#i also wanted to do an anne piece because her story and mine in terms of discovering we're lesbians are pretty similar sans the murder lmao

[ithappensoffstage]

This is my first ever finished digital piece, and I want to dedicate it to everyone finding freedom in the darkness, fighting against “their reasons, their judgements.” Know that you are loved. @hoist-the-colours-podcast asked people what Black Sails means to their stories. Well, words can barely begin to explain what Black Sails means to me. While I was out already when I met Captain Flint on screen, the gradual reveal of his homosexuality impacted me deeply--here was a man so betrayed by his country, so vilified for his love, that he turned to the darkness just to find the light and hold it, brilliant and free, to the world and say “don’t you see what possibility there is here?” I remember sobbing my way through the finale watching him find Thomas again. The way they held each other, shattering and being pieced together all at once; the way James never had to apologize to England, never had to grant them his forgiveness. It was extraordinary.

Black Sails taught me that I never have to apologize for myself. I never have to accommodate others at the expense of myself or my pride. I am here, I am queer, and I will fight for myself and all of us as long as I have breath in my lungs.

Happy Pride!

[maidenvault]

Favorite gothic horror novels? Just finished rereading Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Finished reading Rebecca about a month ago after not being able to concentrate on books for awhile and it brought me back to the gothic genre

Hey! 😁 So I don’t have a more recent memory of many books in this category and I don’t trust my own taste from 8+ years ago lol, but these are some novels you didn’t already mention (+ some short stories and other stuff) that I’ve loved enough to read more than once and know pretty well.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

“The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.” This one is so effective in how it very gradually turns into horror, opening with lush descriptions of the beauty of a garden in the first scene and then, as Dorian moves toward becoming so evil over the course of the story, taking you to darker and darker places, to depravity and decay. Basically a scathing criticism of English aristocracy and a defense of problematic art in which Wilde was also deprecating himself a bit, which seems to suggest that total innocence is the greatest sin because Dorian's inability to think for himself makes him so easily corrupted by challenging ideas.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson 

“Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within.” I'm a bit of a hater of the Netflix Hill House, mostly because even taking it on its own terms it's just not that good, but also because it erases the real horror at the center of the novel, which is the harm the traditional family can do and the reality that one can never completely escape where they came from. The ending feels horrifyingly inevitable because of how incredibly well the protagonist and her weaknesses are fleshed out throughout the book. Few pieces of horror media have truly gotten to me and spoken to some of my own personal fears like this.

Interview With the Vampire / The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice

“Do you know what it means to be loved by Death? Do you know what it means to have Death know your name?” These aren't all-time favorite books of mine or anything, and I wouldn't quite call myself a TVC fan, but so much about these first two books in the series are exactly what I want when I feel like reading something moody and gothic in a historical setting. When I finally got around to reading these after a life of being exposed to stuff like True Blood and TVD, it felt like running my hands through bolts of authentic silk and velvet after only encountering synthetic imitations of those before. Somehow they still hold up as something special in the vampire genre and aren’t just laughable after angsty vampires and other things in them have become cliché. Knowing Anne Rice was, in a way, dealing with the death of her daughter by writing the first one certainly helps to still give it some real power.

Swamp Thing by Alan Moore (Saga of the Swamp Thing #20-61)

“There grows yet in Hell a flower that’s named for her.” In this run, Moore famously retconned aspects of Swampy's origin story and put him in a very Frankenstein-like state of questioning the nature and meaning of his existence as a monster. It's beautifully atmospheric and you can practically hear the insects in the Louisiana bayou in the more still and quiet nighttime moments. You get a mad scientist villain, a beauty-and-the-beast love story, truly terrifying vampires, truly terrifying occult magic stuff, and an unforgettable portrayal of Hell that Neil Gaiman would later build on in The Sandman.

“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving

“Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.” If you're not the kind of reader who can enjoy, in and of itself, being immersed in a setting through lengthy descriptions, this may not be your thing, but I just love the picture it paints of historical New England. It’s the ultimate spooky autumn vibes story, in a sort of wholesome and cozy way. I think of certain passages every year when the leaves start to turn and I start seeing pumpkins everywhere.

"The Masque of the Red Death" / "The Tell-Tale Heart" / "The Fall of the House of Usher" by Edgar Allan Poe

I mean, it's Poe. WYD if you haven't started with some of these.

"Goblin Market" by Christina Rosetti

If you were exposed to this as a kid like I was, it’s worth revisiting! A favorite poem of mine which tells a very moving and dark fairy tale.

“The Rats In the Walls” / “The Call of Cthulhu” / “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” by H.P. Lovecraft

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” The problems with Lovecraft are well known and you can absolutely live without reading his work if you don't want to take the gross stuff with the stuff that works, but the stuff that works no one else can really do quite like he did. It's not that his prose was even that great, but....his imagination. 🤯 He was consciously taking a lot from Poe, and I think his work seems to partly fit right in with gothic works of the classic canon because it was dealing with the anxieties of an increasingly secular world, perhaps during the last gasp of a time when that could still feel like a relevant theme in horror, but obviously in a very new way that was uniquely his own and came to define cosmic horror.

[p-and-p-admin]

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello CorvusDraconis and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you so much for sitting down with us to chat.

You’re a well known and beloved figure in the SS/HG community for your many stories - including a personal favourite of mine, A chance for happiness.

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name? 

I have always had a fascination for the shiny things and the Northwest Coast depictions of Raven the Trickster/Creator, and, I tend to hoard (and get super protective) of my art supplies. Corvids have always been a positive sign in my life. They tend to show up when I’m feeling down and engage in funny antics in the yard. As for dragons, I’ve always had a love for them and think the Western depiction of them as dangerous beasts with no mind but for hoarding treasure and killing people only to be slain by a knight quite despicable. 

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

Severus, actually. I see a lot of my life in his. Hardships, challenges, bullying— trying to be something better and later wondering about unwise decisions. I have a very similar dislike for dunderheads, but I do not share his inclination to denude rosebushes of their petals. Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general) I have always preferred fantasy and sci-fi. 

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

I am not sure if you would call it a classic novel, but grew up on all things Tolkien (and even puzzled through the Silmarillion at the grand age of seven), and have a special place in my heart for Watership Down. While I’ve read pieces like War and Peace, Iliad, Ulysses, Pride and Prejudice, Grapes of Wrath, Moby Dick, Great Gatsby, Little Women, Catcher in the Rye, Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn, Scarlet Letter, Don Quixote, To Kill a Mockingbird, Animal Farm, Jane Eyre, Lord of the Flies, Tale of Two Cities, Heart of Darkness, Robinson Crusoe, Alice in Wonderland, Great Expectations, Odyssey, Frankenstein, Dracula, Crime and Punishment, Heart of Darkness, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, Anne of Green Gables, Les Misérables, Peter Pan, Gulliver’s Travels, all things Jack London, 20000 Leagues, etc.— they never captured me as aptly as Anne McCaffery’s Dragonriders of Pern or Mercedes Lackley’s the Last Herald Mage. Though, if I were to pick classic stories I read more than once (litmus test for things I like) it would be things such as The Secret Garden, Call of the Wild, Wild Fang, The Hobbit, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,  and The Last Unicorn. At what age did you start writing? The moment I could pick up pencil and paper, I was writing. I had notepads full of stories I wrote as a kid. Alas, my dad found them one day when I was off to college, made fun of them, and I came home and burned every single one in mortification.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

The moment TV shows did “stupid things” to their characters. I used to write things about Beauty and the Beast (the old CBS show) when they killed off the main character, Knight Rider, Robocop, Transformers— there are probably far more that I just don’t remember now. I was writing it long before there was a fanfiction dot net or a term to even call it. What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? I am a shameless romantic for the beauty within and sometimes the quite literal love for a monster (not just some person who acts like a monster and changes into a better person.) The misunderstood monster is perhaps my most favourite theme, and it shows up in my stories often if not always. What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? I ship SessKag from Inuyasha, Lucard/Sophie from Dracula: The Series, and Loki/Hermione when I’m feeling crossover-y. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? Other than my favourite fanon that Severus lives/survives/finds a better life free of two masters and his guilt, I would say I would want Harry to wise the heck up and realise his father was a swine, his godfather was an almost successful murderer that used his own best mate to try and kill off another student, and his mother wasn’t all that hot either. I would want him to find value in himself without having to make stuff up about his “perfect” parents. Then again, I would want Vernon/Petunia to be arrested for child abuse and put in gaol, but— then the story would have been very different XD Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet?  Sometimes quiet, sometimes music. But usually, I am best mates with Spotify.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

In the HP universe: I honestly don’t read many of them because I’m always writing my own stuff XD, but when I really feel like I need a good Ron bashing SSHG HEA, I read just about anything by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse. However, that being said, I often return to “The Sun is Often Out” by Hannah-1888 for just the right amount of angst and HEA to make me happy.

In the Inuyasha universe: A Trick of Fate by PristinelyUngifted

In the Marvel universe:  Mutual Respect Sends His Regrets by moor

In the Star Trek universe:  Gratified By Your Company by starfleetdream

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I go by the seat of my feathered rump, to be honest. Inspiration is a fickle, unpredictable beast, and I usually don’t know what is going to happen until it does.

What is your writing genre of choice?

Fantasy

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Chance of Happiness because it was my very first publication. It may not have been my best, but it was my first, and it very well could have been my last yet somehow wasn’t.

Looks Can Be Deceiving and One Step Forward, Two Decades Back are two epic tales that seemed to demand being written. The fact I finished them was something I think deserves a little pride.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

Looks started off with me attempted to write Dramione just once. It failed. Draco demanded to be her brother of the heart, Viktor came in and said “nope she’s mine,” and no one was more surprised at the outcome of that story than me. The characters did what THEY wanted.

I learned that trying to plan a story from start to finish is useless when the characters decide what they want. The story demanded more, and I was just a conduit that typed it down. For me, at least, attempting to outline and plan is utterly useless

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

I think every story I write is personal in some way. The inspiration comes from somewhere inside, and I often have no idea what it is until I go back and read it later. I think the story wrote itself in a lot of ways, which made it easier in a way, but there are a lot of things I can’t say were from personal experience because as a high fantasy of talking gryphons and such I can only imagine it. There is no basis in real life on how any of that would go down. There is a freedom in that but also many challenges in making it real enough to identify with despite how alien and fantastic the idea is.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

Dragonriders of Pern introduced sentient dragons and the idea that despite a vast difference in species there could be teamwork and love between the two as they teamed up against a greater threat.

The herald-mage books by Mercedes Lackley were also important staples in my childhood because it impressed the values of responsibility despite having powers others did not, and that people were fallible despite greatness and potential.

Gandalara Cycle by Randall Garrett and Vicki Ann Heydron: I cannot tell you how often I read this story. I had dog ears on these novels because there was so much I loved about them. It was a search for humanity when displaced in a seemingly alien world, societal clashes, and the great sha’um (the giant rideable cats) that were the main characters’ partners for life.  

 The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C Wrede: A princess rebels against her arranged marriage by running away to be a dragon princess.

All of these books had creatures in it that chose to partner with a human and be with them for life, not as lovers that you find in the more modern supernatural romance blender out there, but the ultimate friend for life— the family you choose.

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

Oh heck no. Hah. They have their secrets, and I have mine. Personally, I think mine are more healthy than theirs.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"? 

Very.

I write for myself. Sometimes I’ll write a story for one of my betas or a sshg friend, but for the most part, I write for my own entertainment because nothing like what I write is out there. There is a lot of SSHG out there, but mine is almost always a creature feature story. I blame X-Files growing up. It tickles me that others enjoy my stories, but in the end I write to get things down and out of my head. They just so happen to entertain others as they do me.

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

I will often engage in A/N talk at the end of chapters, but I really don’t engage in the fandom. I loathe social media. That being said, I read every review, and while I don’t reply to everything because FF dot net is a horrible platform for messaging anymore (or ever was really)-- I appreciate every single one. Sometimes it helps to know people are enjoying the story for the story’s sake.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

Get a beta, even if you are pretty good at writing. Get one because a second pair of eyes will catch things you don’t. Read your own stuff out loud. If you trip over it, your audience will too. If you stumble, so will they.

Get a beta who isn’t afraid to tell you that your shite stinks in places and you make no sense. You may want a cheerleader, but what you need is a beta. If you are super lucky, you can have both at once.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

I play computer games and sew things. I’ve sewn a lot of things lately. Scrub caps and masks for work— 

There has been a lot of writer’s block lately due to the times, and I will not write when I’m uninspired. I will not force inspiration. That’s not fair to me or those unfortunate enough to share in the reading. I want to be able to go back on a story I wrote and enjoy it and not curse at myself. XD

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Sometimes certain catch phrases and things from real life friends have trickled in as a sort of Easter egg (unbeknownst to them since I don’t tell them I write fanfic). Sometimes random news stories or whatnot find their way in. Lessons of the day. Random events. Things that are too odd not to stick in my brain somehow. I can’t say I always do it on purpose, though.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

No, I have a goal this year to finish off the unfinished stories. This is made harder because Dragon and the Rose keeps adding more and more bunnies into the idea bin, and my brain wants to run with them, but I’m like NO DANGIT, I HAVE STUFF TO FINISH STILL!  It’s a hard thing trying to finish what you start when so much interesting stuff pops up and waves at you like “heeeeeyyyyy I’m cool too!”

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Keep writing but remember you can always be better. You can always improve.  Writing isn’t a popularity contest. It isn’t about how many reviews you get or how many fans you may or may not have. Write because you want to write. Write what you like not what other people like. Write for you because in the end, you are the one who goes back to read it and say “I wrote this story, and I still love it” instead of forcing yourself to write something just because the topic is “popular” and gets a lot of visitors. Write something you’ll be proud to go back and read and enjoy. You’ll find when you write something genuinely, readers will come. And if only one person leaves you a paragraph review on how much your story meant to them out of someone else’s hundreds of  “great!” (with nothing else)-- think of what you value more.

If my story helped someone through a dark time.

Just one person—

Then it was a good effort.

Maybe that person didn’t have the bravery to leave a message. Maybe they are ashamed. Maybe they send you a PM instead of a review.

That is, to me, the ultimate reason why I realised that despite writing stories for myself that there are people out there that needed to hear my story at just the right time in their life. If my story can bring a little joy to someone else, then it doesn’t matter how many reviews I have. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have thousands of reviews like “that other author.” What matters is that I told my story; someone out there read it and it spoke to them.

I love hearing from people and what they liked about my stories, but I also am glad that there are some people out there who secretly like my stories but do not feel safe enough to review.

So, I would say to the aspiring author: write for yourself but share it. You never know whose day you will make with your story. They may never tell you. They may tell you years later (happened to me!). There is a good chance that someone out there needs your story as much as you need to write it. That being said, find yourself a beta to share your journey with you. You may find a few friend in the process.

Thanks so much for giving us your time.

You are quite welcome.

[fortunatelylori]

Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and then

Thoughts on Sanditon finale

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you should never blog in anger. Last night’s Sanditon episode left the entire fandom in a state of uproar. Cancelations have been issued. Curses have been cast and tears have been shed … those were mostly mine, to be fair.

For once I decided not to start furiously typing just as the episode ended but wait out the inevitable momentary fury and return to the episode tonight for a second viewing. I have to thank @and-holly-goes-lightly and @kitten1618x for putting up with my temper tantrums late last night on private chat so all of you nice people wouldn’t have to endure my more volcanic outbursts. Being far more reasonable people than I, they pointed out the grayness in a sea of black and white and made me reconsider the episode.

In addition I would advise anyone to do a second viewing of the episode if you haven’t done so yet. Reason being that your first viewing of something that you are so deeply invested in will always be heated. I could hardly pay attention last night to the scenes I was watching because I was so desperate to get to the ending. On top of that, the reality of what you see on screen will fight with the theory you’ve already made in your head and more often than not you end up disliking canon not because it’s bad but because it’s not what you thought you were going to see.

That being said, after a thorough rewatch, I have to declare this episode as one of the finest finales to a season I’ve seen. I say finale to the season, not the series because as a series finale it would be more than a little disappointing. But if there is one silver lining to take from this episode is that we are getting a season 2. I just can’t see how we wouldn’t.

Now, nothing in life, has any business being perfect and this episode wasn’t either. So I will quickly list what I felt were the major flaws so we can proceed to the good stuff of which there is plenty.

Not sparkers of joy

The pacing and structure

It was somewhat rushed. Scenes jumped from one to the other without much preparation (particularly in the first half) and several things were not addressed. People have pointed to the fact that they did not include a Charlotte/Georgiana good-bye scene which I agree was a mistake. In addition, we were presented with a Georgiana and Arthur that were the best of friends even though in episode 7, Georgiana couldn’t stand him. That’s not to say they couldn’t reach this point but I expected to see that journey, not skip it.

Georgiana, on the whole, was odd. Aside from her rebuke of Sidney and conversation with Charlotte which were keeping in line with what she did in episode 7, the rest of her time on screen was perplexing. She was lively, dancing with everyone, huge smile on her face … this being the girl that refused to leave her bedroom a few days before. Again, not saying she couldn’t get to this stage but where did I see how she did that?!?

The whole Sidney/Eliza situation was resolved off screen which … why?!? First we weren’t given the scene of him sending her packing in ep 7 and now we have no idea how he turned that around to the extent that he got himself engaged to her and with the money to save Sanditon, all in a week.

I mean ok, I get that he’s got but ... OK, OK! He’s THAT hot!

There were other examples of shoddy storytelling but those stick out in my mind the most.

The sudden tone shift

The reason why I reacted so badly to the episode to start with was because for 7 hours I was led to believe this was a fluffy, cozy regency romance in the vein of Northanger Abbey or Emma. Sure, things happen to cause momentary sadness but it all gets resolved in the best way by the end of the episode.

Instead the Sanditon finale marked the tone shift from the fluffy to the angst. We are now firmly in Persuasion/Sense&Sensibility territory. It’s still Austen as I will explain below in more detail but I would have appreciated some warning that this is where we were heading.

The specifics of the cliffhanger

Now this is obviously personal preferences but I do have some issues with the manner in which they chose to separate Sidney and Charlotte. Having Sidney propose to Eliza in order to get the money to save Tom from prison does resolve several issues in a very expedient way: it forces the two young lovers apart; it creates angst and anticipation for the next season; it also allows for Charlotte and Sidney to both be victims of the separation and still desperately in love with each other and wanting to get married.

However, the cost is that Sidney is now in the position of doing to Charlotte exactly what Willoughby did to Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. Sidney is obviously not Willoughby and his motives are selfless. But his actions are a play by play of Willoughby’s betrayal: he pursues Charlotte, kisses her on the cliffs (substitute that for Willoughby taking a lock of Marianne’s hair), means to propose to her and then disappears, only to return engaged when a lack of money force him to choose between love and a fortune. 

He even makes a “I don’t love her” confession, similar to Willoughby’s scene with Eleanor. Of course, Sidney tells Charlotte that not to victimize himself like Willoughby but rather because he can’t bare the thought that Charlotte might think he’s done this because he doesn’t love her. But you can see how this kind of narrative choice can really negatively impact Sidney’s character. 

It’s sad that they chose this cliffhanger, particularly since they didn’t need to. I firmly believe that had they ended on a more hopefully note for Charlotte and Sidney we would have tuned in anyway for season 2. I wish they had had more confidence in their story and in their viewers.

But enough of the negative!

Sparks joy

Theme

I have to say that thematically, they hit this finale out of the park. The most important piece of dialogue in this whole episode occurs between Esther and Lady Denham:

Lady Denham: It is infinitely better to be loved than to love. Especially in a marriage.

Esther: You’re speaking from your own experience or someone else’s?

Lady Denham: My own. Not with my husband, of course. It was long before that. A man called Rowley. Some people said he was the handsomest man in all of Somerset. But to me he was the handsomest in the world. And he knew it!

Esther: What happened?

Lady Denham: He kept me dangling for a while. Trembling. Waiting for a look, for a smile, for a tender word … like one of his dogs. And then he up and married a girl from Gloucestershire, with 50.000. He had debts, of course. Couldn’t have afforded to marry me. Should have been obvious to me at the time but … you know what girls are.

May I just say that Anne Ried’s performance in this scene is a treasure trove of skill and emotion? You can just feel the longing and the sadness this story can still elicit from this seemingly cold matriarch. Lady Denham, like all our characters, is more than she seems. She starts off as a Lady Catherine de Bourgh clone and develops into one of the wisest, mot rational people in the show.

She gives Esther excellent advice and is compassionate when she realizes what Edward has been doing to her.

She also gives us our theme for the finale of Sanditon and perhaps of the whole show. Because her speech doesn’t just apply to Esther and her relationship to Edward. It applies to Georgiana’s heartbreak over Otis and Charlotte’s impeding heartbreak at the hands of Sidney. In even more general terms, it speaks to the heartbreak most Austen heroines experience at some point during her novels: 

Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions - Pride and Prejudice

Her whole speech reminded me of what my mother told me the first time I broke up with someone I loved. She said: “No girl can pass through life without having her heart broken”.

The show telegraphs this home by having the Sidney/Charlotte cliff walk follow immediately after this scene.

We are so distracted by the innocent beauty of Sidney and Charlotte being in love and so mesmerized by their first kiss:

That we fail to take Lady Denham’s warning seriously. And, just like Charlotte, we end up paying the price for it

The Austenverse

Lady Denham also clues us in to where exactly we are within the Austenverse. Many people have claimed that episode 8 marked the moment this stopped being an Austen story because Austen novels always have happy endings:

My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.

Did you think we were just going to skip the “little trouble”part? Sweet summer children! We’re at the moment where Elizabeth finds out Lydia has run off with Wickham and thinks she’s lost Darcy for good. We’re at the moment where Knightly reprimands Emma for treating Miss Bates poorly and leaves for London. We’re at the moment where Anne is forced to join her father in Bath and believes Fredrick will soon marry Louisa Musgrove.

And finally, and most pertinently since this is what Sanditon is trying to emulate, we’re at the moment where Edward’s engagement to Lucy Steele is made public and he and Eleanor say their final good-byes (supposedly).

Austen heroines are never spared heartache. But it is a depiction of heartache that is not gratuitous. It allows the characters to grow, to understand the true depth of their feelings and eventually to value the good fortune they have when it all turns out for the best in the end.

And no novel drives that point home more than Sense and Sensibility and Austen’s Eleanor character, the suffer in silence heroine who pretends she is fine, all the meanwhile dying on the inside. Kind of like this:

Honestly it shouldn’t surprise me that we’ve ended the season on this somber note. Sanditon visually owes a great deal to Davies’ Sense and Sensibility 2008 adaptation. That mini-series had a somewhat different feel to usual Austen productions, particularly in comparison to the 1995 Ang Lee film. It was darker, grittier and had a bit of a western feel to it than Sanditon reproduces to great effect, I think.

So it’s quite understandable, in retrospect, that Charlotte’s character arc would see her start off as a Marianne type character (open, romantic and impulsive) and slowly turn her into Eleanor by the end of the season.

In order to make that transition complete, a lot was asked of Rose Williams and she manages to convey the transformation in one breathtaking shot:

I am deeply, deeply impressed with her acting in this episode, and particularly in this scene. You can literally feel her heart breaking and see the mask that will dominate in the church scene fall into place.

Which brings us to Sidney …

I’ve said it a million times and I can’t help but say it again: Theo James OWNS this character. I don’t know if he simply hasn’t gotten the proper material in his career until now or if there’s something special about Sidney that resonates with him but his acting is so spot on that even when Sidney breaks Charlotte’s heart, behaving like Willoughby as I’ve said, you can’t hate him.

Not when he is the same man who gets chocked up as he tries to propose to Charlotte:

Not when he’s the man who tells her this:

Sidney: I have never wanted to put myself in someone else’s power before. I never wanted to care for anyone but myself.

And not when, with just one look, Theo James is able to convey Sidney’s despair and pain. How can you hate him when he’s clearly breaking himself into tiny pieces over giving Charlotte up?

And how the hell can you hate him when you can hate … this clown instead?

Oh, sorry I meant …

Words cannot describe how much I loathe Tom Parker. Well actually, my new fictional mum comes close to enunciating our common and general distaste:

Lady Denham: I will see you in the debtors prison! I will see you in the poor house! Where are your promises now? Dust and ashes! You might as well have lost my money at the gaming tables! You despicable man!

If only Lady D would have been allowed to go forth with her threat and hand Tom over to the debt collectors. How much happier everyone would be right now!

Unfortunately the Parkers are far too nice for their own good. They all jump in head first, trying to save this sorry excuse for a man. Arthur even offers up his entire inheritance. Tom refuses … Not because he thinks it’s not right for his youngest brother to risk his entire life’s comfort for his unworthy clown’s ass but because … IT’S NOT ENOUGH MONEY!

Tom Parker has amassed 80.000 pounds worth of debts. Luckily Google allows me to illustrate to you exactly what 80.000 pounds meant in 1820s era England:

80.000 pounds could have paid the wages of an immortal skilled worker in perpetuity!!!! And this MORON decided not to ensure it … Apparently, Kris Marshall has said that Tom is the Regency’s version of Steve Jobs … I assume Steve Jobs too let his younger brother prostitute himself for his benefit, after already taking a 3000 pounds “loan” from him and thinking up ways of spending his baby  brother’s inheritance on top of that … Oh, wait! Steve Jobs was a visionary who died a billionaire. Take several sits, Kris!

What really irritates me is that everyone is very quick to absolve Tom of any blame, jump to his defense and in due course Tom, himself, decides he should not be so hard on himself, which is why he is ecstatic when Sidney returns to Sanditon, with the news of his engagement. This is what comes out of Tom Parker’s mouth:

Tom Parker: This is excellent news! Oh, Charlotte, glorious news! Sanditon is saved!

So he knows full well that Sidney has asked Mrs. Campion to marry him in order to save him and he is perfectly willing to let him go through with ruining his life. The saddest part is that the rest of the Parker family goes along with this lunacy.

That includes Mary who already knows that Sidney and Charlotte are in love. Kind and sensible as she might be, Mary decides to turn a blind eye to Sidney’s sacrifice and Charlotte’s pain in order to have her husband safe. And it shouldn’t come as a surprise since she’s the one that told Sidney this back in episode 1:

Sidney: And tomorrow is the famous ball, is it not?

Mary: Tom has been in such a state about it! You will do all you can to help him, won’t you?

I thought I’d mention this since everyone seems to be under the impression that Sidney sacrificing himself for Tom now is a sign of the growth of character Charlotte inspired in him. But it actually isn’t.

