential.

When you get so busy with to-do lists and work and giving to others that you forget to make time for self-care and pleasure, your cup is going to run dry and then you have nothing left for anyone — for you, your loved ones or the world.

When you make time in your day and week to fill your cup — with a morning or evening ritual, doing the things you love, and small acts of self-care — then your cup will be overflowing with love, joy, creativity and inspiration.

You also need time alone with your soul — instead of only checking in with Facebook and friends, check in with yourself to see how YOU are doing. What are your dreams? What are the emotional wounds you need to work through? Get to know yourself to find your purpose and path.

6. You are not your thoughts.

We all have a voice in our head that tells us that we are not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not charismatic enough, and points out our flaws and mistakes.

The good news is — you are not your thoughts. You are the observer of your thoughts. Your thoughts come and go like passing clouds in the sky but you remain. This means you are above or separate to your thoughts.

This means you can observe them without taking them so seriously. You can choose not to believe your self-critical thoughts.

7. Create empowering self-talk because you are listening.

As well as mindfully observing your self-critical thoughts without believing them, you can also cultivate supportive and empowering self-talk. You can encourage yourself with kind words, a positive mindset and affirmations.

Your self-talk matters because YOU are listening to it — and it has an impact on the way you see yourself and what you believe you are capable of.

As Oprah says: “Create the highest grandest vision possible for your life, because you become what you believe”.

8. You deserve your own compassion.

The same way that you feel kindness and compassion for other people when they are sad or afraid or feeling self-critical, you deserve your own self-love and compassion.

When you feel less than your best — sad, hurt or afraid — instead of reacting with frustration or judgment, respond with love and comfort. Be there for yourself like you would be there for a child in need. Because it is your inner child who needs you in that moment.

9. You are not your body.

Your body is a beautiful and precious temple for your soul. It is also a gift that lets you adventure on earth and dance and love and create and play.

So instead of focusing on your flaws or imperfections, begin to appreciate your body and treat it with love and respect. Nourish it with good foods and movement. Treat it like a temple.

10. You are not what others think of you.

You couldn’t possibly be what others think of you — because everyone has a different opinion of you. Everyone is also viewing the world through their own beliefs and past experiences — so their opinion of you might not be even close to the truth.

So instead of seeking approval from others in order to feel like enough, begin to approve of yourself. When you accept yourself, you no longer need the acceptance of others because you already know you are enough.

11. You are worthy of your dreams.

Your desires were given to you for a reason — they are what the Universe wants to experience through you. You can trust in them and feel worthy of them because you are inherently worthy of love, happiness and success.

You can work on raising your worthiness every day in small ways — receive a compliment without deflecting it, upgrade the things in your life that make you feel less than your best, and remove yourself from relationships or jobs that do not serve you.

12. You have to love yourself first.

Many of us make the mistake of putting off self-love until some day in the future — we think when we get the loving partner, the perfect job, the bigger bank balance, or the weight loss, then we’ll love ourselves.

The truth is the world is a reflection of you — so if you want your reality to change, you have to rise first. Want love? You have to love yourself first. Want success? You have to own your gifts and worth and celebrate your successes today.

If you think you will love yourself once everything in your life falls into place — you have life backwards. Know that you need to love and accept yourself first, then everything can fall into place.

13. You are perfectly imperfect.

Many of us believe the myth that we have to fix ourselves or be perfect for seventeen days in a row in order to be enough.

The truth is that we are already perfect — we are divine souls — and yet we will always be imperfect as humans. This is the nature of being on earth.

I meditate, go to yoga, read philosophical texts, forgive, cook whole foods, write and keep our apartment tidy.

I also eat too much peanut butter, scroll too much on Facebook, procrastinate, judge myself and others, go more than a week without washing my hair, have stretch marks, cry a lot, and binge eat carrots when I’m stressed.

I am a divine magical soul and the core of my being is pure love — and I am a human with challenges and imperfections.

You can want to work on yourself and improve — and still feel like you are okay now.

As the Buddha said: “We are all perfect just as we are, and we could all use a little work.”

14. Self-love is essential for your life.

Many of us dismiss self-love as cheesy or just not that important. We know we could do with more self-love but let this area of our life slide.

The truth is that self-love is essential to living your best life. Why?

Because you are the person you spend the most time with in this life, and you are the common factor in ALL areas of your life, so your relationship with yourself is going to have a huge impact on your quality of life.

Because self-love gives you the courage to believe in yourself and go after your wildest dreams.

Self-love radically increases your daily joy and happiness levels because let’s face it, it’s hard to feel good when you’re living with negative self-talk.

Self-love and worthiness empowered you to stop settling for less than you deserve, so the quality of your relationships improves.

And self-love gifts you a lifelong best friend, ally and supporter, which is priceless.

The truth is self-love matters and should be a key part of your daily life.

15. You are way more magical and magnificent then you know.

Do you know those moments where you catch a glimpse of your best self? You’re giving advice to a friend or watching a sunrise or dancing to a song you love or creating a painting and you feel tapped into your inner wisdom and power… it feels like you sparkle?

That is who you really are. You are not your flaws, your self-doubts, your bad moods, or the guilt you carry around.

You are a spark of the divine and your authentic nature and true potential is incredibly amazing.

This is what true self-love should be based on — knowing who you really are deep down below all the titles and roles.

When you get in touch with this part of yourself, you will discover the inner well of unconditional love and infinite worth that has been within you all along. Keep believing in your inner magic and you will find it.

Elyse  is a writer, life coach and happiness teacher at NotesOnBliss.com. She teaches people to connect with their soul, create their dreams and expand their happiness.