Both Tom and Mary make it very clear early on that they relay on Sidney’s help. He’s sort of the third member of their marriage (they do have a painting of him in their entryway) who is there to ensure Tom’s ass is saved from the fire of his own making. And both Tom and Mary are complacent in this.

Sidney choosing to marry Mrs. Campion over Charlotte isn’t a new development in his dedication to his family. It is the end result of years of emotional blackmail and dependency Tom has dished out, and Mary has, most likely unconsciously, supported.

And all of that spells disaster for Sidney who is left closing the door to the coach that will take the love of his life away from him:

I know we are all commiserating with Charlotte over what happened. But I think we should spare Sidney a thought as well. He is ruining his life, his integrity and his happiness for someone who will most likely waste his sacrifice in a matter of months. Add to that Eliza’s behavior at the wedding and it’s pretty safe to say Sidney will pay for the money he will give Tom in every which way possible.

The only glimmer of light in all this unbearable darkness is that Lord Babington (he still doesn’t have a first name … :( ) and Esther are now married. Their wedding is actually very much a visual representation of Austen type country weddings, down to everyone smiling and throwing petals at them:

However even in their case, there are still clouds on the horizon since Esther was pretty clear about not being in love with her husband. She took Lady D’s advice that “ being loved is better than loving: and season 2 will show us if that is enough for her or indeed her husband.

Unfortunately, our two protagonists weren’t as lucky as Lord and Lady Babington. The road ahead for them is hard and filled with angst. There’s bound to be a lot of darkness before the dawn. However, do not despair and listen to the only voice that matters:

Lady Denham: Well, Miss Heywood? You’re still proclaiming your independence? Or is it that none of our young men have taken your fancy? I’ll wager we’ll see you walk down the aisle very soon. What do you say, Mr. Parker?

My fictional mummy is never wrong!

[singeramg]

Finding Forever: Chapter 1

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Black Original Character

Rating: Explict/ M/ Whatever...will be smut later on. 

Warnings: Cursing, eventual smut, some angst, more tags to come as we get into this. 

Summary: Aura Camilla an actress who has just landed her first lead role opposite Henry Cavill. This story follows her as she tries to navigate her fast developing feelings for her costar. 

A/N: Welcome everyone, so this is my first time attempting to write anything involving Henry Cavill, so y'all bare with me and be nice (Please) Also blame The Witcher for this sudden interest. . I hope you guys will like it and I promise it will get better as we go along. I don’t have any idea of how long this will be. I welcome comments and suggestions.

  Chapter 1: All this Love

“I have everything I need ummm....I think.”

I said to my best friend Mia who was laying across my bed, her hair a black/ white/grey ombré dreads that reached the middle of her back of her chestnut frame. She was mindless playing with one of the furry ivory pillows I had on my bed. 

“Well Aura considering you’ve packed and repacked that bag several times I highly doubt you forgot anything. Shit I’m quite sure you’ve packed the entirety of your room.”

She said with a smirk, then went back to scrolling on her phone. I laughed, flipping her off, and zipping my bag closed. 

“Are you ready to drive me to the airport?”

“The real question is are you ready to go?”

She said getting up from my bed and sliding into her shoes. 

“Come bring your ass on...”

I said with a laugh, hauling my suitcase off of bed and out of my room in our shared apartment...

 ⭐️*** 

To say I was nervous was an understatement. I had just checked into my room on location for the movie I had just landed. I had done some parts in television and movies, supporting characters. This would be the first time I played a lead, it was a romantic comedy. All set around a neurotic late 20 something named Anya Novak that spent her life doing everything for everyone else but never going after what she wants. Her job merges with another and in enters the new guy Carson Wyatt who rubs her the wrong way when they first meet and even more so when she figures out he is her new neighbor. 

I could handle the role, I was certain of that but I was nervous because I hadn’t met anyone from the cast yet. The filming schedule was coming off the heels of filming a big movie for not only the directors but for my co-star Henry Cavill. I had been surprised when they said he would be joining the cast as this type of movie didn’t seem like his type that he would be in. It had very little action and a lot of comedic timing. I was nervous that he and I would not get along at all and make this filming unbearable. We were due to start filming in a day or so but tonight we were set to all meet and have dinner. 

I unpacked my clothes and now found myself standing in front of my closet much like I would at home, except now I didn’t have Mia to help me choose. I would settle for FaceTime.

“ It’s Mia the Mua of your dreams.”

“Yeah my nightmares too. Best friend I need help and I need it fast. Cast dinner in two hours with no clue and what to put on out of all the shit you packed me to wear.”

“Where is the dinner?”

“ Small gastropub, nothing too fancy but I want to make a good impression.”

“Yeah maybe on that foine ass co-star of yours.”

“Mi let’s not go there.”

“You need to let him go there with your uptight ass. Been moving around here for months, working too hard with no play. Especially since Jamal.”

“Ugh, god you said the name. I thought we agreed that name was dead.”

“ I agreed not to beat his ass for that shit he pulled, but that’s all. Now onto what you called for. Dark wash jeans, white and black sheer top, black heels. Light on the makeup, soft curls on the hair.”

“Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me.”

“I might style you in my free time but unlike you my jetsetting darling I still have to deal with my lazy ass ultra extra Ulta manager. At least until you need me full time.”

“But I do this is the problem. I told you to get on the plane with me but no. You didn’t.”

“I’m working on it, you know my manager asked me to hold off on my leave until she came back from vacation. Look don’t worry about me I’ll be there is two weeks you can survive two weeks before I arrive,  just get dressed, go make some friends, and relax because I know you are freaking out and doing yourself a disservice. Remember our saying...”

“Beautiful is who you are not what you are.”

Mia and I repeated at the same time as we had since middle school. In a school where the people didn’t look like us with Mia’s cinnamon tone and my sienna color paired with braids and thick dark hair, didn’t make us popular in a world of blonde hair and blue eyes. We made due as we got older, at 25 we kept that motto as a reminder to love ourselves no matter what.

“Aura go out there and make those people love as much as I do.” 

I sniffed back a few tears and felt grateful for the type of friend I had.

“Thank you Mia.”

“Always. Now I gotta go. I was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago.”

We laughed and hung up...

⭐️Later

I dressed in what Mia said to put on, stepping from the cab, grateful for us filming in the springtime in Canada, despite the nighttime, the air was moderate. The restaurant was lit in a dim light but bright enough to see the faces. I stepped in and the hostess upon hearing the name of the party I was with smile brightened up and walked me to a secluded room to the back of the restaurant. As soon as I entered the directors Marshall and Anne a married couple for whom this was a passion project. We instantly clicked during my audition and subsequent talking they were really nice to me.

“Aura! I’m glad you made it!”

Anne said standing and pulling me into hug, Marshall following shortly after. 

“Yes please come in, have a seat. There’s an open seat left next to Henry.”

I smiled and looked to the room where all the men stood on my arrival as custom dictated, and my eyes landed on the 6’1 dark haired gentleman I had been anxious to meet. Marshall walked me to the other side of the table where Henry was standing.

“Henry meet your co-star Aura Camilla. Aura please meet Henry Cavill.”

He had a look on his face that I honestly couldn’t place, but once Marshall made introductions a wide grin broke across his face, and he offered a hand out to me. I took it and we shook, with him seeming to stare at my face my hazel eyes locking with his blue. 

“Pleasure to meet you Henry. Big fan of your work.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well Aura. I’m excited to be working with you as well.”

It was then that I guess he realized he was still holding my hand and he let go quickly only to pull out my chair, nervously, actually tripping over the edge of the chair slightly but not falling. The cool persona he had to world, out the window for a split moment, but that was okay because I liked it...

*The next day* 

I was sitting in the make-up artist chair, as they worked to make me look as scripted for our first scene. I was going over my lines when I heard the door to the trailer opened and closed, the next to me groaning under the new weight in it. I smiled when I realized who was now occupying the chair.

“Good morning Aura. Sleep well I hope?”

Henry looked fresh, wearing sweatpants and a black zipped-up hoodie. No product in his hair, and freshly shaved as opposed to the light stubble he sported yesterday night. Honestly we got along really well, which was a relief in terms of working. We actually vibed during our talking last night. He was a breath of fresh air in this industry to have a conversation with a man who wasn’t talking to my boobs.  We just laughed and joked most of the night, leaving off with him agreeing to help me out in the gym, I also think I left feeling like my soft admiration for a man I didn’t know to a man I kinda knew to a real world potential crush that could crush me and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.

So now here I was sitting next to a man that I was attracted to. I could smell the trouble brewing.

“Yes, I did. It’s always a little difficult getting used to sleeping in a bed that’s not my own.”

“I have the same problem. Takes me a few days to adjust to the time change and a different bed. I am usually up all night until then despite being tired from a long day. I find that working out helps me get back on track, if not watch some television.”

“Yeah I’m more the type to watch TV or a movie and I’m out like a light. Thank god we don’t have a super early call time for the first couple of weeks.” 

“You ready to go out there and hate my guts on screen?”

“Sure, as long as you are ready to hate mine.”

“I am going to have to put my acting skills to the test. This would be easier if you were a horrible person.”

“Excuse me for not being a drag on your life Cavill. I think this would be easier for me too if you hadn’t endeared me to your dog and told me about your terrible bullying experience. I can’t actually hate you now.”

We laughed along with those in the trailer and as I was ushered into wardrobe I had to cut off those butterflies in my stomach and focus on doing my job....

A/n: So tell me what you think? If you want to read more let me know. Thank you for taking the time to read this little piece of crap I managed lol

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27,  Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35,  Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44,  Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, Chapter 49, Chapter 50, Chapter 51 Chapter 52

AO3

Huge thank you to my beta, @theministerskat for correcting the same mistakes 53 chapters in without any complaint!

picture by: Kamryn Hinojos

Chapter 53. Dust and Smiles

When I lived in Scotland I missed the sun dearly. Sunny days were treasured, and I found myself smiling without any particular reason when the sunlight snuck between the curtains of my room in the morning.

But sometimes a person can have too much sun. And too much dust stuck to their body. And there is a point when you think of rain and realise a wistful smile has appeared on your face at the thought. It’s the same moment you realise there isn’t an inch of your body not coated in grime.

I reached that exact point on a quiet afternoon in June, two weeks before I left Zambia. Some would say it had taken me long enough.

I was left alone after treating the skin wounds of a couple of five-year-old boys that had gone out ‘to explore’. Their little feet had raised tons of dust as they ran away from the clinic and the first thing that came to my mind was that I was extremely tired of washing my hair every night only to feel it dirty again by noon the following day.

Then, just before the boys disappeared out of sight, one of them turned back to look at me, white teeth stark against his dark skin as he smiled, and waved goodbye.

And suddenly, I didn’t mind the dust that much. I didn’t mind the heat, or how heavy my body felt at the end of each shift. All that mattered was their smiles when they left the clinic.

My three months in Zambia were so full of experiences, I could hardly believe it hadn’t lasted longer. I learned how to talk to people who were in pain, how to heal them or -- when this was impossible -- how to make them feel better. I learned to listen to them, to search their eyes, to read their discomfort or pain in the way they moved. And I learned how a single smile can make your day, how two skinny arms wrapped around your body or two warm hands holding yours can fill your heart to the brim.

Spending my childhood with Lamb, I was used to living amongst people who were different from me. He’d taught me to look at people and see them for all they were. Humans. Different, beautiful, every one a worthy individual.

“All people are the same,” Lamb used to say. “All genuine smiles make the eyes crinkle, all hearts beat in the same way inside our chests, not aware of colour or tribe.”

In Africa, I saw life, and I saw death. I saw the universality of pain. I felt hands squeezing mine in terror and in gratitude. And I felt full. I felt alive.

When I first decided to volunteer I had thought I would find a piece of my mother in Africa. I believed I would discover who she had been, what she had pursued in life. I didn’t. And I wasn’t disappointed, because I had found a piece of myself in the faces I met in Livingstone, and I cherished that. And maybe -- just maybe -- that piece of myself was hers. Passed down to me, together with her amber eyes, an unbreakable part of myself.

Being a volunteer had been a full time job -- and a demanding one at that. But I didn’t want to leave, not yet. I had more to give, there were people here who needed me. But I knew that my time was up. In two weeks, I would feel Scottish air against my skin once more. I would feel Lamb’s arms hugging me for a few extended moments before he would push away to look into my eyes and pet my hair the way he always did. And a week later, I would be at Lallybroch. Jenny had asked -- demanded, actually -- to spend a week or two there. She had enough of the men, she had said when we’d texted. And true to her word to her brother, she had sent me pictures of the estate, in full bloom and beauty.

Jamie would come home after the summer term. We would spend two weeks together before his next term began and I would go to Oxford. To Oxford, where -- unexpectedly -- I would find a familiar face.

Robert.

He had been different since his personal confession. His arrogance and cheeky comments hadn’t abated, but there wasn’t an edge to his voice anymore. It felt as though he needed someone to know his story, even if that someone wasn’t a friend, even if it was just me. He clammed up after that and never talked about his mother again, apart from the time he’d told me it was her wish that had brought him to Zambia as a volunteer.

We started, however, talking about literature. One evening I found him reading that fantasy book I had finished a few months ago. And when the conversation turned to our future plans after Zambia, he had looked down at me with a smirk and proudly announced that he had been admitted to Oxford University. I’d almost spit my pineapple juice out and onto his face. After that, our expectations and dreams of studying at Oxford became the most common topic of our discussions. Robert would be studying economics, expected to inherit and work in his father’s wine business in Provence. That was a relief. The last thing I wanted was to have the self-centered, competitive French on my heels through medical school. From what I had learned about him in the few months we lived together, he didn’t like being bested by anyone. And neither did I.

Jamie was the first to know I had found a fellow Oxford student in the middle of Africa. He and I had been texting and sending photos all the time, and I kept changing my screen background, choosing the funniest of the pictures he sent me. My favorite picture of him though, was the one he had sent me right after I arrived in Zambia. He was wearing a wide, silly grin as he sat in the bleachers of Michigan Stadium, my Wolverine amongst the blue and yellow sea of other students. He had sent it together with a text, shouting, “MY FIRST SPRING GAME!”

Boys.

Despite the selfies Jamie sent me every day -- in class, on his way there, before training holding the towel I had bought him, or tucked in with his blanket at night in bed, my favorite part of the week was when I saw him during our calls every weekend. I was always trying to take in every detail of him during our video chats -- his beautiful eyes, the way his curls moved as he excitedly gesticulated, his voice.

I missed him and I knew he missed me too. Even when John was present in their dorm and Jamie wouldn’t say it, his longing was obvious in the way he looked at me.

Two weeks and I would be at Lallybroch, in Jamie’s room. It made no sense for me to fly straight to Michigan with Jamie having his final classes and preparing to sit for his spring term exams. I had looked for tickets to visit him right after the exams, but the fares were too high to even consider it.  

We had agreed that it was not the ideal situation but okay nonetheless. We would survive it. At least, once I was back in Scotland, we would be able to call each other every day. As John had said, laughing, the force of the internet would be with us.

Jamie would come home at the end of August, after his summer term, and we would be at Lallybroch together, spending every single minute with each other.

“We have to make up for so much lost time,” Jamie had said to me during our last call, and the glint in his eye was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.  

A text on my phone brought me out of my reverie and I realised that I was still standing under the sun, alone, looking towards the far end of the road.

I found myself doing that a lot lately.

Scot: John’s cousin is a pain in the ass.

Sassenach: Hello to you, too.

Scot: Hi babe. John’s cousin is a pain in the ass. She called him, woke us up, and she demands that we pick her up from her hotel and show her around.

Sassenach: Well, she came to visit. Makes sense, no?

Scot: It. Is. Too. Early.

Sassenach: It’s 1 pm here!

Scot: You’re not helping. It’s 7 in the morning. Maybe I can send her there, then?

Sassenach: Is that the cocky cousin or the nice one? I doubt they’ll like the dust we have here, in any case.

Scot: The cocky one. Can I come there myself? Please?

Sassenach: Why aren't you on your way, already? :P

Scot: Don’t tempt me.

Sassenach: I don’t have anything to do right now.

Scot: We didn’t send you there to relax under the sun, Sassenach. Get that gorgeous round arse to work.

Sassenach: It seems I’ve healed all of Zambia.

Scot: So humble.

Sassenach: Always. I took lessons from the best.

Scot: Fuck you.

Sassenach: What? Since when are you talking like that? I need a selfie to make sure it’s really you.

I spent a whole minute wishing his selfie to load faster, but I ended up with a sleepy Jamie on my screen, which was worth the wait.

Sassenach: So it is you. These Americans are rubbing off on you, no? AND I DON’T MEAN IT LITERALLY. Also, fucking seems a bit difficult right now, seeing as you’re half a planet away.

Scot: But I’m ready, you know, right now.

I could almost see his pout and the challenge in his eyes when I closed my own, and I felt my cheeks turn red.

Sassenach: Okay. Shut up!

Scot: DAMN WAIT TILL I SEE YOU AGAIN. JUST WAIT.

Sassenach: Oh I’m looking forward to that.

Scot: Aaaaargh

Sassenach: Eloquent. Now get dressed, go get John and Hector, and show the girl around. She came all the way from Penrith to see Ann Arbor.

Scot: I just don’t get why I have to go, too.

Sassenach: John is your friend. This is what friends do. I spent all Saturday afternoon shopping with Louise.

Scot: I hate you.

Sassenach: Me too. Send me pictures?

Scot: Always. You too. Actually, I need one right now.

I took a picture of my dirty dusted face and sent it to him, grimacing when I saw how sloppy I looked.

Scot: You’re so tanned, I want to lick you.

Sassenach: Believe me you don’t. I’m dirty.

Scot: DIRTY? OMG STOP TALKING. I’m hard already and I have to get dressed.

Sassenach: You are ridiculous. Have I ever told you that?

Scot: Only a million times.

Sassenach: Good!

Scot: I’m going to take a cold shower AND CERTAINLY NOT THINK OF YOU.

Sassenach: I wish I was there with you.

Sending that, I actually snickered. His reply came in milliseconds.

Scot: You are a heartless, dangerous woman.

Sassenach: And yet you love me. Now go shower.

Scot: I do love you. And I’ll prove to you how much once I get my hands on you, you tease. Ttyl!

Raising my eyes from the screen, I saw Louise looking at me.

“You know I can tell when you’re texting Jamie, from that silly smile on your face?” she asked, keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest as if judging me.

“What can I do?” I didn’t try to hide my smile. “I found myself a good one.”

Louise nodded and came to stand next to me. A moment later a heavy sigh left her lips, and I noticed the shadows in her eyes. “Margaret was crying again. I tried to talk to her, but she won’t listen. She’s leaving next week and she doesn’t want to go back.”

“Makes sense.” Louise’s mood had been bad the last few days. “The moment she’ll be back, she’ll have to deal with reality. He won’t be there, and there will be no way to escape.”  

“She keeps talking in her sleep. She’s having weird dreams, you know.” Louise twisted her rings absentmindedly, not looking at me.

“I know. I woke her last night because she was murmuring and thrashing about. Jeremy was awake too, and we kept her company until she was settled again.”

“I’m sorry to see her go, especially knowing she’s still so unstable. I think her family isn’t supportive and that terrifies her even more.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Two of the volunteers I got to know had come to Zambia carrying a great emotional load and needing a chance to escape. They were trying to heal themselves through healing the others. The universality of pain, all over again.

“Charlie called me.” Louise changed the subject, this time with a smile. “He said he misses me.” She rubbed her hands against her thighs, awkwardly, but met my eyes when I turned to look at her.

“Rather convenient, wouldn’t you say? Seeing as you’re going back home next week.”

“Not all of us are strong, Claire.” Her voice was harsh and I bit my lip, regretting being so straightforward.

“You know better, I guess.”

Louise sighed again. “I wish I did, actually. I don’t know what to do when I get back to Paris.”

I placed my hand on top of her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You don’t need to decide right now. You can meet him, see what he has to say, how he’ll explain himself.”

Louise nodded, sleek brown locks of hair escaping her loose ponytail. “I wish we were as strong as you and Jamie are. Everything would be simpler.”

“Well, it’s not like everything comes easy and we don’t try at all. We’ve just decided that being together matters the most, and we’re not sacrificing what we have just because we’re not close. We’re both stubborn and it helps -- thus far, at least.”

My phone vibrated against my leg, and I unlocked it to see a picture of Jamie and John rolling their eyes, and a girl in the background.

Sassenach: Out, already?

Scot: Yeap. She’s fourteen but she’s so bossy I think John is afraid of her.

Sassenach: And you?

Scot: I’m being a good friend, as I was advised to be. I already regret it.

Sassenach: Where are you?

Scot: Out for breakfast. She had the longest order I’ve heard in my whole life. She actually ordered something from the menu and then changed every little bit of it. It was embarrassing.

Sassenach: Leave a good tip.

Scot: We will! Hector turned red as she kept going on and gave the waitress a shy smile.

Sassenach: I wish I was there, sitting at another table just to make fun of the three of you.

Scot: Believe me, babe, if you were here I’d sit right next to you at a table in another cafe.

Sassenach: Drama queen.

Scot: You haven’t met wee Geneva yet.

Sassenach: How come she visited without her parents?

Scot: They had promised her this trip if her grades were good. They were. She’s really smart, actually. It makes her more of a pain in the ass.

Sassenach: Maybe the three of you can teach her something, you know? Humility, for example.

Scot: Not a chance.

I stuck my tongue out, took a selfie and sent it.

Scot: Don’t you show me that tongue because I have dreams about it. And I hope you’re there alone.

Sassenach: I’m with Louise! She says hi!

Scot: Hello Louise! Take care of Claire for me, okay?

Sassenach: You realise I’m still the one reading the texts, right?

Scot: Just read that one aloud.

Sassenach: I’m capable of taking care of myself, thank you.

Scot: I know. My strong and stubborn lass. John looks desperate and Hector is huffing. I’m going to save them from their misery because I’m a good friend.

Sassenach: The best! Go save them, my gallant lad!

I huffed a laugh and turned my focus back to Louise. “It was quiet today.”

“Mmmm.” Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed under the sun.

“Whatever happens with Charlie, you’re going to be fine,” I said, using my most reassuring tone.

“Mmmm.”

I decided to join her and close my eyes for a bit, but an elderly woman and her daughter came into view. “Well, don’t blame me for that,” I murmured and nudged Louise, who opened her eyes, saw the patients, and shot me an accusing glance.

“Hello,” she said as she turned back to the women, and we both rose from the bench.

Who knew what waited for us once we got back to normalcy. For now, we had work to do.

Chapter 54

[an-incurable-affection-blog]

Ivanhoe

Sir Walter Scott. 1819. “Romanticism and Gothic” list.

“Rebecca and the Wounded Ivanhoe” by Eugene Delacroix.

“The knights are dust, And their good swords are rust, And their souls are with the saints, we trust.”

In the style of Sir Walter Scott, whose books and chapters open with epigraphs, I begin with a quote that Scott adapts from Coleridge’s “The Knight’s Tomb” (although in Ivanhoe we find this in the main body of the text). 

The quote is just one of countless places where the narrator calls attention to the fact that the book is set in an earlier age (the reign of Richard I, in the 12th century) than its time of publication (1819). Whereas a contemporary historical novel typically presents a self-contained story, without extradiegetic references to its nature as a period piece, Ivanhoe scuttles between its setting and (Scott’s) present-day: for example, to contrast what a certain building looked like in the period with how it does now; or contrast the customs of the time with current customs, sometimes to help readers understand an event (“And as there were no forks in those days, his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the pasty”), sometimes just because; or offer reasons why we should believe in the plausibility of his fictions, naming his historical sources. As the first historical novelist, Scott seems to feel called upon to explain and justify his new genre even within the text itself. In their context, the Coleridge lines are trotted out to justify why the narrative declines to include lengthy descriptions of the devices and colors of the knights at a particular tournament⁠—contrary, the narrator explains, to “my Saxon authority (in the Wardour Manuscript).” 

Of course, no work of fiction needs to justify why it includes certain details and leaves out others—it is the author’s job to decide what material is relevant, and there are far too many choices involved to justify each one. But the narrator brings up his reasoning behind not describing knights’ heraldry—namely, because they’re all dead now—to play up the theme of nostalgia, a staple of the Romanticist movement. Not only are we, in the nineteenth century, looking back at knights (how nostalgic), but remember, readers, they no longer exist (aw!). 

But the Romanticist project here is ambivalent, with the narrator both criticizing (explicitly) and glorifying (usually more implicitly) the Age of Chivalry. The narrator frequently opines on “the disgraceful license by which that age was stained,” and how “fiction itself can hardly reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period,” and so on. “In our own days...morals are better understood” (he’s no relativist). But on the other hand, as Richard the Lionheart comments upon hearing the Saxon noble Athelstane detail how he escaped from a crypt, “beshrew me but such a tale is as well worth listening to as a romance.” That’s because it’s a tale within a romance, and romances, the implied author seems to agree, are well worth listening to. “The horrors” are seductive. The horrors are romantic. (Cf. the Gothic.)

The title may be Ivanhoe, after its chivalric Saxon hero Wilfred of Ivanhoe, but the real hero(ine), arguably, is the beautiful and long-suffering Jewess Rebecca. Here we can see the real divergence of this 19th-century Romantic work from its medieval-romance inspiration. In what can be read as an implicit criticism of medieval romance and the age that gave rise to it, the show, I think, is stolen from the titular knight-errant by a Jewish woman. 

The only character with no flaws or foibles, Rebecca is even more perfect than the heroine we would expect to star in this romance—Ivanhoe’s lady-love, the Saxon princess Rowena. As the similarity of their names suggests, Rebecca and Rowena are doubles. They appear in back-to-back chapters, simultaneously unfolding chapters that feature them, imprisoned in separate rooms of the same castle, spurning the sexual advances of their respective captors. Heroines locked up in castle chambers, besieged by would-be rapists and the threat of forced marriages; heroines demonstrating their noble character by rejecting wicked seducers—all tropes. Less predictable is the use of these tropes as a means of contrasting the situations of women from different classes, and with a Jewish woman emerging as the superior character, no less. 

Both women do triumph in their goal of averting the fates their captors intend. But Rowena, normally haughty, crumples in a flood of tears when she realizes De Bracy’s power to force her hand in marriage. (Luckily for her, De Bracy is soft at heart—this would not have worked on Rebecca’s admirer, the still more wicked Brian de Bois-Guilbert.) Rebecca, though bearing herself with “courtesy” and a “proud humility” (in contrast to Rowena’s haughtiness), shows herself to have more spirit and strength of character. As a member of a despised race, Rebecca is approached with an offer far less honorable than marriage. (Also, Bois-Guilbert’s vows as a Knight Templar forbid his marriage to anyone.) Instead, the Knight wants to make her his mistress. In such a station she will be showered with riches and glory, he promises. She answers with true fighting words: “I spit at thee, and I defy thee.” In a classic (literally, going back to classical mythology) heroine move, Rebecca threatens to commit suicide, jumping to the ledge of the high turret and warning him not to come a step closer. This both dissuades Bois-Guilbert from his original intent and heightens his passion for her: “Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dishonor must have a proud and a powerful soul. Mine thou must be!...It must be with thine own consent, on thine own terms.”

Thus Rebecca finds herself at the center of a Gothic-heroine-threatened-with-rape-in-castle-chamber scene turned into a Samuel Richardson-style seduction narrative—that gives way, at this part, to a Gothic castle siege passage. Whereas Rowena’s persecutor uses the interruption presented by the siege as an excuse to desist in his ill-fated suit, the Richardsonian plot starring Rebecca continues as a dominating strand of the novel, another respect in which her character appropriates the literary territory of the highborn Englishwoman. Before Brian de Bois-Guilbert closes his first scene with Rebecca to go defend the castle, he established himself as that tantalizing character-type, the potentially reformable rake. “I am not naturally that which you have seen me—hard, selfish, relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercised it...” He came home from knight-errantry, he explains, to find that the lady-love whose fame he spread far and wide had married another man. Here the reader can glimpse the possibility for Rebecca to be a Mary (another Jewess) to the former lady’s Eve, the means to redemption for a man who was led by a woman into corruption. Whether the Knight Templar will turn out like Richardson’s reformable Mr. B or the irredeemable Lovelace remains to be seen.

In another aspect of Rebecca’s and Rowena’s doubleness, Rebecca’s (rejected) lover is antagonist to Rowena’s (accepted) lover, the hero Ivanhoe. Brian de Bois-Guilbert is the ultimate 12th-century bad boy: he has “slain three hundred Saracens with his own hands,” and he slays with the ladies, too. He is described, in the Ann Radcliffe tradition, with all the dark fascination of a Gothic villain: 

“His expression was calculated to impress a degree of awe, if not fear, upon strangers. High features, naturally strong and powerfully expressive...keen, piercing, dark eyes, told in every glance a history of difficulties subdued and dangers dared...a deep scar on his brow gave additional sternness to his countenance and sinister expression to one of his eyes...” 

and so on. One of the most interesting things about the novel for me is the way that Bois-Guilbert—over and above whatever is appealing about bad boys—is a strangely sympathetic character, more so than Ivanhoe, and to what degree that was built into the narrative intentionally. When the narrator weighs in with moral judgments (as he often does), it can offer insight into what his take might be on those scenes unaccompanied by commentary. So for example, when the narrator calls “the character of a knight of romance” (here, describing King Richard) “brilliant, but useless,” it implies an author for whom Rebecca is a mouthpiece when she comes down on the anti-chivalry side of a debate with Ivanhoe. So the narrator—and most modern people—likely agree with Rebecca’s opinion of the laws of chivalry as “an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory,” to which a highly miffed Ivanhoe responds that she can’t understand because she is not a noble Christian maiden (unlike Rowena, is the unspoken subtext). 

Applying this to the case of Bois-Guilbert, the villain, we might conclude, to our confusion, that his views of race are closer to the narrator’s (more progressive). I have already discussed the novel’s treatment of Rebecca, one of two major Jewish characters; the other, her father Isaac, conforms to some offensive Jewish stereotypes (stingy, money-hoarding, obsequious etc.) but is ultimately portrayed as good-hearted. Moreover, anytime the narrator draws on negative stereotypes he accompanies it with vindications of the Jewish people based on their historic oppression. As in other areas, the storytelling is here flavored with a decidedly 19th-century sensibility (even perhaps progressive for 1819, when Jews still could not hold public office in England). The narrator repeatedly describes the anti-Semitism of his characters as “prejudiced” and “bigoted.” All the characters seem to feel Rebecca’s beauty and greatness, but Bois-Guilbert is the only one who sees her as an equal, without qualifying her noble traits in terms of her Jewishness. Her race seems to be a non-issue for him. Contrasted with Ivanhoe, whose admiring male gaze turns into a demeanor of cold courtesy when he learns Rebecca’s descent, the medieval villain looks more and more like a hero for the 21st century. Could he be Scott’s real hero? 

Moving forward, the evidence piles in favor of Rebecca as the real star (despite her complete lack of mention on the back cover of my 1994 Penguin Classics edition). The penultimate chapter, the novel’s denouement, decides Rebecca’s fate in the Richardsonian narrative. The two chapters prior, separating the conclusion from when we last left Rebecca, in danger of being burned at the stake as a Jewish sorceress, are sort of like...okay, Ivanhoe, Rowena, Richard the Lionheart, blah blah blah. Every chapter in Ivanhoe is fun, and there’s a surprise in these chapters, but it’s ultimately an example of Scott’s mastery of the suspense trick of drawing out a cliffhanging moment by switching to a different plot, one that is slower and more predictable and less emotionally captivating. It’s all great reading, but whether or how Rebecca will be saved is what we really want to know, what we will read through anything to find out. Rebecca’s importance—and Rowena’s as her foil—is also borne out by Scott’s choice to close the novel on their farewell scene. 

The penultimate chapter contains Rebecca’s trial by combat. Rebecca’s life is at stake, but the real trial is Brian de Bois-Guilbert’s. Since backing off the whole raping Rebecca idea, he has saved her life and then put it at risk again. Bois-Guilbert’s rescue of Rebecca from the burning castle of Torquilstone, by the way, is an example of Scott’s practically cinematic sense of humor and flair for dialogue. Essentially, the Knight Templar appears in the room where Rebecca has been nursing Ivanhoe, when they’re all about to go up in flames; Rebecca is more fiery than the fire (“Rather will I perish in the flames than accept safety from thee!”); Bois-Guilbert picks her up and carries her off anyway (“Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca; once didst thou foil me, but never mortal did so twice”); Ivanhoe, unable to move, yells hilariously impotent threats of rage from his sickbed: “Hound of the Temple—stain to thine order—set free the damsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee! Villain, I will have thy heart’s blood!” The perfectly timed next sentence: “‘I had not found thee, Wilfred,’ said the Black Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, ‘but for thy shouts.’”

After this daring rescue, in which the Knight Templar uses his shield to protect Rebecca at the risk of his own life as they gallop on his horse through the flying arrows of the battle, he spirits her to the prefectory of his Temple with the purpose of keeping her captive until she feels forced to “consent” to sex with him. As one might expect in the case of two equally indomitable people with a difference in values, this isn’t going well, until it goes even worse: the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, a stickler for all those pesky rules about not drinking and fucking, makes a surprise visit and finds out about Rebecca. The leader of the prefectory, who knew about Rebecca and was cool with it but has to save face for himself and his most important Knight, convinces the Grand Master that the Jewess has literally bewitched Bois-Guilbert (an easy sell). So in all fairness, she should really be burned to death and he should be given a few Hail Marys. Learning of this horrific prospect, Bois-Guilbert returns to Rebecca with his final offer: he will leave England, abandoning the Knights Templar in all its attendant glory and ambitious prospects, in order to save her, on the condition that she accompany him to start a new life back in the Middle East, where he can conquer everything (his reigning passion) there instead; if not, he’s not giving up his whole life for nothing, and she will see that “my vengeance will equal my love.” For the third time, Rebecca’s answer is that she’d rather die. Bois-Guilbert despairs, wavers, makes a plot to save her without compromising his position—he gets her, when inevitably convicted, to request a trial by combat, imagining that he can be her champion in disguise. Then he is required to fight for the Knights Templar against her champion (if she can even find a champion). Brian de Bois-Guilbert is like the third best knight in the world, so that’s probably a death sentence for Rebecca. He offers to save her again when she’s at the stake, with no champion for her yet appearing and time running out, and is again rebuffed. Ivanhoe rolls up at the last minute to be Rebecca’s champion, still really wounded, and his horse is totally exhausted. Under these conditions, the Knight Templar knocks Ivanhoe off his horse, as everyone expects. But no one, not the live audience, certainly not me, expects Brian de Bois-Guilbert to fall off his horse for no reason, practically untouched, and die. The Grand Master says, “This is indeed the judgment of God.” True to genre, the narrator replaces divine intervention in human affairs with a very Romantic and scarcely more probable explanation: “he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending passions.” 

Rebecca’s would-be seducer dies of being unable to decide whether he is a Mr. B or a Lovelace. Some readers may be left in similar indecision about how to judge him. Not so Rebecca, who has actually loved Ivanhoe the whole time, "imput[ing] no fault to [him] for sharing in the universal prejudices of his age and religion.” Rebecca is very unusual among Romantic heroines from the long 18th century in that her love goes unrequited. She may meet the type’s standards of perfection notwithstanding her Jewishness, but ultimately she cannot escape its limitations to claim her full literary-generic inheritance, the hero’s adoration. Happily ever after goes to the less deserving Rowena, and Ivanhoe only has the decency to recall Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity “more frequently than [Rowena] might altogether have approved.” Rebecca must withdraw and devote her life to God. In this genre, there is no such thing as second love, and that is one of many points on which the narrator remains silent.

[jordan202]

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 19 (Finale)

Hey guys! After long months, we finally made it here! :) 

Thank you all SO much for your continue support and feedback with this story. It was probably the most challenging one I’ve written so far, not only because it had the most ongoing plots happening at once, but I think also for the level of depth in the different storylines.

Before we go further, I just have to add some details that are important for this chapter:

I AM adding a ‘read more’ tag and in advance, I am sorry if it can’t be seen from your mobile app, browser or whichever device you might be using

For those who might wonder, 30 degrees Fahrenheit is about -1 Celsius 

I added a picture of the sweater Robbie is wearing and the Plush Doll Megan gives as a present below the chapter in case anyone wants to see what the description was about

In the scene where Thomas and Kate are peeking out the window, the quote they are referring to is the EE Cummings quote I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. It’s from the poem with the same name and it’s been a recurrent saying in the history of this couple

When I chose to do a Secret Santa, I challenged myself with NOT choosing who would be whose Santa. Instead, I used a list randomizer and made the order of that list the Secret Santa configuration. That challenged me to come up with the storylines for this chapter and actually think of the gifts they exchanged. 

Alright, I think that’s pretty much it!

As usually, previous chapters can be found HERE. Happy reading and thank you so much for sticking with me until the very end :) 

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon – Chapter Nineteen (Finale)

“So, who is your Secret Santa?”

“I am not telling you.”

Megan looked up to meet JD’s insistent eyes, seeing the shadow of amusement on his face.

“It’s not like I am participating in it, so it won’t ruin the surprise if you tell me,” he reasoned.

The girl stopped wiping the counter and sighed at the same time she playfully rolled her eyes. It was late afternoon and yet the two of them were held back in school after hours.

Earlier that week while quietly studying for a test in school, Megan had been given the scare of a lifetime when JD had on purpose lit up a couple of fireworks outside her window just to scare her. Enraged by his childish behavior and even more by his annoying unaffectedness when the girl had confronted him about it, Megan had then retaliated by tearing his math homework to pieces, hoping he would get mad. Instead, JD had laughed and teased her more and by the time a teacher had gotten a hold of them, Megan had already thrown a couple of whiteboard markers at him.

It was complicated for the girl to once again stand side by side with JD in front of the school Principal and explain why they had, not for the first time, gotten into a fight. This time around, none of them escaped punishment and therefore there they were tidying the school art studio after the classes were over.

“If you so much as think about throwing that paint in my direction you’re doomed,” Megan threatened him with fire in her eyes.

JD smiled wickedly and put the container back on the shelf after cleaning up. Over the past month, he and Megan had been spending a lot of time together, a big portion of which he devoted to annoying her. The breakup with Aaron hadn’t been easy on the girl and JD was happy to offer a distraction, not only because he cared about her but also because it bothered him to think she was possibly hurting over that guy.

School was about to go on winter break and over the past week, JD had closely followed as Megan organized her week to use that afternoon to buy her family’s Secret Santa present. Unfortunately for her, she now had to spend it in school instead.

“I won’t tell you because knowing you, you’re just going to end up spilling the beans just to get on my nerves,” Megan raised an eyebrow. “Besides, what are your plans for Christmas?” she asked looking at him. “I have asked you already but you still haven’t told me. Are you spending it with your grandma or are you flying back home to see your father?”

As usual, JD hesitated and avoided talking about his own life. But when Megan pushed him a little harder, he finally shared something about how he felt.

“I don’t know what I am doing yet,” the boy said after a deep breath. “I am not the biggest fan of Christmas.”

In times like that, Megan wondered what could have possibly happened in his past that made JD so closed off to the world. When they were together and he was relaxed and acting spontaneously, Megan would get a glimpse of his truest nature. JD was amusing, optimistic and naturally positive when he wasn’t paying attention to his manners. But whenever something threatened his balance, the boy immediately closed off and became skeptical and distant. She supposed only a lot of hurt could explain the way he functioned.

“Well, like I said, you’re welcome to spend it with my family if you want,” Megan told him. Lately, JD had been to her house a few times every week, first to work on their end of term music project but then it’d become a habit. He claimed it was easier for him to remember to do his homework if she was doing hers and since Megan actually had grown to enjoy his company, she actually invited him over sometimes.

“Aren’t all of your brothers going to be there?” JD asked with a frown. “All week, you haven’t shut up about the twins coming back to town. You should spend time with them. I’ll be fine.”

At the same time Megan tried not to push him, she wanted to make sure he was okay too. The thought of anyone spending Christmas alone devastated her. But knowing the little she did about JD’s history and imagining him all by himself at that huge house he shared with his grandma only made her feel extremely sad.

“You can see the Secret Santa gift exchange,” Megan tried to bargain, hoping he would be attracted by it. “I will tell you who mine is if you promise you’ll come.”

“If I come, I will figure out by myself and I won’t need you to tell me,” JD smirked at her while he resumed his work at the paint shelves.

“You’re absolutely annoying,” Megan informed him.

“I know,” he retorted with a smile. “That’s why you keep me around.”

.

Owen managed to balance two cups of hot latte in one hand as he collected the change back from the cashier with the other.

Making his way through the crowded halls in the airport lounge, he quickly spotted Amelia standing out next to a senior woman who seemed to be chatting with his wife.

“Thank you,” Amelia smiled at him when Owen handed her the hot beverage cup. After she delighted herself with its smell and took the first sip, she added while looking from her new friend to her husband, “Anne here was just telling me that she’s waiting for her son too.”

“Yes, he’s in the Dallas flight,” the older woman explained with a kind smile. “I haven’t seen him in over a year so it’ll be nice to have him for Christmas.”

“Oh, I understand completely... My twin boys go to school in the east coast and I see so little of them now that I feel like I am missing out on them growing up,” Amelia said with longing at the same time she felt Owen’s hand on her lower back. She looked up to meet his eyes and saw the way he was smiling at her with judging eyes. “What?” she asked with a furrowed brow.

Owen was about to explain that by the way Amelia was talking, it sounded like their sons were twelve years old but at that exact moment, two tall identical blonde guys walked out of the arrival zone, catching their attention.

When the senior lady next to Amelia spotted the twins walking in their direction, she was struck by the exact same thoughts as Owen. But once the petite woman whom she’d just met hugged both sons at the same time, even though they were virtually strangers, she supposed Amelia probably did think of those twins as her little boys.

“How was your flight?” Amelia asked Danny once she pulled apart enough to allow him to breathe.

“It was great, I slept the entire time,” he replied with a satisfied smile as he wrapped one arm around his mother’s shoulders and walked beside her.

“Robbie, what are you wearing?” Owen asked with widened eyes.

As they made it to the parking lot, everyone turned their eyes to see what Owen was talking about and Amelia couldn’t help laughing when she noticed the sweater her son had on. It was a knitted, navy blue with white polka dots piece that had a giant Yoda wearing a Santa hat on the front, right under the script the season to be jolly it is.

“You don’t like it?” Robbie asked with a contagious smile as he touched the fabric of his own clothes. “I think it’s awesome!”

“It would be more appropriate if it was your size,” Owen tactfully replied, noticing the tight fit around Robbie’s strong shoulders and arms. Even the sleeves didn’t make it all the way to his wrists. “It’s at least a couple of inches too short.”

“That’s what I told him at least half a dozen times,” Danny bickered as they got in the car.

“Why the hell are you wearing that?” Amelia asked once she got a closer look, not bothering to be as delicate as Owen with her words.

“It was a gift,” Robbie explained, apparently too happy to care about the way everyone was giving him a hard time about his choice of clothes. “Marianne knitted it for me.”

“Marianne?” Owen frowned. “Megan’s friend?” he looked at his son from the rearview mirror, the surprise stamped all over his face. “Why would Marianne send you a present?”

“Because I am awesome,” Robbie winked.

“Because the poor girl was somehow fooled into thinking he was awesome,” Danny pestered his brother with a teasing grin.

“You’re just jealous because your girlfriend doesn’t knit you a Yoda sweater,” Robbie bragged, flashing the horrendous piece of clothing that he seemed to be so proud of. Madison, Danny’s girlfriend, had also gone home from West Point to spend the holidays with her family, reason why she wasn’t with them this time.

“Oh, so Marianne is your girlfriend?” Amelia asked with curiosity, turning her head from the front seat to look at the twins.

“I don’t know,” Robbie shrugged, confused. “I mean, we’ve been talking for weeks now and I saw her the last time I was here.”

“Do you two talk every day?” Amelia couldn’t hide a smile. She wondered how much Megan knew about that situation she’d just found out about.

“Yeah, we do,” Robbie said with pretend cockiness. “I am going to a Christmas party with her tomorrow, which she invited me to, by the way,” he bragged. “That’s how awesome she thinks I am.”

“I miss Christmas parties,” Amelia said with a joyful sigh, thinking it had been a while since she didn’t attend one. Looking at her husband, she added, “do you remember that year when we were at Karev’s and Riggs made those eggnogs with the cheap rum that got everyone drunk and massively hungover?” Amelia laughed, thinking about it. Since she didn’t drink, she hadn’t fallen victim to it, but her husband had needed a full day to recover from the symptoms after merely a glass. “I don’t know what he put in that drink because everyone was acting like they were high or something.”

“What happened that night?” Danny asked with curiosity, supposing his mother’s confession came with an exciting tale.

“Thomas did,” Amelia smiled wickedly, laughing when she saw the look of censorship on her sons’ faces after her disappointing response. “Lucas was just a few months old, I was breastfeeding and I didn’t think that I’d get…”

“We don’t need the details, mom,” Robbie interrupted her with a scowl as Owen laughed in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, let’s change the subject,” Danny proposed with lighthearted disposition. “I can’t wait to find out what I am getting from my Secret Santa,” he added, noticing his parents shared his excitement.

If Danny had looked to the side, he would have noticed the slightly panicked look on Robbie’s face as, at the mention of Secret Santa, the boy realized he’d forgotten at West Point the present he’d bought for his.

But as Owen drove through the streets both boys were so familiar with, Robbie tried to be objective and think of a plan. He could probably ask Marianne for her help in picking out a new gift. But judging by his family’s reaction to his new sweater, it preferably had to be something that did not involve Yoda or any other Star Wars character, he thought with an amused smile.

.

“How is he doing?”

Danny opened the takeout bag with burgers and fries as he sat down with Thomas and Kate to watch a movie. His eyes were pointed at Lucas, who was lying on the opposite side of the room completely distanced from everyone else. Danny noticed the headphones in his ear as his oldest brother distractedly typed on a laptop computer, apparently too bored to care to exchange two words with anyone.

When he turned back to face the couple, the answer was obvious Kate and Thomas’ sullen expressions.

“Yesterday, Megan told him he’s worse than the seventeen year olds in her class,” Thomas repeated, supposing that their sister had really meant it. “She’s lost her patience with him.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping at home much,” Kate confided. “I mean, I don’t officially live at the penthouse apartment but I feel like I spend more nights there than he does lately. And Tommy has at least a couple of night shifts a week, so if you consider I am not there when he isn’t…”

“Yeah, that’s probably not a good sign. Does he say where he’s been?”

“Does he need to?” Kate frowned, as if Danny was asking an absurd question. “Whoring around, of course.”

“You know what concerns me the most?” the twin raised an eyebrow, legitimately worried. When he felt like he had the couple’s full attention, Danny added, “there is a bag full of burgers and fries here and he hasn’t moved a muscle to come get it. That’s how I know he’s really, really not okay,” the boy frowned, looking at Lucas with inspective eyes as if to see whether or not he really was alive on the sofa in the other side of the living room. After flashing a large portion of fries, Danny tried one more time. “Luke, I have fries here,” he said in a higher voice, hoping to engage his brother in an interaction.

Lucas couldn’t hear him, but with the corner of his eyes, he sensed some movement around and turned his head to meet them. After staring for a few seconds, the athlete went back to ignoring the party of three and focused again on his computer.

“I told you he is not doing well,” Kate said with a conformed voice, but the worry was visible on her face. “He’s been insufferable for the past month.”

“Has anyone talked to him?” Danny inquired.

“We tried,” Thomas updated him. “Everyone did. He refuses to talk about it but we all know it has everything to do with Emily leaving.”

“So it’s worse than last time?” Danny asked right before taking a bite of his burger.

“It’s a lot worse,” Thomas confirmed with a headshake of disapproval right before doing the same.

.

Emily watched as a cold snowflake touched her nose and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Abandoning her resolve to take a cab home, the journalist opted for walking instead. It was wintertime in New York, which could only mean a chilly cold wind, but Emily didn’t mind. She was dressed up for the nasty weather and after a full day of being locked up in her office reviewing figures and checking data, she could use seeing some human interaction and being outdoors for a change.

They were only a couple of days from Christmas and the holiday spirit could be seen anywhere now. As Emily left the Wall Street Journal building on 6th Avenue, she found herself unwilling to go back to her apartment. There wasn’t anything slightly invitational about returning to the solitude of her place.

If on one hand, Emily was feeling great about taking charge of her life and reaffirming to herself that she was more than able to be on her own, she was also very aware that things that in the past were an infinite source of happiness such as her job and her career now weren’t able to make her feel as fulfilled and joyful anymore.

Emily still adored what she did but every day she went to bed feeling like something was missing. In the past, Peter’s presence had been able to distract her thoughts from it, or maybe she had indeed fooled herself to think he was going to fill that vacancy in her life and in her heart. But now that they weren’t together anymore, Emily couldn’t help but dread the idea that maybe the city she had come to love over the years somehow didn’t feel like home anymore.

Supposing that having dinner at one of her favorite restaurants would cheer her up, Emily made her way through the busy 45thstreet, watching as people hurried back and forth to make it to Grand Central Station. They were probably trying to get home for the holidays, Emily thought with a bittersweet smile. A lot of co-workers in her office had taken time off to return to their hometowns so they could be with their families. As the journalist entered the lobby of the cozy small restaurant, the maître who often welcomed her whenever Emily had dinner at the place looked up from the stand to meet her familiar hazel eyes.

“Welcome back, Miss Spencer. It’s good to see you. Do you have a reservation?”

“Hi. No, tonight I don’t. Would you have a table available?”

“Yes, for you I always do. Is anyone joining you tonight?”

“No,” Emily nodded, biting her lower lip to hide her reaction to the question. “Table for one, please.”

Once again, the stabbing sensation of loneliness hit Emily really hard but she refused to let it ruin the spark of hope that the Christmas atmosphere around was instilling in her. For the past few weeks, it had become really hard to come to terms with the fact she pretty much had no family left now, and no roots either.

Growing up, Emily had always felt like Seattle was never really her home and for the majority of the time she’d spent there, it hadn’t been. The journalist had projected in New York all her hopes and dreams of finding her place in the world someday and it was hard coming to terms with the realization that even after pursuing everything she’d established for herself and making it there, maybe she still didn’t feel quite at home.

So if Seattle wasn’t her home and New York wasn’t either, where did that leave her?

With those haunting thoughts consuming her, Emily went home after barely touching her food, despite the Bolognese sauce being her favorite. It was simply too depressing eating alone in a restaurant in Manhattan surrounded by thousands of people knowing that the only person she wanted to be near was miles and miles away.

Thinking about Lucas made Emily’s heart sink inside her chest and she wondered how he was doing. For the past weeks, he hadn’t picked up any of her calls and even though it saddened her, in a way she understood. After all, it had been hers the decision to go back to New York.

And no matter how Emily loved the city and what she had there, after the distraction of the day was gone once she was done with her job, the way she would feel her heart break every night before bed made her constantly wonder if that decision had really been the right one.

Lucas’ smile and comforting hug were everything she could wish for after a full day of work, but unfortunately, she would go back to an empty apartment.

The memories of the week she’d spent at his penthouse right after surgery assaulted Emily and she felt her throat clogging with the realization that those had probably been the happiest days she’d had in the past years. There was just something magical about being in an apartment knowing that at the end of the day, Lucas was coming home. Because somehow, with his presence, his charm and his humor, he was able to light up her surroundings and simply add meaning to everything. In a way that nothing else in her life seemed capable of right now.

The snow was falling in heavier flakes by the time Emily finally made it to her place. After dropping her purse and keys on the nearest counter, Emily proceeded to check the mail, unconsciously hoping for a card or envelope that might improve her mood.

Seeing there were only bills and a few folders mixed together, the journalist let out a heavy sigh and tried to control her thoughts from drifting back to her hometown.

She wondered what the Hunts would be doing at that time of the year and the thought warmed her heart. Now that both Lucas and Thomas were living in Seattle again, it was very likely they were spending Christmas together. Danny and Robbie were most likely flying in from West Point to spend the holidays at home, if they weren’t already there. The journalist smiled to think how happy Megan probably was to have all four of her brothers there with her.

Emily also thought about their parents and decided that the following day, she would mail them a card. In the present time it was considered an old fashioned thing to do, but there was something special about handwritten cards that Emily just couldn’t let go of. Owen and Amelia were both very special people to her and she cared about them very much. The girl could easily imagine how happy they must have been at the moment to have all five children spending Christmas with them and she knew that all the happiness in the world wasn’t enough to match what that family deserved. She wished them the best and would make sure to mail them her Christmas wishes.

After easily finding an elegant Hallmark card from a folder where she kept a few new ones, Emily wrote down a nice message to all seven of them and placed it on a beautiful green envelope. Belatedly realizing she didn’t have their address memorized, the journalist forced herself to stop thinking about Lucas as she made her way to her bedroom and dug into her closet looking for a box where she kept some of the things from her childhood and adolescence days.

Emily was originally looking for one of her old notebooks that she knew had phone numbers and addresses written down. She was pretty sure she had Lucas’ house address marked down there somewhere.

But it was a faded envelope with pen ink stained by what Emily remembered had been a tear shed inside an airplane that caught her eyes the moment she opened the box of memories to her past.

And it didn’t take Emily long to shed new tears.

There, in her hands, was the best link to her past she could ever hope for and the answer to the questions that had been haunting her for the past weeks.

The unmistakable scribbles of the seventeen-year-old Lucas had remained intact, well kept inside that rough envelope. Just like his message had remained the same, well kept inside Emily’s soft heart despite her rough shell.

It was as if the teenage version of Lucas had somehow seen years ahead, because the words he’d written in the past were able to comfort Emily in a way that nothing else had over the past weeks. And to provide her with an answer, a sense and hope, all together in the perfect combo only him was capable of delivering.

After paragraphs that had served to tell Emily how she’d transformed his life and the way he felt after what they’d experienced together, Lucas had gone on to add what, six years later, was everything that Emily needed to hear.

“...

So you go and be great in Yale. I’ll go my own way and who knows, maybe in a few years we’ll find ourselves across each other in an interview room table. Or maybe, I’ll come back from signing with a pro team and you’re going to be there to celebrate it with me. Truth is, I have no idea what the future holds for us and that’s scary. All I know is that you’re going to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted. And if you ever, ever feel like you’re running out of strength, no matter where in the world you are, just look back to Seattle and know that you’ll always have a home to come back to.

Because I’ll be your home. For as long as you want me to be.

Faithfully, devotedly and undeniably yours,

Lucas Hunt.”

Emily heard the sound of her own nervous laughter mixing with her tears and without the hesitation that had long accompanied her during the past half year, she got up and picked the first bag she found in her closet.

There were no more doubts about where her place in the world was anymore. And she was finally ready to go home.

.

“Alright, alright, let’s start…!” Amelia cheerfully said, raising her voice above the others so her kids and husband could be silent and pay attention to her.

They were gathered on the living room of their home, anxiously waiting for dinner on that Christmas Eve. But before they sat down to eat the delicious meal Owen and Megan had prepared together, it was traditional they exchanged their Secret Santa gifts, which usually came with a full round of teasing and bantering to make it extra special.

“Okay, so who wants to go first?” Amelia asked with a smile, gazing from the pile of presents that had been gathered under the tree to the cheerful eyes of her husband and children.

“Let’s just grab the first present and see the name on the tag,” Megan said with excitement, hurrying to pick up the wrapped box on the top of the pile when her mom accepted her suggestion. “This one is for you, Tommy.”

Thomas grinned as he received a solid black box with a couple of red and green ribbons and a Santa sticker attaching them together.

“What is this?” he asked with curiosity and enthusiasm before shaking the box and hearing a metallic sound coming from the inside. More intrigued, Thomas proceeded to unwrap the gift, surprised to find a small instrument that came with a flashing light attached to a few lenses. “An ophthalmoscope?” he asked with a mirthful smile, looking from his mother to his father as he wondered which one of the two was responsible for the present. “This is actually pretty cool,” Thomas cheered, thinking he probably hadn’t seen one of those since his med school rotations.

“Merry Christmas,” Amelia blew him a kiss from a distance, giving away that she was his Secret Santa. “You’re the third Shepherd to own that scope, so you better take good care of it,” the neurosurgeon smiled with a mix of pride and contentment. “Well, not technically a Shepherd, but you know… the blood runs in your veins.”

“What?” Thomas frowned in confusion, still fascinated by the object in his hand.

“That used to belong to your uncle Derek,” Amelia shared. It had been too long since her brother had died but even though she’d learned how to manage his absence, that time of year always brought back memories. “When I started my residency, he knew I wanted to become a neurosurgeon too so he passed it on to me,” Amelia explained the value of the object with a smile. “Now I am passing it onto you,” she looked into her son’s eyes, seeing how touched he was by her gesture. “My brother always talked about the demise of direct ophthalmoscopy and how properly examining a patient’s eyes seems to be a dying art for young surgeons. He showed me the importance of it and that instrument helped me learn and gain experience. So even though it’s old, it’s still functional and I think you’ll benefit a lot from it like I did,” Amelia got up and gave her son a kiss on the top of the head at the same time he put the object back on the box very carefully, as if it was as fragile as crystal.

“Thank you, mom. I loved it,” Thomas said with sincerity before giving her a hug.

“Awww,” Danny said with exaggerated emotion, clearly making fun of the scene. “Nice try, mom. You went for the recycled gift hoping it would be a sentimental moment,” he joked, making everyone laugh. “But it’s obvious it was just a cheap move. Tom, I bet she got that in a garage sale for two dollars,” the boy teased with good humor.

“It was a dollar and fifty, actually,” Owen added to the provocation, soon after receiving a scowl from his wife and giving her a hug in retaliation.

“Who’s next?” Amelia asked when all laughter had already subsided.

“This one is for you, smartass,” Megan said, giving a larger package to Danny.

Danny eagerly unwrapped the box like a little boy would, tearing the paper apart completely until he found the newest model of a musical instrument he wanted.

“It’s the new Fender bass guitar?” Danny’s eyes were wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement as he ran his eyes through each member of the family, scanning who could be responsible for the gift. “Seriously, you guys didn’t!”

“I did,” Lucas replied with a solemn voice, but it was obvious in his eyes that he was very pleased with his brother’s positive reaction to the gift.

“How did you know I wanted it?” Danny asked, unable to hide his happiness.

Lucas discreetly pointed to Robbie with a wink.

“He might have let it slip that you were saving to buy one of those,” the athlete shared with amusement.

“See, mom, that’s how you don’t do cheap,” Danny teased Amelia one more time, getting a playful eye roll from his mother.

As the gift exchange moved on, Robbie nervously bit the nails of his right hand. He had accidentally forgotten the present he had bought back in his university dorm and the fact everyone was exchanging nice, thoughtful gifts wasn’t helping his case at all.

At that point, his plan was very simple: he was going to sneakily steal one of the presents he knew his parents had bought for them from the large pile under the tree and later on, he would come clean once either his mother or father noticed it. As soon as he made it back to West Point, he could send the present through the mail and replace it.

But just as Megan handed out a beautifully wrapped box, the doorbell rang interrupting their game. The girl got up and went to get it, wondering if JD had at last decided to take up on her invitation. But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see a familiar feminine face standing on the doorway.

“Hey, Kate,” Megan welcomed her warmly. “Come on in.”

“Am I late for dinner?” Kate asked while unwrapping her scarf and following the girl inside.

“No, we’re still exchanging Secret Santa gifts,” Megan replied with an excited smile.

Kate joined the rest of the family in the living room and took a seat on the couch behind Thomas, who was sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. Megan then proceeded to give her father the present box she had been holding, revealing that she was his Secret Santa.

Owen was the only one who didn’t find his daughter’s joke funny when she gave him a pillbox containing heart medication and a mild tranquilizer, saying it was to prepare him for the next time she introduced him to a boyfriend. After that, the girl opened her own present to find out that her Secret Santa that year was Thomas. Robbie got a personalized army knife from Owen, which he found so awesome that for a moment it made him forget about his incident with the present he was supposed to give.

Right when Amelia had finished unwrapping her package and gave Danny a shower of kisses for the beautiful pair of earrings she’d gotten, the doorbell rang again. Everyone in the room quit laughing and talking at the same time they looked at each other, wondering who it could be, but once again it was Megan who went to get the door.

“You’re here.”

JD turned from the street to face the door and saw his own breath out in the cold air when he exhaled.

“Yeah, you invited me, so…” he replied a little awkwardly. His eyes met Megan’s and he couldn’t help smiling in return when he saw how happy she looked.

“Come in, you’re going to freeze out there,” she commanded with her typical bossy manner, reaching out to get his coat the moment he stepped inside.

JD wiped the few droplets of water from his hair before he turned in the direction of the living room and saw how many people were gathered there around a coffee table.

“What the hell, you really do have a lot of brothers.”

“I told you I did,” Megan replied with a proud smirk. Even though she’d told JD about the boys, he hadn’t really met them before. “Come on, we are almost done with Secret Santa.”

JD wasn’t sure if he was going to fit in with that many people, to whom he was pretty much a stranger, but when Megan pulled his arm, he let her guide him. As her brothers laughed at something one of them had said, Megan’s mother waved at him and JD saw in the sincerity of her smile that she wasn’t just being polite. The realization made him feel really welcome, so the boy settled for sitting quietly in a corner watching as Megan interacted with her family during the rest of their game so she could properly introduce him to the others once it was over.

Just as the girl had once again sat down to accommodate herself, the bell rang for the third time that night.

Seeing that his sister had gone all the way across the room, Robbie got up to go get the door. He was the only one who hadn’t given his present yet and this was a good opportunity for him to buy some time.

And just as Robbie wondered if more of Megan’s friends were to arrive for dinner, he was in shock to see a pair of hazel eyes staring back at him on the other side of the door.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Emily Spencer, actually,” the girl playfully corrected him with a sheepish smile, nervously trying to control her feelings.

Emily had flown from New York without a clue of whether or not Lucas would agree to see her. It was Christmas Eve and she was aware he was spending it with his family as he always did. The journalist didn’t want to interrupt anything but she couldn’t wait any longer to see him either.

Robbie laughed at her silly joke and his easy manners made Emily relax, even if just a little.

“Oh!” Robbie’s entire face transformed, as if he had just been hit by an epiphany. “Hey, Emily, I know it’s freezing outside and it’s probably extremely rude of me to ask this, but do you mind waiting here for just a second?” he raised a finger and smiled at her with such camaraderie that it made Emily confused. “I swear, your timing is the best…” the boy added with a marveled expression as he made his way back to the living room before waiting for an answer.

Robbie found his family in the exact same configuration as he’d left them. Looking at his oldest brother, he held his head high and acted as if his plot had been orchestrated all along instead of improvised.

“Okay, I think it’s pretty obvious I am your Secret Santa,” he gave Lucas a smug smile. “The best Secret Santa, by the way. You’ll see why in just a bit.”

“Robbie, what’s going on?” Owen asked, looking from his son to the hall. “Who’s at the door?”

“My present for you, Luke, is at the door,” Robbie answered with a mix of excitement and pride. “You can thank me later. Merry Christmas.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, too intrigued, thinking he was in for another one of Robbie’s infamous pranks. Getting up, he went to the hall, expecting to find something that would most likely give him a scare or trick him.

But when he finally opened the front door, never in a million years would he have guessed the surprise he was in for.

The look of shock was so evident on Lucas’s face that it was up to Emily to say the first words.

“Hey,” she started trying her best to ignore the cold wind that insisted on blowing hard that night. The girl found that even after the first word, it was very difficult to come up with something to say, especially when all she wanted was to wrap her arms around Lucas’ neck, hold him tight and never let go. How stupid had she been to give up on him so easily. “I was just… I…” Emily noticed she wasn’t making any progress and shook her head in self-disapproval, deciding to change the approach. “How are you?”

Lucas still looked too surprised to function properly, so he took longer than usual to open his mouth and give her a proper response.

“What are you doing here?” the boy asked without really answering her question.

“Well, you weren’t answering any of my calls, so I came here to tell you a few things that I needed to tell you.”

The journalist saw the spark of interest in his eyes, despite his apparent resolve to look neutral.

During the long flight from New York to Seattle, Emily had rehearsed countless times everything she wanted and needed to say. But calmly coming up with what she wanted to tell him and actually standing in front of him and being confronted with everything that had happened – not just the day before but during those past months – were two completely different things.

“My mother died,” Emily only noticed her own voice was faltering because she heard herself speaking. Lucas’ expression softened immediately when he caught up the distress in her voice, which only served to mess with her emotions even more. “She died.”

“Yes, I know,” Lucas nodded as he looked deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what was going on. He could clearly see she was distressed but he still didn’t understand why she was at his door and what had led her there. “I am so sorry.”

Emily thanked him with a shy smile and wrapped her own arms around her body, as if she needed to contain herself not to give in to her emotions. So much had happened that she’d never properly grieved the loss of her mother. As usual, after a loss, she couldn’t afford to deal with her feelings and accept support because she’d taught herself that if she did that, things would just start crumbling around her. But now, Emily felt like either she learned how to let someone in for real or she was at risk for keeping everyone out all her life. And she didn’t want just anyone. She wanted that person to be Lucas.

“Is it too late for me to tell you that I love you?” Emily bit her lower lip, feeling her eyes burning as she kept looking into his, watching as he struggled to keep his resolve and couldn’t hide how her words affected him too. “That every night before I fall asleep, I lie awake in my bed for hours wondering why is it that I wasn’t brave enough to do what I was supposed to do?” Emily took a step forward and felt the first stinging tear rolling down her cheek. “Because I have to tell you about my mistake,” she said, sniffing as she desperately hoped for him to accept her apology, hold her and end that agony once for all. “I have to tell you how terribly sorry I am that I thought my life in New York would make me happier than being with you because having to make that stupid choice was my mistake to begin with… It should have never been a choice,” Emily couldn’t resist any longer and reached for his hand, holding it between hers. “Please, say something.”

Lucas hesitated, too moved by her words to function properly.

During the past month, he had fought an internal battle in which he forced himself not to think about Emily or suffer because of her. But that was also a battle he lost every day. She had left to New York claiming she needed to put herself first and even though rationally he understood why she’d had to do it, internally his heart ached that she hadn’t fought harder for them.

“How do I know you’re not just saying all that?” he asked, struggling with his instant desire to believe her. For weeks, Lucas had dreamt awake that this exact scene would happen. That Emily would come back and say she had realized she was wrong and that she wanted them to have a real shot at being together now that nothing stood in their way. But he had to guard his own heart, because he wasn’t sure he would survive another excruciating month like the one he’d just been through if she suddenly changed her mind. “How do I know you’re not just sad because it’s Christmas and you’re feeling alone and you’ve returned to your puppet?” he pulled his hand from between hers. “Because I am not your toy, Emily. I am not your doll that you can play with and use and then discard when you’re feeling fed up with.”

“That’s not how I feel about you, at all,” Emily cried out, desperate to make him believe her. “You said so yourself, remember? I could bounce back and forth all I wanted but I am always going to end up right here where I belong. With you,” she said emphatically, hoping he would believe her.

Lucas looked deeply into her eyes, wondering if he felt like she was telling the truth because she indeed was or because he desperately wanted to believe her.

“And how do I know you’re not going to change your mind and go back home?” he asked, hating to feel that insecure. But after Emily had left, it was only fair that he was allowed some kind of reassurance.

He expected her to grow defensive or even a little worked up. But instead, Emily smiled among her tears and pulled something out of her pocket.

“Because this is exactly what this is. It’s me coming home,” she said biting her lower lip as she handed an old handwritten letter to him and clung to his arms. “I am home now, Luke. I am here. And I am so sorry that it took me so long…!” the girl broke down crying as Lucas unwrapped the old page and recognized his own handwriting.

Once Lucas was done reading, he was finally reminded of the letter he’d written to her years in the past and without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around Emily and pulled her against his chest.

The athlete let the full impact of the moment sink in, finding it hard to believe that whatever was beyond their control had actually orchestrated to make them find their way to each other, just like they’d said it would happen at age seventeen. At that moment, Lucas was overtaken by an indescribable feeling of gratitude aimed at the universe.

“Damn it, Spencer, you always know how to convince me,” he joked but in reality his eyes were stinging with tears too. Pulling her closer, he kissed her head while Emily buried her face in his chest, crying tears of built-up emotions and also relief. “Why took you so long?” he asked playfully, rubbing her back in a soothing caress.

“I am so sorry that I left,” Emily sincerely said the moment she raised her head and looked into his eyes.

Lucas noticed how red the tip of her nose looked from the cold and smiled, anxious to get her rid of all that pain. He was done being sad and hurting. That belonged in the past now. From now on, they were going to be the happiest they’d been.

“Don’t be,” he replied, inspired. “You know… If you hadn’t left, maybe you’d spend a lifetime thinking about what you should do, what makes you happy... Now at least you think you know.”

“Now I am sure,” Emily corrected him, knowing that she’d never again make the mistake to leave his side.

“Because I don’t want you to quit your job for me,” Lucas said with consideration. “You know, when I said we should be together, I understand if you can’t move here. We can try, I can fly in and…”

Emily interrupted him with a kiss.

“You’re not asking me to quit my job,” she assured him. “I love my job but I love other jobs too,” Emily stated with certainty. The time she’d spent in Lucas’ penthouse during her recovery had introduced her to a whole new concept of working with the subject she loved so much, except that being a financial advisor for his friends was a lot more convenient because not only she could work from home, but also make up her own schedule instead of being bound to longer office hours. But that was just an idea. Emily didn’t have to decide any of that right now.

She’d gone to New York thinking she’d find the foundation of her life there. And everything had crumbled when she hadn’t.

Her foundation was right here now in Seattle and his presence made Emily feel more secure and happier than any job or career had ever been able to.

“Did you find your happy?” Lucas joked, making a reference to something Emily had said to him in their conversation right before her departure.

“I never lost it,” Emily rubbed her nose against his as she smiled against his lips. “I just had a little trouble figuring out that it’s been here all along,” she added just as Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist to seal that newfound reality with a kiss.

.

Propped up on the couch, Kate watched the couple outside with a frown on her head.

“Is that Emily?” she whispered at Thomas, encouraging him to come join her and peek outside.

His parents had gone to the kitchen to finish dinner and the rest of the family was too entertained with their new gifts to be actually paying any attention to what was happening outside. But it hadn’t slipped through Kate’s sharp vision.

The young doctor tried to adjust his sight to the terrible weather outside but ultimately saw his girlfriend had a point. It really seemed like Lucas was standing outside with a girl who looked exactly like Emily.

“Wow, if it’s her than Robbie definitely won Secret Santa.”

“Since when is it a competition?” Kate asked with good mood.

“Excuse me, have you just met my mother and my siblings to actually be asking that?” Thomas asked with lighthearted irony.

Kate rolled her eyes playfully, censoring him. But when she noticed the couple outside was kissing, she smiled with enchantment, absolutely happy to think that there was a chance Lucas and Emily might be finding their way to each other again.

“Look, I think they’re making up!”

“More like making out,” Thomas mumbled with a smirk, receiving a glare in response. “Seriously, though, if it is what it looks like then I couldn’t be happier for Luke. Imagine not putting up with his bad mood anymore. I love Christmas.”

Kate couldn’t censor him on that so she just smiled along.

“It makes me happy to see that they’re happy,” she confessed, making Thomas smile. Deep down, Kate was a romantic but she hardly ever let it show.

“It makes me happy to see that you’re happy,” he leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder before getting away from the window.

“I can totally relate to what they’re feeling right now,” Kate confessed, catching Thomas’ attention once again. “You know, with Emily being away, returning, and the two of them having to deal with a bunch of stuff only to figure out they want to be together,” she cited with a smile, knowing Thomas would understand what she was talking about.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Add a couple of therapy sessions to that and they should be fine, then,” he said, teasing himself and the counseling he was getting for his Burnout disorder.

“You’re the worst ever at keeping things romantic,” Kate sighed hopelessly. “I am talking about love.”

“So am I,” Thomas provoked, knowing he was teasing her. “Emily and Lucas will get through this for the same reason you and I did when we had a crisis in our relationship.”

“And what is that?” Kate raised an eyebrow, challenging him. Hearing Thomas analyzing a situation from an emotional point of view was definitely a new one and she was intrigued enough to actually buy it.

“Well, for starters I bet that when she was gone she wasn’t fully gone, you know? Kind of like you with me,” Thomas smiled adorably, knowing he was about to impress Kate. “Remember what you said about taking me with you all the time?” he smirked, approaching her. “That’s what happened with Luke too. He was missing a piece and that is why he was so grumpy.”

“And now he is whole?” Kate tilted her head, hesitant to buy his charming wit.

“She carried his heart with her,” Thomas quoted, on purpose not speaking any names so Kate could decide if he was talking about her, Emily or both.

“I carried it in my heart,” Kate made the choice, completing the quote that had once and would forever be theirs. “And I am never without it.”

.

“I think it’s the fourth time in less than a minute that your dad glares at me,” JD confessed, throwing Megan an intrigued glance. “Should I be worried?”

“When it comes to my dad, you should always be worried,” Megan laughed, looking in her father’s direction and catching him in the act. They were about to have dinner and even though the surgeon was in the kitchen, he wouldn’t stop looking in his daughter’s direction. “But since he’s seen you around here before and never made a fuss I would say it has something to do with the gift I gave him for my Secret Santa.”

“What was it?” JD asked with a lighthearted smile.

“I made a silly joke to torment him about introducing him to a boyfriend and then you showed up for dinner and I think he’s seeing it all wrong,” Megan quickly clarified, belatedly realizing it felt uncomfortable to talk about that with him. “Anyway, I am glad you showed, by the way,” she quickly changed topics. “Did you give up going to Philadelphia to see your father?”

JD stared at the girl pensively.

“I am never going back there, Megan.”

His tone was so impersonal and so unaffected that it made Megan wonder what the hell could have happened in his past to instill such determined resolve.

“I suppose this time of year makes you think about your mom,” she attempted at a personal conversation, supposing it probably wouldn’t lead anywhere.

JD turned his head from the Christmas tree and looked at her, surprised by the thoughtful comment.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged, caught off guard by her kindness. Maybe one day soon he would share with her that the real reason he didn’t care about the holiday was that his mother had suffered a tragic car accident exactly on Christmas Eve. But he wasn’t ready to talk about that just yet.

“Can I ask you something?” Megan said, looking like she was struggling to find the right words. “I mean, I don’t want you to get upset or anything because I believe we’re past that,” she smiled warmly. “I think you’re a reckless idiot, you think I am spoiled and bossy, but we’ve learned how to co-exist, right?” Megan asked with a grin, well aware that he knew as much as she did that it went beyond co-existing. They had both grown to deeply care about each other, but were just too stubborn to admit it out loud. “So I don’t want you to think I am doubting your character or anything like that,” she made sure to clarify it. “But I just need to ask you about a situation that I heard about once right when I first met you and when I confronted you about it, not only you didn’t deny it, you also said you did it. Now, I don’t want you to think that I believe in rumors, especially now that I know you better, but you said you did it, so I…”

“You’re the definition of beating about the bush, aren’t you?” JD responded to her earlier provocation with more teasing. “Just stop measuring your words and ask me already,” he indirectly gave her confirmation that she should ask whatever it was that she wanted to ask.

Megan took a deep breath and tried to phrase her question as better as possible.

“It’s about when you took a knife to school. That’s what you got you expelled from your previous school, wasn’t it?” Megan asked carefully. “When I asked you about this months ago you said you’d done it.”

“Oh, this is what you’re that worked up about?” JD scowled, nearly laughing at her exasperated expression. “You can relax, Megan, I didn’t try to kill or hurt anyone if that’s what you’re concerned about,” he found her outrage funny enough. “I did take a knife to school and it served to give me a bad reputation,” JD sighed. Usually, he refused to talk about the issue because not only he didn’t care what people thought, but the matter itself also enraged him. But since it was Megan, he would make an exception. For some reason, what she thought of him mattered. “Okay, so… it’s a long story and I will make it short, okay? It’s Christmas and I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“You don’t like Christmas,” Megan raised an eyebrow.  

“But you do.”

“You don’t like me,” she reminded him with an adorable smile.

“That’s debatable,” JD gave in to the provocation and smiled back charmingly, unknowingly making Megan’s heart flutter. But before he could lose sense of what he was thinking or feeling, the boy focused on the conversation. “Okay, so… Back at my other school, people weren’t exactly nice,” JD started, not really digging up on the football feuds. “I have always liked football but I wasn’t very good at it when I was a kid. It wasn’t until I was like, fourteen that I started growing up and really felt that maybe I could play, so I applied harder,” he said. JD didn’t mention that it was around the same time he dropped studying music for the reasons he didn’t feel ready yet to share. “In my junior year, right before I came here, I had made it to Varsity football in my old school and a few of the guys didn’t like it so we got into a fight,” he summed it up, not mentioning how they had thrown provocations to his family in the mix. “The guy who played as Safety, the same position I play in, felt threatened and they started to really beat the shit out of me in practice with the hopes to intimidate me and things got more heated. So one day, after a nasty discussion, three of them said they would find me in the parking lot.”

Megan’s eye grew wide with horror.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, shocked. “Did you take it to your coach? Or the school Principal? Your dad, I don’t know…”

“I did,” JD truthfully answered. His friends had also been backing him up but at the time, he felt like he couldn’t take any chances. “And for a while they backed me up but the situation carried on for a long time and these guys continued to threaten me. I feared for my safety because I knew the moment they caught me alone I was at risk for getting beaten up or something. So I hid a knife in my bag,” he confessed. “It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, I know that, but it was all I could think about to protect myself. And when the day came and I pulled it out, even though I never used it against anyone, I got expelled and the boys got away with it. No questions asked,” he shook his head in disapproval. “So yeah… I did take a knife to school. And it may not have been right. But I don’t regret it.”

Megan waited until he finished telling the story and processed it carefully. When she was done hearing it, all she could feel was relief. Reprimanding herself for ever doubting him, especially after seeing his good nature over the past few months, Megan grabbed his hand and forced JD to get up.

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said with honesty and affection before walking towards the Christmas tree and crouching down near it.

JD didn’t know how to respond to her comprehension, just as how he wasn’t quite sure why it touched him so much that she’d bothered enough to ask about a topic that was long forgotten without judging him. For some reason, Megan had kept that lingering doubt, which could only mean she cared enough to want to know and the realization pleased him very much.

“Wait, I know I have something for you here,” Megan confessed, digging through the presents under the tree in search of a specific one. “Ha, found it!” she got up with an excited smile as she handed him the small package.

JD seemed lost when she offered him the gift.

“You got me a present?” he asked, unable to believe it.

“Yeah,” Megan confirmed like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. “It’s Christmas, dummy. It’s what people do.”

“Yeah, but…” JD’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t carry on past that point because he wasn’t sure it would make any sense. To her or even to him.

Seeing him so surprised and at the same time so obviously moved by her simple gesture made Megan wonder when had it been the last time that JD had gotten a present from anyone he cared about.

For a boy who seemingly had anything a seventeen year old could ever want in terms of material things, it really came as a surprise to her that he would be so touched with her present.

“It’s nothing, really,” Megan shrugged, hoping she hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Thinking about him being alone at Christmas was already enough to devastate her. Now, thinking about him alone without anyone to exchange presents with or at least to give him a present was too much. “It’s not even pretty,” she said self-consciously as JD unwrapped the box.

The boy opened the gift to find a smiling object made out of plush that resembled a human organ.

“What’s this?” he asked, smiling at the pinkish colors and cute little smile on the object.

“It’s a rectum,” Megan said like it was obvious. JD frowned, obviously confused to apparently be holding a piece of intestine made out of plush. “You know… because you’re an ass,” Megan said with a half serious voice, finally making sense of it for him.

JD threw his head back, unable to hold a fit of laughter at the way she never failed to amuse him.

“I also got one for my mom but it’s a brain, not an ass,” she explained. “But when I saw this, I thought about you and I couldn’t help myself.”

When his laughter finally died down, JD found himself unable to stop staring at her.

“Thank you, Megan,” he couldn’t describe how much it meant to him that she’d actually bothered enough to get him a present. Even if it was an ass entirely made of plush. “I loved it,” he said with good mood. “You have no idea how badly I’ve been hoping for one of these,” JD playfully added.

“Just don’t go asking people if they want to see your rectum,” Megan smiled mischievously.

“Don’t give me ideas,” JD responded to her bantering with a charming smile.

As Megan tried to steal the plush from his hands, JD easily stopped her, which promptly initiated a quarrel. Amelia came into the living room to summon everyone to the dinner table, right around the same time Emily and Lucas finally made it inside, surprising everyone with the amazing good news that she was back in town and they were together again.

When everyone was about to take their seats at the table, Owen came striding from the kitchen and without a second glance, he walked past JD.

“Come with me.”

Since the rest of the family was already taking their seats at the table, only Megan and the boy were able to hear him. Megan was about to protest but before she could do it, she saw JD following her father in the direction of his study.

Over the past few years, Owen had grown an immense distaste for teenage boys, to the point of finding them absolutely insufferable and annoying, regardless of the fact that not long ago, he’d just raised four of them.

There was something in particular about this boy Megan had been hanging out with lately – who she’d assured him was only a friend, but Owen didn’t buy it – that made the surgeon restless. Like any other teenage guy, this one could be subdued and intimidated, but the way he resisted to let it show made Owen ponder whether he hated or admired that about the kid.

With other boys who’d been drooling over his daughter, all it’d taken was a hard look and their knees would become weak in a second. At the same time Owen liked how easily they all responded to his intimidation, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe they weren’t good enough to be around his daughter exactly because of it.

This boy, however, showed respect and didn’t seem to fool himself thinking he could measure forces with the surgeon, at the same time he was the first one who was actually capable of sustaining Owen’s ice cold glares without looking like he was urging to run in the opposite direction. He was a tough kid. And Owen just had to make sure he was the right kind of tough.

When he finally closed the door to the study on the bottom floor after them, he turned to face the teenager.

“What makes you think you’re good enough to be around my daughter?” Owen straightforwardly asked.

JD was surprised to find himself in that unexpected situation and was even more caught off guard by the question.

“I am probably not,” he replied with honesty, surprising the man in front of him.

“You’re not,” Owen affirmed with conviction. “You have a long, long road to prove that you could potentially be,” the surgeon added, speaking very seriously. “And be damned sure that I’ll be watching you every step of the way,” Owen glared at him. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Every time you so much as think you could be doing something that might hurt my daughter, you think long and hard before doing it,” Owen advised him, satisfied to be saying all he wanted to say. No one could accuse him of not warning the boy beforehand if something didn’t go right in the near future. “Because if you hurt her, you don’t want to know what I will do to you,” Owen stated calmly and very clearly.

His confidence in his speech was more intimidating than his presence and physical dominance. JD knew that, even if only subconsciously.

The teenage boy swallowed hard but nodded affirmatively, looking the man in the eye as he said the words. The teenager had no idea what the hell was going on, but he supposed Megan’s joke with her Secret Santa gift and his own presence at her house on Christmas Eve had triggered that reaction on her father.

“That being said,” Owen said. “Come on. We are going for a walk.”

Without waiting for a response, the trauma surgeon walked past the boy and reached for his coat on the hanger near the front door.

“Sir, it’s thirty degrees outside,” JD tried to reason while looking firmly into Owen’s eyes.

“It wasn’t an invitation,” Owen informed him and without waiting for a response, left the house, pretty much demanding that the boy did the same.

JD went to get his coat and without a second thought, hurried to catch up with the man. Owen walked fast on purpose, dictating the rhythm. He wasn’t about to make it any easier for the kid and the hardest part of that conversation was just about to begin.

.

“Where were you?” Amelia censored her husband with a frown when, twenty minutes later, he returned to the house. “We’ve been waiting for you guys to eat. Now everything is going to have to be heated again,” she complained.

“Oh, no, no, no one is waiting any longer,” Lucas protested, reaching out with his fork to finally get a bite off his plate.

“It’s good to see your appetite is back,” Danny commented with a smile.

“What’s going on?” Amelia scowled at Owen when her husband took a seat next to her at the table. “You disappeared.”

“I was taking care of something,” Owen assured her with a smile and gave her a kiss on the forehead before they finally changed a conversation to a lighter topic.

.

“Hey, Marianne!” Megan welcomed her friend with a wide smile. “I am so glad you could make it tonight!”

The girl returned Megan’s warm embrace and waved at JD from a distance, not really interested in having anything to do with him anymore. Truth was, she adored Megan but the real reason why she’d gone there that night was to see her brother.

“There you are,” Robbie excitedly welcomed her with a bear hug that was very typical of him. “You took too long. Are you hungry? We had dinner already but there’s plenty of food.”

“No, thank you, I am okay,” Marianne replied with a mesmerized smile, absolutely happy to be reunited with him. “Oh, by the way, I fixed your sweater,” she said with a hopeful expression, getting the object from her purse.

When Robbie had gone to her house wearing the sweater she’d knitted for him, it’d become obvious Marianne had underestimated his size and shape. Now that he was there, however, it was a lot easier to take his measures and properly add more fabric to the piece of clothing.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Robbie said with a smile of gratitude, getting the Yoda knit from her hands and holding it like it was a precious thing. “Did I tell you how much I liked this? You’re the best,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before proceeding to take off the light blue sweater he was wearing, obviously with the intention to put on Marianne’s present for him.

The girl couldn’t even disguise her reaction as Robbie stripped off his shirt. The once chubby young boy with a delicious load of baby fat that his mother loved to squeeze had grown into a fit, muscular West Point cadet and football player. His broad shoulders, strong arms and chest, and shaped abs invariably caught Marianne’s attention.

“Oh my God,” she took care not to look like she was drooling. “Did they Photoshop you in University?”

“I am going to take that as a compliment,” Robbie said with a smirk, well aware it was one.

“And there are like, two of you,” she frowned, looking from Robbie, who now had his Yoda sweater on to Danny, who was happily chatting with his brothers and their girlfriends in the next room. “How do people even tell you apart at West Point?” she asked with curiosity, noticing they had the exact same haircut and looked absolutely identical.

Robbie laughed. He got that question a lot.

“Well, for starters, the easiest way to tell is by watching us do things,” he explained.  “I am left handed and Danny is right handed. So that’s a quick way to spot who is who,” the boy listed. “I have a scar on my stomach that he doesn’t,” Robbie lifted his shirt, showing the telltale sign of his abdominal surgery from when he was thirteen. “I also only have a portion of my spleen and he has a whole one, but that you can’t tell just by looking at us,” he added with a teasing smile.

“I imagine you two together in class and how hard it must be for colleagues and professors to tell you apart,” Marianne commented with good mood as she sat beside Robbie on the nearest couch.

“We don’t take that many classes together, to be honest,” Robbie informed her. “As you know, I am getting a major in Mechanical Engineering. Danny studies American Politics and International Relations. The only classes we have together are the mandatory ones.”

“So, after school is over you’re going separate ways?” Marianne asked with a disappointed face, sad for him that he was probably going to be apart from his twin brother for the first time in his life.

“I guess, yeah,” Robbie shrugged. He tried not to think about it that much. “We’re still going to have to do our military service but since we are in different fields we’re probably not staying together.”

“How would that work?” Marianne asked, intimidated to hear about him speak of military service.

“Well… With his degree, Dan is probably going to be working with NATO as the natural diplomat he is or something like that,” Robbie smiled lightheartedly. “And with mine, I will probably be playing with Legos.”

“Very funny,” Marianne laughed, poking him. “I want to see you build me a Lego machine that makes me get to the east coast in no time to see you. How about you work on that.”

“Consider it done,” Robbie joked, loving how easily the conversation could flow with her.

“You really are an asshole,” Megan repeated, laughing at JD. “You let me think that you didn’t know anything about music for weeks, then you pull that stunt in class, and now this?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. JD had just played a song on Danny’s new bass guitar, absolutely impressing her.

“That makes me an asshole?” he replied with good humor. “Everything I do makes me an asshole to you,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “You sound like your dad.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what he said to you?” Megan asked, not for the first time that evening.

“I’ve told you, I promised him I wouldn’t speak of it with anyone,” JD repeated, honoring his words. “Stop being such a brat asking me the same questions a hundred times.”

“Are you going to tell me how you learned how to play the guitar?” Megan leaned over, on purpose pestering him just because he’d asked her to stop repeating her questions. “Or the harmonica?” the girl widened her eyes with mirth. “Oh, I know! You’re going to tell me how you know Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice!”

JD laughed at her playful insistence. Somehow, Megan was adorable in everything she did.

“That’s for another time. Perhaps another story,” he proposed, looking into her eyes with warmth and contentment.

“You know what,” Megan started with a teasing grin, obviously setting him up. “From the very beginning – from the first moment I may almost say – of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were such as to…”

“Oh, Jesus!” JD rolled his eyes at the way she was quoting Jane Austen to provoke him. How dumb had he been for first doing it to her. Now he was in for a lifetime or provocation.

“It’s like Jane Austen was describing you, you see?” Megan teased, her eyes sparkling with glee as she went on to tease him. She was absolutely determined to torment him and wasn’t about to stop any time soon. “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have not seen before. I cannot-“

Megan’s playful words were suddenly interrupted when, on an impulse, JD held her face between both his hands and shut her up with the touch of his lips to hers.

She felt the quick but soft brush of his kiss and couldn’t help closing her eyes and kissing him back.

For the first time in her life, Megan understood what people meant when they said they had butterflies in their stomach.

The kiss was quick enough that nobody saw them. The moment they pulled apart, JD appeared to be in as much in shock as she was.

“I was just…” his voice trailed off. He was obviously more affected by the kiss than he had expected to be. “That was just to shut you up, you know that, right?”

“Duh, yeah,” Megan gave him a pretend disdainful face, promptly agreeing with him.

“I just had to make you stop talking and that’s why I did it, that’s all,” he insisted, seeing in her eyes that she was as tense as he was.

“Why else would you do it, right?” Megan asked nervously. “But don’t ever do it again, idiot,” she scowled at him.

But when her face lit up with again with a mix of mischief and happiness, JD figured out he was in for a long night of teasing.

“May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment or are they result of previous study?”

“Oh, so you thought my kiss was pleasing,” JD counter attacked, putting her against the wall. “By the way, did you memorize the entire book? You’re starting to scare me.”

“Am I?” the girl smiled widely. “What a shame,” Megan quoted one final time before sticking out her tongue at him, absolutely blissful with how her Christmas had turned out to be. “For I dearly love to laugh.”

JD chuckled, unable to believe her. Deep down, he urged to repeat his impulsive gesture and kiss her again. But for the time, sitting next to her while engaged in that stupid little bantering they were always getting on with seemed like the ideal way to spend the best Christmas he’d had in a long time.

.

Hours later, when everyone was retiring to their beds and the visitors had already left, Owen found himself alone with his wife in the comfort of their bedroom.

“I have to say, Megan’s present to you was hilarious,” Owen commented as he put down his reading glasses and got ready for bed.

“The plush brain?” Amelia smiled with contentment, flashing the object that she’d taken to their bed. “I loved it too,” she said with honesty, studying the details of the toy with a happy expression. “But I have to say the best moment of the evening was Emily’s surprise arrival. Who would have thought?”

“I was surprised too,” Owen agreed.

“And now that it’s just us you can tell me,” Amelia sneakily slid on the bed after turning off her bedside lamp to snuggle next to her husband and her plush brain. “What were you doing with Megan’s friend outside right before dinner?”

Owen knew he was going to be asked about it at some point, but it didn’t mean he felt more or less inclined to answer the question.

“We just had a conversation, that’s all. I made it clear to him what the rules are,” the trauma surgeon tried not to make a fuss about it and kissed his wife’s head reassuringly. “I promise you I didn’t bully the kid or anything like that.”

“Yeah, but what were you talking with him about that you had to go outside in the cold?”

Owen tilted his head, pondering on the question.

“That’s a conversation that can only be had outside, in the cold,” he sneakily answered her, watching as Amelia couldn’t contain a heavy yawn. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Owen asked, amazed by her enchanting manners. After all that time, he found himself still unbelievably and hopelessly in love with his wife.

“No, how much?” Amelia asked with a large smile and eyes already closed.

“This much,” Owen teased, rubbing his lips against hers as he gently rolled over to her top. “Too much,” he said empathically, right before kissing her and making them forget everything prior to that moment.

.

Epilogue

After successfully starting a financial counseling company for athletes based in Seattle, Emily made enough money to pay Lucas back for the money he’d used to cover her mother’s hospital bull in less than two years.

He didn’t take her money and instead asked her to move in with him.

Emily said yes and donated the sum to help afford a scholarship in their old school, so that more kids from poor backgrounds like her could have a shot at actually getting a good quality education and a better future.

She named the grant after Lucas Hunt.

With Thomas’ and her parents’ support, Kate applied and was accepted in Grey Sloan’s Dermatology Residence Program in the following year.

Everyone took her change of heart really well.

Over time, even Kate learned how to accept that she really didn’t want to be a surgeon.

Thomas’s decreased his workload and took his counseling sessions very seriously. As a result, his second year in the surgical residency program was stellar, which helped skyrocket his reputation as a potential neurosurgery star.

Over the course of that year, Tom Koracick tried stealing him from Amelia three consecutive times, claiming even that the boy was named after him and that Amelia had a historical debt to be paid by sending him a neurosurgeon in the making.

In all three times, Koracick failed.

Danny broke up with Madison six months later after finding out she was cheating on him. It was his first heartbreak and Robbie took him out for his first night of drinking, which made Danny miss a test in school and nearly fail a subject.

After seeing how loyal his brother was, Danny realized he would do it all over again with no hesitation.

Despite that one flunked test, Danny graduated top of his class in West Point.

Upon their graduation, both boys were sent to serve in the same intelligence unit. Amelia still has nightmares about them being deployed.

Robbie flies in to see Marianne every chance he has. On weekends, they either play videogames, watch movie marathons or go out on geeky programs. She still knits him the ugliest sweaters that everyone has ever seen, but he wears each one proudly.

Robbie is absolutely sure he is the luckiest guy in the world to have such an amazing girlfriend.

Megan got into Harvard’s pre med program. She is the fourth Hunt in the family to do it and carries that with pride.

After finding out more about JD’s past and his relationship with music, the girl helped him pursue his truest passion. A year later, JD got into Juilliard. They see each other every week.

Megan and JD are still bickering when they are not celebrating each other’s victories. That makes up about fifty percent of the time.

Despite Megan’s abiding insistence, JD never broke his promise and didn’t reveal to her or anyone else the content of his conversation with her father out in the cold that Christmas Eve.

Owen and Amelia are the happiest they have ever been. Every day, they cherish how far their family has come. And not a day goes by when they take it for granted.

And it all started with the simple but meaningful and now solidified notion that they could rely on each other for absolutely everything.

Let me know if you need people. I am around.

And year after year, they were.

The end.

----

Marianne’s horrendous knitted sweater was based on this:

The Plush Dolls are actually real and I want them all:

---

thank you so much guys for making it all the way here. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this story nearly as much as I enjoyed writing it :) 

[lsgingasblog]

Of Happy Coincidences and Fated Connections Chapter 3

Act 3

A lot has happened and as always as is the norm recently Akko played a big part in it.

She couldn’t believe it.

She’s staring at familiar ceiling of the Cavendish manor. She’s on her bed.

Certainly the last few days or so have been awfully eventful.

Good news is that it would seem her aunt Daryl will at least try to maintain the Cavendish house before I can take over in the next Venusian eclipse hopefully.

Weird as it is despite how I was willing to toss luna nova and everything else away for the Cavendish house and I still have much pride in it, don’t mistake. I am happier that I get to go back to Luna Nova, to the teachers, my dorm, Hannah & Barbara, the library and the striving for knowledge, but I would be lying if didn’t admit that I’m glad to go back to Akko. I have to tell her soon about us having met briefly before in that chariot show.

However that brings more knots in my stomach.

It felt really nice having her pressed against me on the broom and having her hold my hand and earnestly support and believe in me made my heart soar. At first I would just chuck it up to the adrenaline, but if I’m totally frank there has always been something more, the way she affects me so is beyond anything I have ever felt.

Mom used to tease me after I told her about the story of meeting akko at the chariot show that she would be a very special person for me, she never specified the word friends in those scarce instances.

It wasn’t until just am hour ago that I managed to apparently unseal a hidden letter of my mom with a card identical to mine, but I still have mine in my drawer.

She was brief, I got teary-eyed when she started the letter by saying she is proud of me and loves me. I truly miss my mother.

She proceeds to tell me that the same card by the same old lady was giving to her moments before she met my dad. She says the card does not have to signify a romantic bond, but I shouldn’t reject it if it does lead to that and so mother goes on to tell the story she omitted when she told me how she and dad got together.

She apparently was bogged down with just having taken on the responsibilities of being the Cavendish head and had left luna nova a few months prior, not even having finished her 2nd year. She was antagonized by her rightfully bitter sister and she wasn’t particularly happy with this arrangement either. However responsibilities are something you cannot avoid.

My father’s courting was an inconvenience to her and she kept rejecting him at every chance but my dad persisted until a particularly horrible event occurred and they were put in a perilous situation. So months after my dad persisted my mom finally relented, realizing that living with my father would be too much to bear and both of them would try their best to make it work.

And work it did although it was only 6 short years they were one of the happiest years she had, barring when she was raising me of course.

She mentions in this letter- which by the date it seems was written a few months before her death- that she would love to meet this girl in the future, but since she can’t physically meet her in her state she will conform herself with giving her daughter a healthy piece of advice.

Every good relationship starts with a solid foundation of friendship so start with that instead and nurture it.

Don’t let this person go once Diana finds her and enjoy as much time as possible with her and most importantly be honest about her feelings, hiding them or putting duty above love should be considered but it’s not always the right action. Happiness is an extremely important feeling that someone has to feel, hopefully more often than not and being around a person that naturally gives you that feeling is worth keeping around.

She mentions how happy she was to have me in her life and thanks me for having been her daughter.

I start crying, it would seem there won’t ever be an end of letter mom has for me.

When I was 11 one year after her passing, she told anne to give me a letter that helped me a lot in coming to terms and accepting what had happened completely, time having made that easier of course, alongside the love and care the staff of Cavendish manor gave me.

When I was 14 or so Anne gave me a letter when I had decided to strictly only study things necessary to be a proper Cavendish, I felt guilty otherwise.

Anne gave me the letter of my mom telling me to pursue my desires and dreams, don’t leave them just dreams, instead turn them into reality. And so a few months after having finished up a few preparations and training I decided to enroll in Luna Nova.

And now this.

Personally I have to admit I am conflicted. Or perhaps denial and quite embarrassed as well. Getting love or friendship advice from a deceased mother feels surreal in a way.

My flustered state comes from the story of having decided to read the 5th story in the story book.

For the wonderful changing nature of relationships of one wild crab and a stubborn Taurus & the mingling of the old and new.

Aria the Crab & Denis the Taurus could not see eye to eye. This standoff has been going on ever since they were both young. Sometimes it’s for something silly, sometimes it got way over blown, but mostly it’s because the crab doesn’t care for the antiquates fashion in which Taurus does things and Taurus feels appalled at the lack of consideration that Crab has for tradition……..

And so from rivals a budding friendship emerged after a perilous obstacle made them overcome their differences and work together. Their seemingly clashing personalities actually ended up being perfect complements to each other and after the many fights against those that were searching for trouble and just being in each other’s presence they realized how alike they truly are and something more begin to form.

After much hesitation, misconceptions and finally fear of breaking this lovely friendship was overcome, something more lovely was given a chance to bloom. As unlikely as this pairing might seem to others, it all made sense once you get to know this couple, they were like two peas in a pod.

The signs of the flowing, ever moving water went perfect together after all with the unmovable and grounded earth signs.

Communication is key in any bond though, not only romantic ones and remember whether you have polar opposite views, intersection is almost always reachable as long as you care enough to open yourself to others, especially those who have earned your trust and respect.

Of course I had to say ‘this story is like akko and I’ and I’m not sure if it’s the feeling I said it with, but my mother’s letter appeared just then.

Honestly I wonder if Chariot could predict the future or something or if it’s just some crazy coincidence but I almost want to laugh at how applicable the darn passages of the story book has been to me.

I would love to ask professor Ursula if she knew about Akko and I, but I suppose she wants to keep it a secret for a reason, I can only hope she does it before akko finds out because that will be quite the surprise for akko, especially having had her idol teaching her the whole time.

To be fair I suppose part of not confronting her also has to do with having to come to term with not only completely embracing my past but reconciling professor Ursula with Chariot and I haven’t even had extra classes with her, I can only imagine the turmoil akko might feel.

There I go again thinking about her. I’m unsure whether I want to label these particular thoughts at least not yet and very much less tell her about any of this.

Besides now that I’m going back to school I have to make sure to ask Professor Ursula about Croix and the accumulation of energy I have been sensing. I’m getting anxious about it if I’m honest. Also I felt horrible for the state I left Hannah & Barbara in.

Which reminds me I hope they finished their potion successfully since it was a week-long one they were getting a bit antsy that it didn’t turn the appropriate color yet. Of course I proceeded to tell them the 4th story in the book about “The hotheaded Leo & Aries & their lesson in patience and earnestness”.

They were shocked that I was that open with them, of course I was getting sentimental because shortly after having given them encouragement I told them I had to leave luna nova. That was two days ago, the potion should be done by tomorrow.

My thought have been jumbled up. I stare at my clock and it reads 4 am. I have been too high on adrenaline ever since all of the trail thing has happened, having akko come help me was a pleasant surprise and riding the shiny volley with her was exhilarating. More than the action at self I wonder if it’s the person with me in those events that made it all so much more amplified.

I went from wanting to get away from Akko to not being able to imagine Luna Nova without her constant presence.

Which is the reason that while I don’t read the 4th story of Chariot’s story book, Believing Astral hearts all that often, mostly because my upbringing has long since thought me patience, it’s groomed in me, but I have to say matters concerning akko makes me impatient at times.

Case in point my prediction of akko leaving luna nova. Her coming here to bring me back isn’t it, because when it occurred she was covered in snow all around her, without any layer of clothes for protection and I admit that when I said she would leave luna nova I was surprised by the scene even more so I could swear it was my worried voice that announced ‘akko’ right before the vision ended.

This makes me want to go right there to that room and make sure akko is alright even though it’s only been a little less than 2 hours that I last saw her when we came back from the trail.

Goodness whatever this is, I have it bad.

I decide to go anyway because I wouldn’t be able to sleep being this restless, honestly the chaos of emotions this girl does do me.

Heading there I noticed someone standing in front of Akko’s door. Hesitating whether to knock or not.

Of course it would be him.

I could just let him go and knock or just turn around right now and forgot this venture completely.

Andrew spots me. Ahh I suppose one of them is ruled out. His eyes widen and he walks away briskly.

This is perfect now I can knock, but that’s not what I ended up doing.

I chased after Andrew. Why? I’m not sure if I’m honest. I do have an inkling but right now interrogating Andrew seems much more immediate.

I catch up enough to him he turns around, glares at me and I ask

“What were you doing so late at akko’s room door” I cut through the tension.

Andrew puts on a scowl and answers coldly “I could ask you the same thing Diana”.

“This is my house and I’m a girl Andrew, didn’t think you were deviant”

Andrew has a smug expression “I am not, but I didn’t think you were actually a deviant, I’m shocked”

What. This annoys me. This is ludicrous.

“Absolutely not” I answered bluntly back I will not let this jerk get to me.

Andrew smirks. That ass. No I have to wipe that expression off.

“You like akko in a romantic sense and you were going to confess”

Diana saw Andrew mildly recoil back but then his smirk was back. What.

“Were you Diana? Good for you”

Diana was flabbergasted. How dare he. When was he ever this cheeky. She wants cold, distant indifferent Andrew back, this was horrible.

“I was asking you! Answer the question and stop being so reflexive.”

Andrew’s smugness got even worse. I lost this bout after all having lost my composure.

“Not sure”

He proceeded to put his hands in his pijama bottoms, which is made of some expensive silk no doubt.

His smug expression is still there. What.

“Diana I confess I am rather enchanted with miss Kagari she’s quite entertaining after all-”

“She’s not a side show! You can’t even begin to comprehend what makes akko so enchanting and amazing Andrew!”

His smug expression is gone. Good. Wait is that a genuine smile. I prefer the smirk or smugness. Abort.

“Clearly Diana, you have known her for longer after all and she has come all the way from luna nova, mostly on foot to talk some sense into you. It for that reason I confess that any budding non-platonic feelings I might be feeling for miss Kagari it pales in comparison to whatever connection or bond you two possess.”

Andrew was awaiting my response but I was in shock. Akko did come all the way here, but that wonderful idiot would’ve done it for anyone she considered a friend or a rival in my case, so what makes it special. Also knew it jerk-face had feelings for her. I was just processing everything, but Andrew isn’t done yet.

“Diana while I believe akko would do it for anyone she holds dear whether romantic or not, she seems to have less than an amicable bond with you and yet she did it anyway-”

“She considers me her rival that is all”

Yes this feels best. My heart is bursting off my chest, this is just too much to take in one day and that excludes everything else that is occurring with Ursula’s hidden identity, whatever professor croix is planning and just luna nova studies in general. It’s all just too much.

“I see, I suppose you will be opting for denial then. Rest assured I will not be pursuing akko. However given akko’s nature and how amazing she is I see no reason to keep her waiting too long. I might rethink then to rescind my declaration of not pursuing her in a few months if you still haven’t made a move”

I glared at him. He won and he knows it.

“Good night Diana”

“Good night, Andrew”

I swear it’s a miracle if we ever really become friends, we’re barely civil in most cases.

I’m too flustered to visit akko now and I know that what Andrew said wasn’t untrue, it’s just I’m unsure if I’m ready to confront all of that yet.

As I let out a deep sigh, I brush my teeth once more and I put my story book in my drawer.

I finally decide to go to sleep. Until I heard a knock. If it’s Andrew I swear I will give that guy hell.

I swing the door open a little harder than necessary. I’m sure my face might’ve been cranky.

“Ahh…I’m sorry Diana going back to my room. Sorry for bugging you….” Akko with an old Pj of mine that looks absolutely adorable on her however she was just walking away when I grabbed her hand, perhaps a little more forceful than necessary. She winced. Ahh snap

“I’m sorry, no it’s not a problem, you just caught me by surprised me, come in”

After reassuring akko that it was fine we sat on the couch and she started talking about how amazing that felt, the trail, flying everything and she’s glad she got to know me more and how she’s excited to get all the words, but she wants them all already and it’s annoying having to wait to discover all and so I tell her the 4th story in the book. She’s completely enthralled she didn’t know it. Which I found odd since she said she owned every single chariot merchandise, which means mom was not kidding when she said this story book had limited and European only release and got recalled. Wonder what the story behind that would be.

We kept talking about school and everything and eventually we fell asleep on the coach next to each other while leaning on each other.

It is in this state that Anne found us way past the hour I was supposed to be awake and we quickly pulled apart, both of us having a visible flush in our faces.

We got ready I got the wonderful support of my staff and I was back to luna nova, this time with a passenger.

A very smug and cheeky passenger that completely teased me all the way through. So much so that I threatened to drop her. Although I never really would have. We made it in fairly good journey time at luna nova.

I get stormed with double hugs and crying faces of Hannah and Barbara. I missed them. Apparently my face is still flushed after the ride.

Personally I’m still unsure if my flushed face all the way through was because akko saw a vulnerable side I barely show to anyone or because it was just being in such close proximity of her that made my heart nearly jump out of my chest. Either way I was happy, oh so very happy. For now though I will follow my mother’s advice, building a strong foundation with friendship. Maybe one day our relationship will develop like the crab and the Taurus, but that’s for the future me to ponder. For now I’m content.

[annaleighreviewsbooks-blog]

E.M. Forster’s “Maurice” - Review & Analysis (Or, more affectionately, “I Can’t Make Up My Mind About Clive Durham”)

I love this book. I love the characters. I love that I’m confused by my own opinions of said characters. Let me tell you about it. 

*Just a small disclaimer before you continue: this is not my first time reading this book. This is the second, but I have also done outside research on the book and have viewed the movie several times (which is excellent, by the way)*

**CONTAINS SPOILERS**

First written in early twentieth century England and published posthumously in 1971, E.M. Forster’s Maurice is poignant and captivating, with themes that transcend the barriers of both time and sexuality. Its characters are complex and relatable, charming and entertaining, and teach a lesson of love, guilt, and personal growth. A work ahead of its time and “dedicated to a happier year”, Maurice remains both a mainstream classic and a staple of LGBTQ+ literature.

But what established Maurice as a lesser-known novel in Forster's repertoire of such books as A Room With a View and A Passage to India, and why has it not reached the esteem of its counterparts? An unfortunate examination of the state of societal history must be made in order to answer such a question. Forster wrote this last novel, which centers around the taboo of homosexuality, in a time where same-gender attraction was considered just that - a taboo. The book in context of history is very much a counter to the early twentieth century’s close-mindedness in regards to different sexual and gender orientations; Forster himself experienced firsthand the life of a gay man in this society, and even modeled Maurice, the titular character, and Alec, his lover, after friends of his who were in a public same-sex relationship.

However, in the modern lens, Maurice’s themes still manage to preach acceptance and act as an important history lesson into the struggle of LGBTQ+ people during the more socially oppressive eras. Even in 1971, when Maurice was first published, society was moving towards acceptance of marginalized identities, despite the fact that homosexuality had been decriminalized in the United Kingdom only four years prior.

As mentioned above, Forster dedicated his novel to “a happier year”, clearly in hopes that society would shift its overwhelming position against homosexuality to a more positive one, but even the restrictions of early twentieth century society did not stop him from giving his characters a happy ending. In fact, Forster even went so far as to say, in his terminal note, that “a happy ending was imperative. I shouldn’t have bothered to write otherwise. I was determined that in fiction anyway two men should fall in love and remain in it for the ever and ever that fiction allows, and in this sense Maurice and Alec still roam the greenwood.” This emphasis has always resonated with me personally, as it was unheard of for many years to imply, let alone state explicitly, that a same-gender couple could live happily - or as happily as society can allow - ever after. The trend of an unhappy ending for LGBTQ+ characters continued on into the latter part of the twentieth century, and its effects are still around today, with patterns that have been dubbed things like “the bury your gays trope”. A piece of fiction of this kind is groundbreaking, even if it was published nearly sixty years after it was originally composed; it shows that even in an oppressive society, there was a glimmer of hope, and there were those that knew all of the close-minded people would one day be on the wrong side of history.

The storyline is fascinating, both while engrossed in reading it and upon reflection. In discussion of the book with friends, I often use words like “unbelievable” and “wacky” and even “flabbergasting” to describe how incredibly modern the story is, and how amazing it is to realize that this plot could be picked up and dropped into modern society with only minor tweaks regarding the legality of homosexuality being made necessary.

The plot itself follows Maurice Hall, a young English man, from his childhood into adolescence, and finally into young adulthood, all the while chronicling his loves and losses, and, as any coming-of-age novel would, tracking his personal growth as the years pass. Maurice is not the smartest, not the most handsome, and not the most popular of boys in his years of schooling and university, and very much comfortably flies under the radar. It is only when he meets Clive Durham, an older boy at Cambridge University, that he begins to blossom in his beliefs; he’s never been much interested in the specifics of religion, nor the prospect of marriage, and under Durham’s wing, Maurice comes to terms with both his agnosticism and his homosexuality. Durham is actually the first to admit his love for Maurice, referencing their common knowledge of Plato’s Symposium, which deals with the idea of love between two men.

Their whirlwind romance, which has only been established for a day before Maurice is expelled, ends when Durham falls ill, travels to Greece, and returns with the notion of marrying a woman. Maurice is not ready to give up so easily, but attempts to get over his lost love through conversion hypnotherapy. It doesn’t work, and he ends up sleeping with Alec Scudder, Durham’s gamekeeper, while staying at Durham’s country home. Scudder, however, reveals that he will soon be moving to Argentina, and cannot stay with Maurice. After begging Scudder and promising that the two can make a life for themselves away from the prying eye of society, Scudder purposefully misses his boat, and waits for Maurice to find him at Durham’s estate, where they are reunited and pledge their never-ending love for each other. Maurice visits Durham one last time, saying that he should worry about his own happiness and affairs instead of Maurice’s, and that Durham missed his chances with Maurice, who now was involved with Scudder.

This novel is timeless. It’s as simple as that. The idea of forbidden love, loss, and missed opportunities are very pervasive tropes in media of all kinds now and throughout time, whether you relate with Maurice’s struggles with his sexuality or not. Just the fact that Maurice and Alec are more worried that they come from different classes than that they are two men in a relationship in the 1910s is amazingly progressive; yes, they worry about what others will think about their relationship because of this, but their own internal frictions are more in terms of class, as Alec is mistreated as a servant and faces leaving England in order to find a better life in South America.

Nevertheless it is, quite possibly, Maurice’s characters that enthrall me the most about this novel. Each is so utterly multidimensional, cresting and receding with every change of heart that befalls them. Maurice Hall, our poor, confused protagonist, is lovable and bumbling, and in all honesty, is really just doing what he thinks is best. An important note is that Forster has a way of making Clive Durham, who is a source of friction in Maurice's life and furthers his plot through rejection, is a character you can't help rooting for in some odd way. Every time I discuss the book with other friends who have read it, I can't help but voice my personal conflict with the character of Clive Durham - he is a man clearly suffering from his own internal conflicts in regards to his sexuality; I pity him, even though on the surface, he appears to treat Maurice very poorly, and Maurice is most definitely one of my favorite characters in all of literature.

In terms of a more in-depth analysis of the characters, I’ll highlight the characters who impacted me the most - in this case, those characters just so happen to be the main characters.  

Forster perfectly captures the spirit of the “average Joe” in Maurice, which would allow for any reader to root for him, despite their own opinion on homosexuality. In this way, Forster strays from the dandy or effeminate, overly exaggerated stereotypes of a gay character that were common at the time, and, similar to his decision to give the same-gender couple a happy ending, he portrays Maurice as non-threatening, normal guy - you know, the way many gay people actually are? You can feel Maurice’s obliviousness in the sections of the book following his younger years; I myself felt like screaming out the obvious facts about him that he himself had yet to realize. As he grew older, you grew with him, and felt his heartache when Durham left him for Anne. You want to scold him for not appreciating himself, to grab him by the shoulders and insist that nothing is wrong with him, especially when he seeks to “cure” himself of his feelings for men. When he finally begins to stand up for himself, to do as he pleases, and to not listen to what others try to instruct him to do, you are overcome by a sense of pride at his personal growth. A personal favorite moment of mine is his last interaction with Durham, when Maurice reveals that he was involved with Alec romantically; Durham, reacting sourly, tries to insist that Maurice is merely confused and should attempt to brush off the “grotesque” feelings Maurice still has.

This interaction leads to the most badass, fist-pumping, fuck-you-very-much statement that can be contained within the proper vernacular of a respectable English gentleman, as said by Maurice:

“You care for me a little bit, I do think,” he admitted, “but I can’t hang all my life on a little bit. You don’t. You hang yours on Anne. You don’t worry whether your relation with her is platonic or not, you only know it’s big enough to hang a life on. I can’t hang mine on to the five minutes you spare me from her and politics. You’ll do anything for me except see me. That’s been it for this whole year of Hell. You’ll make me free of the house, and take endless bother to marry me off, because that puts me off your hands. You do care a little for me, I know” - for Clive had protested - “but nothing to speak of, and you don’t love me. I was yours once till death if you’d cared to keep me, but I’m someone else’s now - I can’t hang about whining for ever - and he’s mine in a way that shocks you, but why don’t you stop being shocked, and attend to your own happiness?”

I’ll tell you what, if I hadn’t been sitting in class when I read that line for the first time, I might have audibly cheered for Maurice myself. Maurice, who has let everyone’s influence get to him over the years, finally finds happiness in a relationship - he has an intimate, loving relationship with another man, which is more than he got out of his brief fling with Durham, and he decides that he will not let Durham take his newfound joy away.

As for Clive Durham’s own character, I am so conflicted by his behavior. Of course I despair over his mistreatment of Maurice, but can we in fact argue that he was perhaps attempting to protect himself and Maurice? He keeps pressing the idea of marriage on Maurice, because he himself got married. Perhaps it isn’t because Durham has finally found the joy of heterosexuality - after all, sexuality, though fluid, doesn’t generally go polar opposite when one becomes ill. It is explicitly stated that Durham has known for years that he was only attracted to men; though he was maybe harder on himself about it than Maurice was to himself, Durham was also more set in his ways and sure that he was gay. You can sure try to argue that Durham had a complete change of heart, but I’m not under the impression that you can contract the heterosexual flu. Part of me really does believe that he got married so as to ward off any suspicion that he was committing what were, at the time, illegal acts. This would also help explain why he seemed hesitant to enter a more intimate and physical relationship with Maurice; he couldn’t be convicted of sodomy if he didn’t technically engage in it. If this theory is correct, it not only shows that he was wary or suspicious of Maurice - after all, Maurice was the only one who could take action against Durham - but that he was trying to protect Maurice once Durham realized that Maurice was genuinely interested in a relationship with him. If they were to both marry women, they would be protected from prying eyes and retain their respectable reputations. So that’s what Durham did. He married a woman, and tried to convince Maurice to do the same, all the while trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do.

And yet, I still haven’t reached a stable opinion on Durham. Was forgetting his identity and attempting to get his lover to do the same really the right thing to do? Was Maurice right in saying that Durham would not try to spend time with him if Maurice had not pursued a relationship with Scudder? Could Maurice and Durham ever have had a true romantic relationship together? Would Durham, who cared about his position in society and politics, have given up his life to live with Maurice in seclusion as Scudder did? The jury’s still not out, nor will it ever be. I’m personally satisfied with the ending of the story; though Durham is a conflictual character in my eyes, I still am glad that he got a rude awakening from Maurice. In the end, Maurice was trying to do what Durham had attempted, but in reverse - Durham tried to convince Maurice to find happiness through the stability and protection of marriage, and Maurice tried to convince Durham to find happiness through personal reflection instead of controlling others as he saw fit. Maurice’s stance clearly leaves more to be pondered than Durham’s, seeing as he followed his own advice rather than Durham’s, and lived happily with his partner because of it.

All in all, Maurice has become one of my favorite books of all time, because of its relatability and timeless qualities. It is beautifully written, and I can feel the soul of it in every word.

If you’ve read Maurice, hopefully you feel similarly. If you haven’t, you shouldn’t have read this spoiler-filled review, but I suggest you read it anyway. I also suggest watching the movie - though it exercises a bit of creative license in the storylines of some of the minor characters, it is pretty true to the book, and much of the original dialogue from the book itself made it into the movie. Finally, I suggest reading the epilogue, which is not included in many versions of the book, but is certainly worth the read. I stumbled upon it months after first reading the book, and was incredibly moved by it; all I will say is that Forster kept his promise of a happy ending.

I doubt anybody will read this review, but if you did and you made it this far, thank you, and I love you!

[briefnytw]

A Conversation with Playwright Madeleine George

Before heading into previews, playwright Madeleine George joined Brief contributors, Vanessa Reyes and Nicholas Shannon, to discuss her first introduction to theatre, her career as a playwright, and her process creating Hurricane Diane.

Nicholas: Where are you from, and were you involved with the arts or theatre growing up?

Madeleine: I’m from Western Massachusetts, and growing up I was a sort of theatre nerdy kid. I wanted to be involved and I was terrible as an actor, so I just threw all of my heart and soul into the hyper-nerdiest parts of theatre. I was on every single kind of running crew (terrible at it, so bad!), damaged a lot of materials, wasted a lot of time, flirted with a lot of deadlines.

I started to write plays as a high school student because I had a teacher who read a piece of fiction of mine and was like “you know, if you just took out the ‘he said, she said’ this would just be a play.” So then I was like, “Oh, interesting. Maybe I can just you know combine these things.” I wrote a play and sent it off when I was like sixteen to the Young Playwrights’ Festival, which used to produce professional Off-Broadway productions for writers under the age of 18. They gave that play a reading in New York City. I was so unbelievably excited. I took a Greyhound bus to New York by myself, and was in a professional process with Camryn Manheim, Danny Jenkins, and Katherine Hiler, and learning what it was like. Being involved in that was just intoxicating. I was like, “Oh, I’ll never go back.”

N: Are there similarities that you notice when you look back between the plays that you wrote then and the plays that you write now?

M: I have been thinking about that a lot! Particularly right now with Hurricane Diane. The play I wrote when I was 18 which was in the Young Playwrights’ Festival is called The Most Massive Woman Wins, and it’s a one-act play about four women in the waiting room of a liposuction clinic. It’s kind of an expressionist piece, so it’s a little bit naturalistic in the dialogue, but it’s happening in some weird other plane of time. That theme where it’s like four female, or female-of-center people are in a funny relationship with each other that is not quite familial, and they’re trying to work out how to live? Almost all my plays are like that. Also, the play deals with multiple kinds of source materials. It pulls from nursery rhymes and fairy tales. That thing where I’m like “oh, some old text is making me think about something in this contemporary moment, how can I fuse those two”? That’s also going on in Hurricane Diane. Almost all my plays have some relationship to the past in text.

Vanessa: Do you ever feel like your identity as a queer woman playwright brackets the type of art or work you can do?

M: I mean I always feel like female or nonbinary universes are legitimate human universes. There’s no reason why we can’t play out all of our questions about what human problems are interesting to us in those environments. That’s obviously how patriarchal art has always functioned. And so my plays have always been like that. I mean they also have like lots of weird characters in them - like there’s a god character in this one, there’s like a computer character in another play, there’s a gorilla character in another play. They’re often characters that are sort of off to the side of humanity.

V: What have you learned in creating Hurricane Diane?

M: Well this is our second whack at this play. It premiered in New Jersey at the theatre that commissioned it initially in January 2017, and most of the same cast and creative team have come forward with the production. So we have this very deep relationship with each other, which is really great.

It’s startling how different this version is even though of course it’s the same. Like all the pieces are the same, but they’re doing a much more honed and focused thing now. We’re trying to be extremely clear about what the relationship is, what the god is trying to do, what this play has to do with climate change, and what it means to have the characters in this play succumb to the god, or fail to succumb to the god.

I really feel like most plays that are new need two productions at the minimum to figure out what they are. Almost no plays are ready and done after one draft, right? You draft in production. A play is a thing that happens in time, not a thing that happens on a page. So we feel very lucky to get to do this here.

N: Is there a teacher or another writer who’s had a really big influence on your writing?

M: I was part of a playwrights’ collective called 13P, 13 Playwrights, from like 2002-2012. We were a collective of 13 writers that came together to produce one play by each of us. At that time, we were having trouble getting produced so we were like, “We’re gonna change the game for ourselves.” A number of those writers that I was in that group with are really important to me in a bunch of different ways. Rob Handel - he currently runs the playwriting program at Carnegie Mellon University - his writing is extraordinary. He has taught me so much about not waiting for somebody to give you something in your career, how to take a jump forward. Plus, he’s just a genius. He knows everything there is to know about plays. Anne Washburn is another one of the writers in that collective, and she’s like one of my favorite living writers. I just go to her plays over and over again for their exquisiteness and her insane ear. She’s so fearless in her writing. So those people are my friends and then they’re also my heroes artistically, which is so lucky! That’s a really good thing for young artists to do is keep their eye out for the people who can be both.

V: Earlier you mentioned a trend you had of looking back at the past, specifically in terms of text. Why do you think that is, and why specifically for Hurricane Diane did you look at The Bacchae?

M: So trying to write about climate change is dicey because nobody wants to think about it or talk about it. It’s just so unbearable, you know? Also, the problem is so huge, no one person can deal with it. I guess I felt like a sort of warped comic take on the Greeks was a way into the problem, because the Greeks deal with problems. The vastness of fate? All the time in their writing. So I felt like it was kind of a good antecedent. Also, I just felt like it was going to be good for jokes. There would be lots of good jokes if like a god could come back to New Jersey. That’s just funny.

When you use an antecedent text to address a contemporary problem, you could nitpick the history of that antecedent text, but I feel like that is so missing the point. It’s a contemporary revisioning of an old set of texts. And, frankly, this is how all of the great writers have always worked! The Greeks are in Athens, but they’re not writing about Athens. They’re writing about Thebes, which is the mythological origin city. Shakespeare says he’s writing about Henry V. He’s not - he’s writing about Elizabeth! He’s using the past’s story, the myth, to illuminate the complexity of the present. That’s what we do with myths! That’s why we have them. I feel like using texts gives you scope. It gives you a springboard, and it connects you. It braids you into a conversation that goes back thousands of years. What could be more gorgeous? Whenever I teach playwriting, I often ask people to adapt because re-making is innovating. It’s being original.

Photo credit: Marielle Sloan

[marcusssanderson]

50 Inspirational Quotes for Women on Strength and Leadership

Our latest collection of inspirational quotes for women that will help you become a strong and confident woman.

In a world heavily skewed to favor males, it can sometimes be hard for women to believe in themselves, or to truly appreciate the female strengths that make them amazing.

Contrary to the male-dominated world, women provide the foundation of power, grace, wisdom, justice, creativity, and hope. Besides, women are known to have better intuition, patience, emotional focus, compassion and networking ability. The list of female strengths is endless.

Throughout history, the world has witnessed many great women of strength who managed to tap into their Everyday Power to leave an indelible mark on society. Reading words of wisdom from such amazing women can inspire you to become a strong woman yourself, who approaches life with confidence.

The inspirational quotes for women below are filled with wisdom that will awaken hope, ambition, faith and inner strength. We hope you enjoy reading them as much as we enjoyed compiling them.

Inspirational quotes for women on strength and leadership

1.) “I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day, and I believe in miracles.” – Audrey Hepburn

2.) “Women are like teabags. We don’t know our true strength until we are in hot water.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

3.) “I’m tough, ambitious and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, Okay.” – Madonna

4.) “Some women choose to follow men, and some choose to follow their dreams. If you’re wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn’t love you anymore.” – Lady Gaga

5.) “It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends.” ~ J. K. Rowling

6.) “I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story – I will.” – Amy Schumer

7.) “It’s possible to climb to the top without stomping on other people.” ~ Taylor Swift

8.) “Strong women don’t play the victim. Don’t make themselves look pitiful and don’t point fingers. They stand and they deal.” – Mandy Hale

9.) “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” – Anais Nin

10.) “She was powerful not because she wasn’t scared but because she went on so strongly, despite the fear.” – Atticus

Inspirational quotes for women that empower

11.) “And one day she discovered that she was fierce and strong, and full of fire and that not even she could hold herself back because her passion burned brighter than her fears.” – Mark Anthony

12.) “I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life’s a bitch. You’ve got to go out and kick ass.”— Maya Angelou

13.) “Take criticism seriously, but not personally. If there is truth or merit in the criticism, try to learn from it. Otherwise, let it roll right off you.” — Hillary Clinton

14.) “We realize the importance of our voices only when we are silenced.” — Malala Yousafzai

15.) “If you don’t like being a doormat then get off the floor.”– Al Anon

16.) “The best protection any woman can have … is courage.”– Elizabeth Cady Stanton

17.) “Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got. There is no yesterday, no tomorrow, it’s all the same day.” –Janis Joplin

18.) “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”– Alice Walker

19.) “One of the most courageous things you can do is identify yourself, know who you are, what you believe in and where you want to go.”– Sheila Murray Bethel

20.) “Everyone has inside of her a piece of good news. The good news is that you don’t know how great you can be, how much you can love, what you can accomplish, and what your potential is.” — Anne Frank

Inspirational quotes about women to inspire confidence

21.) “Doubt is a killer. You just have to know who you are and what you stand for.” – Jennifer Lopez

22.) “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

23.) “You are more powerful than you know; you are beautiful just as you are.” ~ Melissa Etheridge

24.) “Do you want to meet the love of your life? Look in the mirror.” ~ Byron Katie

25.) “The way in which we think of ourselves has everything to do with how our world sees us and how we see ourselves successfully acknowledged by the world.”– Arlene Rankin

26.) “If you look at what you have in life, you’ll always have more. If you look at what you don’t have in life, you’ll never have enough.”– Oprah Winfrey

27.) “You have to have confidence in your ability, and then be tough enough to follow through.”– Rosalynn Carter

28.) “If you’re not making mistakes, then you’re not making decisions.” — Catherine Cook

29.) “If it’s a good idea, go ahead and do it. It’s much easier to apologize than it is to get permission.”— Grace Hopper

30.) “It’s not your job to like me, it’s mine.” — Byron Katie

Inspirational quotes for women about success

31.) “Buckle up, and know that it’s going to be a tremendous amount of work, but embrace it.” –Tory Burch

32.) “I attribute my success to this: I never gave or took an excuse.”— Florence Nightingale

33.) “What makes you different or weird, that’s your strength.”— Meryl Streep

34.) “Define success on your own terms, achieve it by your own rules, and build a life you’re proud to live.” – Anne Sweeney

35.) “We need to accept that we won’t always make the right decisions, that we’ll screw up royally sometimes – understanding that failure is not the opposite of success, it’s part of success.” – Arianna Huffington

36.) “If you are successful, it is because somewhere, sometime, someone gave you a life or an idea that started you in the right direction. Remember also that you are indebted to life until you help some less fortunate person, just as you were helped.” – Melinda Gates

37.) Successful women are not liked. I think the biggest danger for women in science is colleagues who are not as good as you are.” –  Christiane Nusslein-Volhard

38.) “Whenever you see a successful woman, look out for three men who are going out of their way to try to block her.” – Yulia Tymoshenko

39.) “Success as a woman has changed me. That’s what I feel is the first thing. When I feel like a successful woman as a rounded human being, then it feeds my work in a broader way so it becomes more interesting.”- Jacqueline Bisset

40.) “I never dreamed about success. I worked for it.” — Estée Lauder

Other inspirational quotes for women

41.) “Once you figure out what respect tastes like, it tastes better than attention.” – Pink

42.) “Any woman who understands the problems of running a home will be nearer to understanding the problems of running a country.”– Margaret Thatcher

43.) “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. A woman must do what he can’t.”– Rhonda Hansome

44.) “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” — Eleanor Roosevelt

45.) “I do not wish [women] to have power over men; but over themselves.”— Mary Wollstonecraft

46.) “A woman with a voice is, by definition, a strong woman.”— Melinda Gates

47.) “I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning to sail my ship.”— Louisa May Alcott

48.) “Don’t let anyone rob you of your imagination, your creativity, or your curiosity. It’s your place in the world; it’s your life.”— Dr. Mae Jemison

49.) “Words have power. TV has power. My pen has power.”— Shonda Rhimes

50.) “Power is not given to you. You have to take it.”—Beyoncé Knowles

Which of these inspirational quotes for women was your favorite?

Whenever a woman needs to develop self-confidence it’s important to have a couple of strong, independent women to look up to.

Reading their words of wisdom is a great way to not only encourage and empower yourself but to also celebrate and promote the achievements of the amazing women around us. Hopefully, these quotes have inspired you to become the woman that you want to be.

Did you enjoy these inspirational quotes for women? Which of the quotes was your favorite? Tell us in the comment section below. We would love to hear all about it.

The post 50 Inspirational Quotes for Women on Strength and Leadership appeared first on Everyday Power.

[ismael37olson]

Mine Have Naked People

Midway through Act II of La Cage aux Folles we get the number "Cocktail Counterpoint." It doesn't really feel like the other songs in the show. I used to think it was just filler because they felt like they needed a song there. I was really wrong. This is a deceptively complex piece that delivers so much information. On the surface, it feels like just an Irving Berlin style stunt, introducing several independent melodies, then combining them into counterpoint. But it's more than that. Berlin did it for the stunt; Jerry Herman does it to further the storytelling. In terms of structure, what does this music tell us? These people all may be singing at the same time, but they're not singing together. No one is singing the same thing as anyone else. For the most part, they're not even singing to each other. Everyone is at odds with everyone, even in terms of musical styles. And yet the fact that this chaos actually makes harmonic sense represents the civilized facades they each present, despite the deep contradictions underneath. The fact that they all sing different things at once, no one listening to each other, stands as a great metaphor for the story's central conflict. Form becomes content!! It's also worth noting that the song builds, in its second counterpoint section, to a climax that gets interrupted by Albin's entrance ("Here's Mother!"). The music finishes, but the vocals never do. Nothing has been resolved yet. All these tensions remain. Significantly, in the scene after this one, at Jacqueline's, they will finally all sing together in "The Best of Times," not just the same words at the same time, but in harmony, and with choreography! Excepting M. Dindon, these people will be literally in harmony with each other. The magic of musicals. But the lyric for "Cocktail Counterpoint" is even more interesting than its music. There's so much important information here. Each lyric tells us so much about the point-of-view of that character, and why that point-of-view is a problem. Notably, each family thinks the other is weird. Eye of the beholder, and all... Geroges is the first one to sing. There's a double joke in his lyric. First, he's so nervous meeting these people and trying to maintain the lie, that he's mixed up Jean-Michel's lie (that Georges is with the French Foreign Service, i.e., a diplomat), with the symbols of hyper-masculinity he earlier tortured Albin with, at the cafe, so the original lie weirdly morphs into the French Foreign Legion (i.,e., the army). And not just the French Foreign Legion, but a particularly gay point-of-view of the Legion...

I joined the Foreign Legion With a sabre in my hand, And crawled across the desert With my belly in the sand; With men who loved their camels, And their brandy, and I swear, Nobody dished, nobody swished, When I was a Foreign Legionnaire.

Wait, what? The first four lines tick off the Beau Geste movie cliches, and then... WTF? Georges gets lost again in his outsiders' view of conventional masculinity. Read it close -- he's saying the Legionnaires may have been drunks and camel fuckers, but nobody was gay! And by comic extension, Georges is offering up camel fucking and drunkenness as obvious markers of masculinity -- even more than that, as proof of his masculinity, because he himself was a Legionnaire. Except he wasn't. What does this tell us about Georges? He's a terrible, though admittedly enthusiastic, liar. He's terrible at being someone he's not. Exactly. And then Jean-Michel passes out hors d'oeuvre plates, not stopping to think about what's on these plates he's been using for years. Madame Dindon sees two Greek boys having anal sex, but she's so sheltered, so brainwashed, she's can't even conceive that this might be exactly what it looks like. She does her best to find an alternate explanation...

Oh, what lovely dishes; They're so delicate and frail. Mine have naked people, I believe they're only male. Oops, I think they're playing Some exotic little game...

And Jean-Michel snatches the plate away and finishes her rhyme for her: "Oops, I think that leapfrog is its name." A lie she is eager to accept. But look at her lyric closely. She takes in all the details. First, she sees the overall beauty of the plate, then she notices there are naked people in the middle of the plate, then she notices they're both boys, and just as she's working out what they're doing in that position, Jean-Michel rescues her, poor thing. She is not equipped to handle the complexities of the real world, which she's been sheltered from, for so long. Then we hear from her oppressor, M. Dindon, and notice that, like most conservatives, everything comes down to fear.

This is even worse than I feared; The son is strange, the father is weird. To meet the wife, I’m actually afraid. I prefer that Anne remain an old maid!

He came into this situation in fear, fear of the Other, fear of freedom, fear of difference, fear of loss of control, fear of what he perceives to be chaos. But also notice that his only complaints are really vague. He has no actual issues with them; he just doesn't like them viscerally. And his conditioned reaction is to withdraw from the world, to turn his daughter into Miss Havisham, rather than be tainted -- or worse, seduced -- by the Chaos. How many home-schooling Evangelicals today feel the same way? In a delicious bit of narrative subversion, the cross-dressing, norm-busting, gender-fluid Jacob returns to get the last verse himself, to pass the final judgment.

It's appalling to confess Our new in-laws are a mess! She's a prude! He's a prig! She's a pill! He's a pig! So zis ... zis ... zis for you papa!

Jacob is the truth-teller. The Dindons are acting like Albin, Georges, and Jean-Michel are the Others, but here in this world, the Dindon are the Others. Here's it's their behavior which is inappropriate. When Albin takes them all to Jacqueline's for dinner, this process will be finished, and the Dindons will be the ultimate Others -- that is, until Marie and Anne cross over... This song "Cocktail Counterpoint," this moment in the story, is what a writing teacher of mine called The Obligatory Moment, the moment without which the story doesn't exist. Everything before it leads to it, and everything after it leads from it. The whole first act is about the impending collision of these two very different families. This is that collision. And this writing is so good, it's a musical collision as well as a textual and thematic collision. And the rest of the show is the fallout from that collision.

What's cool is how this collision begins entirely inside their minds -- these are all "internal monologues" -- and Jerry Herman and Harvey Fierstein create wonderful tension by not letting the inevitable bomb go off quite yet. We know what's coming, even if we don't know exactly how it will play out, and throughout the scene at Jacqueline's, we keep waiting for the explosion... And then Herman totally distracts us with one of the greatest of all earworms, "The Best of Times," and we forget for a minute about that explosion we were waiting for... And then... Well, I wouldn't want to spoil it if you haven't seen the show yet... It has been such a joy working on this amazing show, and the overwhelmingly positive response from audiences and critics has been so wonderful. But really, all we've done is take the material seriously. I still don't get why everybody doesn't do that. We run through March 23! Come see us! Long Live the Musical! Scott from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2019/03/mine-have-naked-people.html

[thegodcup]

Below is a post from hipsobriety. I pasted the whole text here because I wanted to be able to highlight the parts that I relate to directly. But, then I realized that I would be highlighting almost the whole thing. What she describes is a universal experience.  A couple months ago, I listened on the phone as my dear friend Holly read to me a draft of a long, thoughtful, honest piece about her experience with AA and its part in her recovery journey.

When she finished I took a long, deep breath. Holly’s story is gorgeously brave – just like her. She’s an example of the deep well of power we can find in the softness of our human hearts. She is also fiercely fierce.

She's been sober for two years, and has had a mostly negative experience with AA. Whenever she describes her story I find myself getting defensive, which is interesting. I think it’s natural to want to defend things that mean something to us, especially when those things feel so connected to our own safety. But I also get it. While my experience has been very different, I get it. I’ve had mixed feelings about it at many points. I’ve wrestled with the language, the people, the groupthink mentality, all of it. I’ve wished I could be one of those people who walked into the rooms and never questioned a thing, but I’m not.

But today I’m grateful that I don’t fuss too much with how I feel about AA. How I feel about it – like many things – changes all the time. Maybe a little bit like a long-term relationship, when you’ve reached that place where your love and commitment to the thing, the respect, the reverence that you’re in the hands of the Universe anyway, trumps the inevitable and lesser ups and downs. The benefits far outweigh the perceived costs. Are there things that bug me? Sure. But my relatively short experience has taught me that when I put myself in the middle of AA, I don’t drink. When I go to meetings regularly I feel infinitely better, emotionally and spiritually. When I don’t, I start to feel jiggy. I don’t totally get the connection, but that’s fine. I also don’t get how electricity works.

I spent a lot of time intellectualizing my thoughts and dissecting my feelings about AA and you know what? None of that helped me stay sober. Because what I was actually intellectualizing was my drinking – and that’s not an intellectual exercise.

So what if the same annoying person drones on for twenty fucking minutes about the story you’ve heard 100 times before, again. There’s someone who might need to hear it. Patience. Tolerance.

So some of the language in the big book is misogynistic and simple – maybe even offensive to me as a writer. It was written in the 1930’s (and yes, it could use an update), but the underlying message is still brilliantly beautiful and profound. Take what works – leave the rest.

So there are some weirdos, crazies, and people I find incredibly annoying in the program.Welcome to life. Everywhere. By and large, the majority of people I’ve come across in the rooms of AA are wonderfully compassionate, surprisingly funny, and exceedingly honest. They possess the rare qualities I most love in human beings who’ve gone through and survived some kind of hell: humility, spirituality, tolerance and a deep respect for life. It took time to find my crew and appreciate this vibe. It took a lot of shopping around meetings, sitting through bad ones, tolerating annoyances, time. But I can honestly say that when I’m in those rooms I feel a sense of calm and hope I don’t feel anywhere else.

It’s also important to note I do a lot of other things to keep moving forward, and by no means do I think AA is the only way to get and stay sober, nor do I think it’s the best way for everyone. It’s just what has worked for me so far. The other things I do – some of which are technically part of the program (meditation, prayer, honesty with others, service work) and some of which are technically not (yoga, running, lots of sleep, baths, writing, engaging in any creative outlet possible) have only been encouraged and enhanced by what I’ve learned in the rooms and through the people.

When Holly finished reading me her post I said I was bummed she’d had such a bad experience, because mine has just been so different. She asked if I’d write about my experience and I said, of course.

So I’ve distilled why I believe AA has worked for me so far into three primary points: the people, the ritual, and God energy.

THE PEOPLE. I FOUND A TRIBE.

Photo credit: Unsplash

“We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

Being a human can be lonely. Being a human with an acute alcohol addiction is desperately, painfully lonely. By the end of my drinking I was surrounded by people, but nobody knew my insides. Nobody knew how much I was drinking, the crushing shame and anxiety I felt because of the things I did when I drank, how important booze was to me, how much I relied on it to feel normal, social, human. Even I didn’t know. We go to such great lengths to protect the addiction – such great lengths – that over time, incrementally, despite ourselves, we create a separate world with a population of two – us and the alcohol. While we exist in, manage, and are part of entire lives that include families and co-workers and big, vibrant circles of friends and houses and plans we are constantly, dreadfully alone.

In the rooms of AA I heard people describe my insides exactly. I heard people speak in a way I thought impossible. I’ve had more than a few friends say that while sitting in their first meeting, they were sure the person who took them there had tipped off the room, told them about their story, because the things people were saying were just too familiar, too close to their own experience, how could they possibly know? It’s funny but true. Of course nobody tipped them off. As wonderfully unique and special we all are, our human experiences are collectively, boringly similar. Love is love. Pain is pain. Fear is fear. Addiction is addiction. The thing Dr. Bob and Bill Wilson captured in the Big Book is the essence of what it’s like to experience alcoholism – the physical, mental and spiritual aspects of the disease – and every time we sit in a meeting we get the chance to recognize and be recognized, to hear how others have walked through it, to nod our heads and say, Yes, me, too. There is magic in Me, too. Me, too is the antidote to loneliness.

So by sitting there, listening and talking, I found a tribe. I now have a large circle of people I know from AA – some are very close friends, some are acquaintances, some are just familiar faces – all sharing this common, bizarre experience. I know so many people I wouldn’t have otherwise come across in my everyday life. People who used to be homeless, CEOs, Broadway dancers, insurance executives, total misfits and weirdos, wonderful humans. I hang out with these people inside and outside the rooms. When I first came in, they invited me to parties – sober parties – and I saw people having actual, real fun without drinking (gasp!). I was invited to dinners, to coffee, to run 10Ks and go on ski trips. They said, come along with us. They let me be weird and self-conscious and shaky like the most awkward days of junior high. When I said I was angry about everything, uncomfortable as fuck and sad, they nodded their heads, I knowand I have been there and Me, too. They told me to call whenever and picked up their phone when I did and didn’t ask why I was calling. They smiled when I showed up at a meeting after going missing for a few weeks and didn’t say, Where have you been?  But instead, I’m so happy to see you.

Anne Lamott talks about how at some point in her recovery process, she had developed relationships with so many people who were invested in her sobriety that she couldn’t just disappear anymore. If she went off the radar for more than a day or so, she’d get calls or people would show up at her house. She called them “The Interrupters.” I have a crew of them myself now, and 90% are folks I met in AA. They keep tabs. They send texts and call. They show up. They don’t let me disappear, even if I want to. This is a tribe and it’s important in sobriety (and life) because we humans get lost easily, we imagine ourselves alone, we float off to the edge. And the edge is where you can fall off.

Lest you think this sounds like a total love fest, let me be clear: it’s not all a love fest.Sometimes when I’m sitting in meetings I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets willing someone to shut up. I’ve walked out of meetings because I can’t listen for one more second longer. I’ve wanted to punch certain people right in the face, make-out with others, and sometimes I just shake my head. But underneath all that I get access to some bigger, deeper realm where none of that shit matters – the “good” or the “bad” – because I know we’re all doing something so much more important just by sitting there, being totally imperfect.

Anne Lamott talks about how at some point in her recovery process, she had developed relationships with so many people who were invested in her sobriety that she couldn’t just disappear anymore. If she went off the radar for more than a day or so, she’d get calls or people would show up at her house. She called them “The Interrupters.” I have a crew of them myself now, and 90% are folks I met in AA. They keep tabs. They send texts and call. They show up. They don’t let me disappear, even if I want to. This is a tribe and it’s important in sobriety (and life) because we humans get lost easily, we imagine ourselves alone, we float off to the edge. And the edge is where you can fall off.

Lest you think this sounds like a total love fest, let me be clear: it’s not all a love fest.Sometimes when I’m sitting in meetings I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets willing someone to shut up. I’ve walked out of meetings because I can’t listen for one more second longer. I’ve wanted to punch certain people right in the face, make-out with others, and sometimes I just shake my head. But underneath all that I get access to some bigger, deeper realm where none of that shit matters – the “good” or the “bad” – because I know we’re all doing something so much more important just by sitting there, being totally imperfect.

THE RITUAL: PATIENT ACTION

The ritual of meetings and the emphasis on action is another reason AA works for me. For a couple reasons:

I am lazy and dislike routines. I want to do things on my time, when I want to do them, the way I want. Which is fine and all, except when it comes to changing behaviors, paying bills and getting my kid to school on time. Particularly now, in early recovery, the simple practices of AA has been crucial. I remember when my first sponsor told me to call her every day. I thought, Every. Day?! I don’t talk to anyone EVERY DAY. But after a while (and enough falling on my face) I figured out why: recovery is a daily thing. Like one of the old timers said, “You wouldn’t skip a shower today because you took one yesterday would you?” (Well, yes. Yes I would skip a shower today, but point taken.)

It’s the same as any behavior we want to change. We must rewire our brains with new behaviors and that means action. Not talking about it, thinking about it, writing about it, but actually doing it. Sitting your ass in a chair and doing it. Over and over.

I also think it’s important to say, nothing “bad” happens if I don’t go to a meeting or call my sponsor every day, the program doesn’t require anything except a desire to stop drinking – these are just suggestions. Yet things seem to go a hell of a lot better when I follow those suggestions. At minimum, I stay sober. And at best, I help someone else do that.

“Every act or decision we make that supports life supports all life, including our own. The ripples we create return to us. ”

I have amnesia. We all do. We romanticize horrible relationships when they're over, we revere the dead even when they were assholes, and we forget the negative consequences of our behavior, over and over again. But when you have amnesia about a thing that can cause as much damage as drinking, it’s actually dangerous. When our neural pathways have been formed for years upon years (for me, 20!) to do a thing -- and that thing is so closely associated to daily living (laundry, dinner, restaurants, sex, 5:00 pm Monday - Friday (happy hour!), sporting events, sunny weather, fall weather, snowstorms, holidays, birthdays, thirsty Thursdays, celebrations, tough days, whatever – a hell of a lot of rewiring needs to happen.

When I first knew I had to quit drinking every day felt so fragile. Like I could step on a crack in the sidewalk and end up drunk again. Having a place to go and physically put by body was helpful and necessary. The rituals of going to a meeting, reading the preamble, hearing the same words, seeing familiar faces, the format of meetings, the daily-ness of it, I needed it. I like it. They say, move the feet and the heart will follow and I have found that to be the case.

GOD ENERGY

Photo credit: Unsplash

The third reason AA works for me is that in those rooms I find what I call “God energy.”

This has nothing to do with religion.

It’s the energy I feel when I am near the ocean, lost in a beautiful book, watching my daughter sleep, teaching yoga, in the writing flow. It’s an elevated energy - the vibration of hope and change. I want as much of it as I can get, on a daily basis, because it makes me feel better and not in a bottle-of-wine-or-six donuts-way, but in a long, restful sleep and a hug-from-your-favorite-aunt way. It reminds me I am connected to you. It reminds me both how strong, and also how powerless, I am.

I wrote the following four months ago, which sums it up better than I can now.

“I know AA isn't for everyone. There are many parts of it that kept me away and still turn me off sometimes. I know it isn't the only way, but if I look at my path over the past year, I feel deep gratitude that it exists.

I thought about it as I was sitting at a meeting tonight, feeling at ease, comfortable in my skin and at peace for the first time all day. Just listening and nodding and smiling at faces I know and strangers' too. Why I go now is the same reason I kept going back to the yoga mat so many years ago and still do today as often as possible. It is the same reason I bury my nose in my daughter's head and smell her 100 times a day. It is the same reason I never tire of looking at the ocean. I go because I feel God in those rooms. I feel God in all the broken bits of us sitting in those chairs. Because I can see the fear in someone's eyes when they are very new, and the way the room holds them. I can feel my own brokenness being seen and understood and thus, some kind of alchemy taking place. I can speak my own voice, even when it shakes. I see people hold space for one another, even when they are irritated, annoyed, angry, or disagree. I see people belly laugh and weep. I see people change…actually change. And it feels like witnessing miracles. So yeah, that's why I go. Because I need to be with God to remember who I am.”

[pauldeckerus]

5 Things Photographers Can Learn From the Old Masters of Painting

Art has arguably been around almost as long as humans have. The moment we learned to mark something for others to see and interpret, the moment art was born. Thankfully for us photographers, we needn’t go quite that far back to begin learning from the history of art. In fact, we only need to go as far as the “Old Masters.”

Old Master Who?

To those unsure as to who the ‘Old Masters’ were: they are the painters that worked in Europe prior to the 1800s. More specifically, it refers to the ones who were working at the top of their game, and many of their pieces will still be displayed in galleries around the world to this very day.

At a time before social media and marketing, these artists had to heavily rely on simple raw talent and skill to succeed. In fact, one could argue that it was only truly great artists that did succeed back then — you couldn’t simply buy your way to popularity, nor could you hire somebody to “finish” or “retouch” your work.

There were no shortcuts to success back then. You actually had to put time and dedication in to succeed.

What Could We Possibly Learn from Old Paintings?

The reason I mention this slightly cheeky jibe at the current state of art and photography is that I wonder how many of us will have our work viewed in a hundred years? Not many, I’m guessing. So with this in mind, any artwork we hold in high regard now from one hundred or maybe even four hundred years ago deserves some serious attention.

You don’t get your work displayed and admired for centuries unless you seriously knew what you were doing, and I feel we can learn a lot from looking at their work.

In this article, I aim to look at the work of some Old Masters and see what made some of their paintings so successful at the time. What did they do that caught the attention of the viewer? What tricks did they use to lead the viewer’s eye? How did they tell a story in a single frame?

#1. HDR

Now before you all leave in disgust at the very mention of HDR, let me explain. For those unaware, HDR stands for High Dynamic Range, which in reality translates to very little pure black shadows and very little pure white highlights in your shot. In effect, you use tools like multiple exposures or multiple lights to ensure that every part of your image is evenly lit.

Done poorly, your image will look flat and visually very confusing. This technique was painfully overused in the mid-2000s and now has a pretty bad reputation whenever the term is muttered in dark corners of camera clubs across the globe.

So how on earth were the Old Masters using HDR back when they were arguing over whether squirrel or badger eyelashes made for better paintbrushes? Well, painters have a unique trump card and that’s their ability to paint any area of their canvas whatever brightness they want.

Leonardo Di Vinci was a master at interpreting light and he would often use his ‘artistic license’ to convey the impossible in his outdoor portraits. Take a look at ‘The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne’ below.

The Virgin and Child with St Anne by Leonardo da Vinci 1508

As those of us who’ve ever shot portraits outside will know, getting nicely exposed directional light on your subjects, as well as a correctly exposed background, is tough.

In the left image is Leonardo da Vinci’s original painting and on the right is an interpretation of what this scene may have looked like had it been taken with a camera.

Painters were masters at somehow never overexposing their backgrounds and of course that’s because they didn’t have to worry about one single exposure, they could use whatever brightness they wanted in their backgrounds.

We as photographers need to bear the same things in mind because having detail in the background of an outdoor portrait is nearly always preferable to blown out highlights just like we can see in the right-hand image above.

One way to get even exposure throughout your shot is to use HDR. With HDR, you take multiple shots at varying exposures and then merge them later in post. This is fine for landscapes, but for portraits, the subject will likely move between images and the multiple exposures will rarely line up. The alternative to this is to simply expose the shot for the background and then add additional lighting on the subject in the foreground to even out the exposure of the shot.

In the images below (thank you to my ever-patient wife that allowed me to take these test shots to show you), you’ll see the reality of shooting outdoors.

In the top left image, we have our subject correctly exposed but the background is very overexposed. In the top right, we have the background correctly exposed to show color and detail but now our subject is very dark and underexposed. Finally, on the bottom, I added some additional lighting so that we can now get an accurate exposure on both the subject and the background, simultaneously.

It’s in these instances that a little technical knowledge is required to ensure a dramatic shot compared to a very blown out background or a very dark subject. This higher dynamic range in imagery is a skill painters inherently took for granted at the time, but it’s a skill that we modern photographers must thoroughly understand if we ever hope to create evenly exposed portraits of people outdoors like they did hundreds of years ago.

#2. Using Color to Separate Foreground and Background

In recent years, the trend of shooting everything wide-open at f/2.8 or wider has been rampant. Don’t get me wrong, I do it too and I like the look it gives, but why? For some, the very shallow depth of field is a way of separating themselves from the iPhone generation. Before Portrait Mode, the tiny smartphone lenses couldn’t accurately create any depth of field in their images, so everything in a phone shot appeared in sharp focus. Larger lenses and sensor sizes allow for a shallower depth of field and as such, shooting everything wide-open separates your imagery from the simple ‘snapshot’.

More importantly than this though, shallow depth of field is a great way to control and guide the viewer’s journey around a shot. If you want the attention to be on the subject and not the background, you make the background blurry and the viewer has no choice but to concentrate on the subject.

In this image of mine, I’m using a wide open aperture to separate my model from the background with a shallow depth of field.

In the shot above, you’ll see that I’m using a very shallow depth of field to throw the background out of focus so as to force the viewer’s attention onto the subject.

Unfortunately, the Old Masters didn’t have this ability. In fact, it’s very rare to see a painting where every aspect of it isn’t in sharp focus, it’s really only when cameras came along that this became a more creative visual element in imagery. So because painters had everything in focus in their images, they had to use different ways of guiding the viewer where they wanted them to look and they did this with color.

Take a look at the two images below to see what I mean.

Lot and His Daughters by Orazio Gentileschi 1622

Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife by Guido Reni 1630

In the top image, we see Orazio Gentileschi using very bold and bright colors on his subjects yet behind them we see nothing but drab, grey rocks and dirt. It might seem obvious, but this is a very powerful way of creating a clear separation from foreground to background and guiding your viewers gaze.

In the image below it, we see the opposite happening. In this painting we see that Guido Reni has actually used a very bold color behind our pale subject who is also wrapped in muted and dull colors. Again, this draws the viewers attention where he wants them to look.

Interestingly, in this painting we also see the opposite happening with the other subject in the frame. They are dressed in orange and the background behind them is dark and grey. It’s cleverly not quite as obvious as the mischievous Potiphar’s wife and that’s because she is still the main focus in this frame, not the recoiling Joseph.

This painting is certainly one of the best examples of the use of color to separate and guide its viewer, and this doesn’t even begin to look at how certain colors are being used to tell a story here either. A truly remarkable study of color, in my opinion.

So how can we apply this knowledge to our photography now? Thankfully, it’s far easier to use color to separate subjects from the background than you might think, and by no means does it mean you shouldn’t also use the shallow depth of field as well as this color separation. In fact, they often go hand in hand, especially with busier backgrounds. You’ll often find neutral backgrounds and colorful subjects in commercial fashion images as well as e-commerce, and they simply use white backgrounds to ensure maximum attention on the clothing.

In the images below from Rankin and Mario Testino we can see this use of white and muted backgrounds to maximise the impact on the subjects.

On the left is a beauty image by Rankin – Here Rankin is using a very clear separation of subject to background, so much so in fact that the background seems to disappear entirely. On the right we have a fashion shot by Mario Testino and again, it’s very clear to see the impact colour has when separated against a muted backdrop.

Conversely, we can use colorful backgrounds to highlight and isolate the subject and it’s this technique you’ll often see appearing in my own work. In the two images below, you’ll see me clearly using color to separate the foreground and background. On the left, a clear bold color is seen behind the model in stark contrast to her white dress and on the right I’ve colored a location in a bold blue to heavily contrast the red of the styling in the foreground.

Jake Hicks using coloured backgrounds to separate the subjects.

You can take this color separation theory one step further by sandwiching your subject between color as well. In my image below, you’ll see that I’ve artificially colored the background behind my subject, but I’ve also artificially colored the immediate foreground in similar colors as well. This technique of sandwiching the subject between color like this can be easily overdone, but if used in conjunction with a shallow depth of field, the viewer has no choice but to be engaged with the subject.

Jake Hicks using both colour in the background and in the foreground to separate the model from the scene.

#3. Composites

You may be thinking that ‘composites’ is a relatively modern term, a word used to describe a puzzle of images rearranged to create an entirely separate piece. Surely this has only been truly possible with modern digital software? Well, as it turns out, composites is merely a modern word but the act of bringing multiple elements together to form a unique piece has been around almost as long as art itself.

In our modern digital world, we often use composites as a way of bringing multiple images together for a number of reasons. Maybe we’re trying to create something that ultimately doesn’t exist in the real world, or maybe we’re simply trying to bring together varying exposures of a single scene that would ordinarily be near impossible to capture in a single frame.

But whatever the reason for a composite, we are usually trying to create an impossible shot, a shot that simply doesn’t exist in reality. It should be no surprise then, that artists have been doing this for centuries and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for us.

One of the core reasons for bringing multiple elements together in paintings was often due to larger paintings that had many, many subjects involved. Artists rarely got 10 important people to stand around and pose at the same time so they were often painted separately until the entire painting was complete, effectively creating an impossible shot. But multiple subjects wasn’t the only reason for composite painting like this.

Below is a portrait of a man. The identity of the man is actually unclear and it may even be a self-portrait of the painter himself. This painting was made by Italian artist Paolo Veronese (Paolo Caliari) in 1576 and although it is assumed that this is what the subject looked like, the surroundings themselves are entirely made-up.

‘Portrait of a Man’ by Paolo Veronese (Paolo Caliari) 1576

Back then it was very common to commission a portrait of yourself just as it still is today and back then, just like today, it was very common to have certain aspects of your portrait ‘enhanced’. In this instance it is believed that this painting was made in southern Italy and in that area, there were none of those trees we see present behind the subject.

More importantly, though, the gentleman is confidently leaning against a plinth alongside vast, fluted greek columns. There were no such columns anywhere near this town in Italy, then or ever. This was a technique often used by artists as it gave them the ability to say something about the subject. In this instance, we see in the carved reliefs on those plinths beside him, scenes that give us hints to his profession, background or even military rank. As I said, this was a very common practice, but this image we see before us never really existed in reality.

Another great example of composites from the Old Masters was in still life painting. The painting of still life subjects upon a table was incredibly popular, but it wasn’t until Jan van Huysum came along in the early 1700s and began creating impossible paintings that their popularity skyrocketed. Jan Van Huysum was nothing short of a genius with his brush and at his peak, he literally could not paint fast enough to keep up with the demand for his exquisite work.

But what really stood Jan Van Huysum’s work apart, was his ability to capture fruit and flowers in unique arrangements. Up until that point, painters had painted what was in the fruit bowl or vase in front of them but in an era before the fridge, you were beholden to the seasons and what was in bloom at the time. Jan Van Huysum did away with that notion and brought together the best fruits and flowers from throughout the year into a single painting.

‘Fruit Piece’ by Jan van Huysum 1722

Jan Van Huysum image ‘Fruit Piece’ from 1722 simply never existed and it is an extraordinary collection of fruit and flowers that never sat in the same place at once. If you ever get the chance to see the work of Jan Van Huysum I urge to check it out as his skill is almost unbelievable. The detail in this piece is nothing short of breathtaking up close. In fact, his ability and technique were so highly coveted that he always worked alone and never allowed visitors to his studio.

Closeups of the ‘Fruit Piece’

I’m sure you need little advice on where to look for inspiration for modern day composite photographers, and there are certainly many great composite artists out there to chose from right now. But here’s a few to get you started: Renee Robyn, Dave Hill, Erik Johansson.

And remember, if compositing was good enough for the Old Masters hundreds of years ago, it’s certainly good enough for us today.

#4. Composition and Leading Lines

Granted this one should come as no surprise, but composition and lending lines have been a big part of the art world for a while now. But although you see this as obvious, strong composition is so often overlooked in modern photography in favor of simply recording what’s in front of you. I see too many current photographers get wrapped up in sharpness, megapixels and color balance to ensure they perfectly recreate what’s in front of their camera as accurately as possible. Unfortunately, none of these things will result in a ‘great’ photo, just like the perfect frame won’t make a great painting.

As photographers, we need to be thinking about telling a visual story and to do that many great artists will use composition and leading lines to take our eyes on that visual journey around a frame. Simply plonking your model in the center of the frame isn’t going to cut it, and using a color checker, a $2,000 razor sharp lens, and a 100-megapixel camera will never change that.

Let’s take a look at some Old Masters work and see what they did with composition and leading lines.

‘The Night Watch’ by Rembrandt van Rijn in 1642

This painting of ‘The Night Watch’ by Rembrandt van Rijn in 1642 is likely one of the most studied paintings of all time, as art students across the globe discuss its art tropes and it could easily fill an entire article all by itself. But if we just briefly look at composition and leading lines alone, you’ll see how Rembrandt clearly uses shape, form, and objects to create leading lines that all lead us to the center subjects. This is one of those elements in artwork that may seem obvious once they’re shown to you, but to the unknowing viewer’s eye, this is an incredibly powerful visual tool.

In the painting below, we see a slightly more complex use of leading lines.

‘The Martyrdom of Saint Andrew’ by Charles Le Brun 1646

In the painting above, ‘The Martyrdom of Saint Andrew’ by Charles Le Brun we can clearly see very strong leading lines throughout this shot and if you continue to look at this image, more and more repeating shapes and symmetry begins to appear. Look again and see if the abundance of triangles starts to become more apparent. These very strong lines and balanced symmetry is incredibly hard to do in such a complicated piece and the more you look at this, the more compositional elements that start to emerge.

There is of course nothing wrong with the modern images that are being produced today, but you may well struggle to find a modern image that comes close to this level of compositional complexity.

As I previously mentioned, examples of striking composition and leading lines are harder to find today than you might think. Don’t get me wrong: of course it’s out there, but I think it plays less of a part in recent imagery than it has done historically.

One of the most famous photographers for composition and leading lines is Henri Cartier-Bresson as his work in the 1930s is part of practically every self-respecting photo training bible out there.

Photos by Henri Cartier-Bresson

As we move further forward in time, it becomes harder to pick out striking forms of composition as so many other factors form a part of our modern photography repertoire. A great place to start though is the work of Mikael Jansson as his work will often contain many striking elements of composition.

Photos by Mikael Jansson.

#5. Chiaroscuro

Lastly, we’ll take a look at one of my favorites: chiaroscuro. For those unsure of what that weird word means, chiaroscuro comes from the Renaissance period of art and is a word used to describe light and shadow. The Renaissance artists used dyed paper and then applied white gouache to create their works which resulted in a heavily contrasted image.

This heavily contrasted artwork was seen again as woodcuts which resulted in only two tones being used; the ink on the woodcut and the surface it was to be printed onto. Chiaroscuro is only a word few artists would use today, but the more modern term for this heavily contrasted style of lighting, used in both cinema and still photography is ‘low-key lighting’.

The key artists who later developed this chiaroscuro style was Leonardo da Vinci, Caravaggio, and Rembrandt and they were seen as the first individuals who stepped away from this HDR ‘look’ of everything being correctly exposed in paintings, and explored a stronger, almost single light style of work.

Of course, back then the most prominent light source after the sun had gone down was candlelight, and it was this light source that was seemingly used in many of the chiaroscuro paintings.

‘Matchmaker’ by Gerard van Honthorst in 1625

In the famous ‘Matchmaker’ painting by Gerard van Honthorst in 1625 we clearly see the candle in shot and as with so many great chiaroscuro paintings, the subjects are placed around the light source to create that stunning light to dark to light to dark tone throughout the frame. It’s pieces of art like this and it’s incredible use of the low-key lighting that should be seen far more in modern day black and white photography, but sadly this skill is being overlooked and often ignored. If you are even remotely interested in black and white photography, then please invest a little time in exploring these chiaroscuro paintings and their artists and guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

Chiaroscuro was also a technique that started to get used a little more stylistically in single person portraits. In the image below ‘David with the Head of Goliath’ by Guido Cagnacci in 1645, we see a very clever use of chiaroscuro not only on the subject but on the background as well.

‘David with the Head of Goliath’ by Guido Cagnacci in 1645

To me, this a staggeringly stylistic portrait at the time and the very clever use of light to shadow makes the image incredibly three dimensional. The diagonal shadow line behind the subject cuts through just as the light hits the face of David and then falls off to shadow again moments later before again returning to light behind him. It’s this beautiful play of light that is as elegant as it is simple. Once again, we rarely see this high-level execution of lighting in our modern image making and I feel it’s something many of us, myself included, could benefit from understanding more comprehensively.

So what can we learn from chiaroscuro and begin to implement today? First and foremost, we once again need to isolate our subjects from our backgrounds and as artists that create two-dimensional images of three-dimensional objects, we need to introduce more visual depth into our portraits.

I bring this up as I all too often see subjects disappearing into the backgrounds behind them and they end up getting visually lost in the frame. Take a look at the two examples below to see the difference in reference to ‘subject and background separation’.

One light portrait away from background (left), and one light portrait close to background (right).

In the image on the left, you’ll see the model has no separation from the background and she appears to have no shape without that additional background light behind her. In the second image, you’ll clearly see the very strong separation that is now present that results in more shape and form in the subject as well as an added sense of depth to the shot.

Both of these images were shot with a single light, the only thing that changed was how close the subject is to the backdrop behind her. As I moved her and the light closer to the background, the light fell onto her as well as the background and very quickly and easily we created the added depth to the shot with the addition of the light behind.

Granted this is a very simplistic example of chiaroscuro being used in modern photography but the principles are the same. Create a sense of depth in your shot, not only on your subject but with the background as well.

Closing Thoughts

The bottom line is, the works of the ‘Old Masters’ are in galleries today and some of those paintings were painted hundreds of years ago, yet we still enjoy and contemplate them today. In a world where some images last mere seconds at most, it really is worth visiting what makes those art pieces so important to our visual culture today.

Elements like a strong dynamic range, using color as a way to display depth, including impossible elements, strong composition, and engaging light and shadow were common staples in so many pieces art before. Now those incredibly powerful almost vital elements of an image, are far harder to find.

I know I for one will be trying to include many of these elements into my future work and I would encourage you to do the same. After all, if it was good enough for the “Old Masters,” it’s good enough for us.

About the author: Jake Hicks is an editorial and fashion photographer based in Reading, UK. He specializes in keeping the skill in the camera and not just on the screen. If you’d like to learn more about his incredibly popular gelled lighting and post-pro techniques, visit this link for more info. You can find more of his work and writing on his website, Facebook, 500px, Instagram, Twitter, and Flickr. This article was also published here.

from Photography News https://petapixel.com/2018/11/29/5-things-photographers-can-learn-from-the-old-masters-of-painting/

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Sweet Pain

05/28/2018

Sweet Pain

05/28/2018

The first full day of the new eating lifestyle has come and gone and I’m in such need of a piece of strawberry licorice. I not sure if I should call it a diet(actually you don’t lose weight this time around), a lifestyle, torture, etc. It’s official name is The Whole 30, another food fad that attempts to right the wrongs of the American diet. This time sugar, specifically processed sugars,(you know everything that tastes great and is addicting), preservatives, starches are the enemies and the Whole 30 commands you to get rid of them, cold turkey. Instead you are beholden to meat, nuts, fish and other proteins and fruit for thirty days.

My wife, a worse junk food junkie than me, is on the hunt for the latest ways to curb her yearnings and this was her latest find. Having long waged the secret inner war with my sweet tooth face it almost all of us do, I signed up and even after the first day I’m craving good old fashioned sugar. Lord, what would we do without it in this country? Maybe not be so fat? I’ve decided to keep this online journal of my progress and my pain over the next 30 days.  

5/29/2018

I feel lethargic, my mouth is constantly watering, and my head is fuzzy, . This marks the second day of the Whole30. Food, once reliable comfort, has become a antagonist. The kitchen is a mine field where I must step carefully. It is so easy to pluck out a sensual chocolate covered marshmallow from a red colored box and bite into it. The food I can eat sits like a bag of sand in my gut. It keeps me sustained but not happy.

I’ve read some of the literature and what I’m going through is quite normal and it will get worse before it gets better. My body is converting slowly converting from sugar based fuel to fat fuel (apparently good fats) however it doesn’t know how to do that yet so I am sluggish. I think I will accompany this blog with some research on the story of Americans obsession with sugar and processed foods. Writing will help distract me.  

5/30/2018

Here I am two days behind. I’ll try to catch you up. I’m going to try to focus on not what I and my wife are doing this meal plan but why we’re doing it. Why this radical life change? I found this list symptoms from a website of a fitness expert. Guess what these refer too. 

Anxiety

Changes in appetite

Cravings

Flu-like symptoms

Depression

Mood changes

Dizziness

Fatigue

Headaches

Shakiness

Changes in sleep patterns

Weight loss

Stomach flu? Food poisoning? Nope. These are the symptoms of sugar detox. Yep, that’s right. This is what happens if you take sugar out of your diet and I’m not talking about cookies and ice cream and chocolate. This plan goes much deeper: bread, pasta, beans, etc. All of these types of food are broken down into sugars in your body and sugars are being linked to inflammation, bad skin, poor mood, etc.

Now America is the land of diets and eating fads as in the end we as a society have little idea of what to eat and what is good for us. If this meal plan sounds like one the many movements out there that finds its enemy: fat, gluten, carbohydrates, etc and profits off getting people worked up about it, your right and I agree. More to come on this.  

6/8/18

It is now day 11 of the Whole 30 food plan and clearly my attempts to keep up with this blog on a regular basis have failed. This is a conglomerate of previously mentioned twin infants that need near constant car and the mission to find not only summer employment but full term employment.  I can easily recap most of what has happened in those missed days.

First, I feel I must break away from food talk only and integrate my career story as it is the other side of the coin that is my life right now and it is in trouble.  My job history has been a floundering mess. I won’t go into all the gritty details as I feel they’ve been with me for at least a quarter of my life here on earth and they can get repetitive and depressing.  Let’s say I had little idea of what I wanted to do coming out of college. I tried a few different fields usually based more on “this interests me” than real research. This tactic did not work very well. The pile of temporary, part time, and “road not taken” jobs grew and grew and, at forty two, I have yet to have a steady full time job. I discovered a love of teaching in my mid thirties, specifically freshman composition at the community college level, but I have remained woefully underemployed as an adjunct for five of the six part years.  This lack of opportunity is a combination of the need for excessive education and experience for even entry level positions, the ongoing deterioration of the the writing career field, and the heightening level of competition.  I also believe my subdued personality does not help my chances.  I now have a family that depends on me and I’ve been able to do no better than a one year contract for the small Onondaga community college in upstate New York.  Since then I’ve tried to shift into high school teaching. Once again the need for degrees and certification is rigorous. I have a master’s degree, albeit not in education, and was led to believe by the recruitment people of Anne Arundel community college master’s in education program that I could potentially land temporary teaching employment while gaining my certification. The Baltimore County public school systems didn’t seem to see it this way.(go figure) I’ve also had little to no help in figuring out what to put in my application packet to make me a more attractive candidate.  Since the Onondaga success, my job search has become a rather dark cycle of sending out applications and getting rejections.  Being a daddy doesn’t allow me much time to network and I tend to be poor in this area. I’ve sought out help from the state career program, but it is painfully slow.  I take time to write about because I think the cumulative effect has become a mixture of depression and anxiety. Depression? That word is scary what with two celebrities having recently committed suicide in thew news. I have a family history of it. I have felt worn down and isolated lately but could it be that? Not knowing for sure is more worrisome which might lead to more depression. I go to bed anxious over money, anxious that my family will be well off, and wondering how many more years I need to struggle. II worry about retirement of course. I’ve scraped and saved what I could but without a solid income it’s going to be woefully inadequate. Could it be depression? I keep searching out some signal of depression in my consciousness as if I might uncover it but people who are depressed generally aren’t good at diagnosing their own condition. It’s hard to link the physical symptoms to something mental. 

So what do I do? Well, I’m working hard to stay focused, to get more organized, but I need the help of others and that help is hard to find. I need career help. I’m leary of the integrity of paid career consultants but how long can I keep floundering? I can see this summer will be tedious. It will be about slowly piecing together the knowledge to get a foot in the door in high school and probably working a part time job that is a poor fit to get there. I will need strong doses of positivity and support in my life and a real sense of direction. I’m not sure where to find that right now. I love Aurora but she is not strong at being emotionally supportive, at least not for me.  I will have to do some research on where I can find the help I need. I will leave my story there for now.

Whew, one of the best functions of writing is catharsis, to get one’s thoughts out there. It’s not pretty but it’s necessary. I wrote the previous section because it captures what is happening outside of the Whole30 and being a father and is vital to how I have been feeling over the past four days both mentally and physically. At first I’d naturally thought my symptoms were linked to the change in eating habits, but last Wednesday they took a real turn for the worst. I hadn’t felt that strange in a long time-just heavy and thick headed with blurry vision and shortness of breath. Each day I’ve felt a little better thankfully. I went to the doctor today to rule out physical cause. She didn’t find anything obvious but I still have blood labs pending that the neglected to get done. The intense labor of the Whole30 hasn’t helped my mood. No single meal is a simple grab and go and the constant preparation is taxing. in fact, I must bring this blog to a close now.

6/23/18

We are a nation of sugar addicts. “Two hundred years ago, the average American ate only 2 pounds of sugar a year. In 1970, we ate 123 pounds of sugar per year. Today, the average American consumes almost 152 pounds of sugar in one year. This is equal to 3 pounds (or 6 cups) of sugar consumed in one week” (www.dhhs.nh.gov). Sugar is everywhere in our diet slipped into breads and bacon to make them more desirable so we eat more. Here’s the little secret that is not really a secret: these foods are desirable while not satisfying so we eat more and more so we buy more. Food companies figured this out a long time ago. It’s good for business and bad for people. These are one of the tenants of the Whole 30, to become aware of how we are being manipulated this way. Whats more, like many business influenced trends, these machinations only become really effective when they are normalized by culture. Just think about how many American cultural norms involve sweets and processed food of some form: cakes at birthdays, drinking alcohol at social gathering, cheap vending food at sporting events. If you want to stand out at just about any social gathering  American society, try avoiding foods with sugars and processed foods.  Many conversations this way leading inevitably to discussion of the Whole 30. This was one of the most surprising side effects of being on this meal plan. I and my wife had to educate the waiter of a expensive steak house in Washington D.C. on the guidelines of our meal plan. Most dining out experiences will be this way. Sorry, but we can’t eat ninety five percent of the food on the menu. 

Just walking into a grocery store, I was shocked by how much was off limits: pasta, cereal, juice, etc.  That was one of the great challenges of this diet. What could we eat? Obviously, there was meats and vegetables and fruits but what about diary? beans?. They don’t have added sugar, right?  While diary and things like beans did not have added sugar they include sugars and other chemicals that aren’t necessarily healthy.(For more on this read the accompanying book It Starts With Food).  If you’re skeptical at this point, I’m understand. I’m still a skeptic. After all, the Whole 30 is another lifestyle program, one of many products that is being marketed to the public in the age of food confusion in this country.  

7/1/18

Promises, Promises...

“Systemic inflammation” seems to be the catchphrase behind the Whole 30. (There’s a lot of food science behind this that I won’t go into. Again read the book). The jist of systemic inflammation is that bad foods silently hurts your body. Over time this damage shows up as illnesses including allergies, depression, and diabetes. Eating foods that contribute to both physical and psychological well being can lead to better health. This idea seems legitimate enough but then the authors also include anecdotes by people with illnesses ranging from lyme disease to diabetes whose symptoms disappeared after being on the Whole 30. You can practically hear the credibility of the writers straining here. I had eczema before the Whole 30 and and I still have eczema after it. All in all, taking sugar out and adding more protein is beneficial to people but let’s hold off on the miracles.

While I’m on the topic of veracity, I can understand the authors of the Whole 30 exaggerating the effects of their meal plan- after all maybe one person out there with lyme disease did experience an improvement in their symptoms and, if this doesn’t happen, no one would necessarily be worse off-since their plan seems sound and is self directed for the most part. I didn’t need to constantly by products from the authors of the Whole 30.  But what about those companies that, for all intensive purposes, are influential on our health, what about the stories that the food industry tell? 

“the post-crash world appears to have become much more cynical about the behavior and motives of corporations.” (Beatte).  Unless you’ve been “off the grid” for most of your life you’re probably all too familiar with the constant avalanche of ads that are forced upon Americans everyday so much so that, like me, you’d do anything to get away from them. Now I’ve already covered the influences of advertising in another part of this blog; however, the food industry holds a special place among advertisers as, for better or worse, they often determine what we put in our bodies in this country and this isn’t necessarily due to their popularity but a well designed combination of market control and addiction.

The master plan

The current state of the American diet is, like most institutions, a result of the interaction between corporations, the government, and the individual where each party is both influential and under the influence.  However, what is key here is that the influence of the individual has eroded significantly over the years unless they happen to be wealthy enough to be influential. Government has responded more to these wealthy and corporations creating more and more of a corporate dictated agenda.   

The Food Guys

If you do a little research you’ll find that thanks to constant mergers and take overs about ten mega corporations control most of the U.S. food production. Think about that, just ten! Some are well known like Pepsico, which owns Tropicana, Quaker, Lays, while others are more obscure like Unilever that owns Knorr, Good Humor, and Skippie. Regardless, you can bet you’ve eaten something made by one of of these ten companies recently.  Much like health care and airline travel, a key aspect of weakly regulated capitalism is that power in the form of market control can be consolidated in the hands of a few major players and this is scary especially when it comes to our food.  These companies may not necessarily set out to give people cheap, poor quality food  but this arises out of an effective business model that calls for high profit and low cost and if one is successful they can dominate the market. This model may work for computers or cars but not necessarily food. 

Now before I go on lambasting corporations there are some important details to cover.  A good capitalist would probably argue that companies are simply responding to market demands. This is one of the classic “pass the buck” phrases business people use to recuse themselves(and it drives me crazy)but it is important to consider. Keep firmly in mind the question: “Who has helped create these market demands?”

Today, people have less free time to prepare and consume their meals. Yes, this seems to be the trend ever since the post World War II years when consumer culture took off in this country and packaged, processed food along with it. Appliances became more commonplace in the home, woman started to go to college and get jobs outside the home, and the car became more available. One of the largest changes in the household was the television. Now with the help of the tv dinner one could watch their favorite shows and eat at the same time. Over the years the cost of living has increased, wages have stagnated, and people have to work more than ever to keep up. Business stepped up and what started with the tv dinner has slowly blown up into a full industry of packaged, processed food. These foods were tasty and easy to make. How many times has these phrases been uttered in a food commercial?  Consider though who has influenced many of these lifestyle changes? Who has increased the working day, kept wages generally flat, and increased costs? The general picture is that businesses have either through direct influence or through influence on government public policy and today Americans are probably more stressed and less healthy than every before.

Consider how foods are advertised in this country. Let’s take the Coca Cola corporation. Coca Cola is best known for their soda but they also control a large percentage of what we drink: Perrier water, Minute maid juice, and Nos energy drink. Coca Cola often uses images of young, hip looking people smiling and drinking their soda(Heck, what company out there doesn’t use young, hip, ethnically diverse people to sell their product? That is a generalization...let us continue). These ads remind you that drinking soda (pure sugar and other flavorings in carbonated water) can be fun and social, so much more than just soda. There is of course no mention that soda with destroy your teeth and probably cripple your health over time. An advertiser would have to be insane to let on such information about their product. But imagine if they did. If there was a disclaimer at the end of soda commercials. Would it make a difference? I’m betting not and this is where the addiction factor comes in. Look at smoking. It is well known that smoking can cause serious health problems and even death.There are commercials and prints ads constantly advertising these facts yet people continue to smoke because it is addictive. In the information age, people generally know the health threats of drinking soda over a life time yet they still do. This is where individual choice does come in(more on this later) and, as mentioned before, sugar is another addictive substance and companies rely on this.

The Coca Cola corporation doesn’t claim their product is healthy but many other companies do. Take cereals. Breakfast cereals are often so processed that there is little nutritionally value, yet companies put labels on like “part of a balanced breakfast”, “containing vitamins A, B....”, “5 whole grains”. Companies attempt to replace some of the lost nutrition in these foods but they are far from healthy. Also any nutrition is offset by the amount of sugar in these cereals. This is especially tragic when one realizes that some of the worst cereals are marketed to children with flashy cartoon characters, logos, and commercials. I admit it wouldn’t take much for me to eat a bowl of Count Chocula even now knowing how bad for me it is. That is growing up in this country. I hope different for my children, but the corporate machine is hard to escape.

The Men in Black

“Read the farm bill, and a big problem jumps right out at you: Taxpayers heavily subsidize corn and soy, two crops that facilitate the meat and processed food we’re supposed to eat less of, and do almost nothing for the fruits and vegetables we’re supposed to eat more of.” (Haspel)

Healthy food like fruits and vegetables are usually more costly to grow and transport and organic food can’t use chemical pesticides,herbicides, or genetically modified organisms. Since the 1930′s the United States government has subsidized (helped pay for) farming in this country to protect our food sources as raising food can be unpredictable.  The Farm Bill began with good intentions but the money has slowly been funneled to supporting a few crops like corn and soy that are versatile and can be broken down and used in many processed and unhealthy foods. Consider that our government is supporting the production of poor quality foods? What does this mean for us? It means the commonly cited downsides of the the American diet: diabetes, obesity, heart disease, etc. all given a stamp of approval by politicians who are pledged to watch out for us. On the plus side not being subsidized is often favored by farmers as they don’t need to meet the regulations set by the government but it still means people will pay more.  People do have the choice not to eat these foods, but realistically not everyone can afford these costs and, if they can’t, people become trapped eating unhealthy food cycles not to mention deepening the already aggravated class divide in America. It’s much easier to get potato chips than organic fruit. Organic apples are on average three dollars a pound(which means about two) while potato chips are three dollars a bag. You can eat a lot more chips for the same money but the chips are sad, empty calories but, as I mentioned earlier, people will buy and eat them not because they are healthy but we have slowly become wired to do so. Currently slashing or stalling social welfare programs is the trend in government. Public policy has become heavily influenced by corporate interest over public good due in large part to funding of campaigns by companies and the wealthy ergo there is little possibility right now.

Choice of the People

Our American class structure can be seen in our food. The neighborhood I currently live in, which shall remain unnamed for reasons of privacy, is considered marginal. People are more often working class and black. This neighborhood was also known as a urban food desert for some time.(One neighborhood over is a wealthy, mostly white neighborhood with a high end, albeit expensive grocery store). Food deserts are areas without a decent source of healthy foods. They exist in the poorer sections of many major U.S. cities including New Orleans, New York, and Memphis. 7-11′s and corner bodegas often don’t count. In fact, the convenience store is one of the greatest offenders concerning food choice. They have made food too convenient. Just look at the shelves of any convenience store.

A low end grocery store finally came to this neighborhood. They stack most of their products on the floor instead of on shelves, their staff is poorly trained, and, while the store does sell fresh produce and even a little organic food if you look hard, the majority of the products are standard processed foods: Drakes desserts, chips, processed meats, etc. I’ve watched people in line with carts filled with soda. I can’t be too critical as I was making poor food choices all the same, but not on this level. Why does anyone would need ten bottles of soda? The evidence is in the obese bodies and poor skin. Yet, people consume these foods. This can be for three main reasons: they are aware but apathetic, they aren’t aware, they are aware but not doing enough or following one the ineffective “diets” out there. Often the poor and working class fall in the second category.

Back to Biology

Early humans had to eat what they could kill or gather(Raising crops for a stable source of food came later). We subsisted on meats, berries, nuts, etc. These were necessary, nutritious sources of protein and fiber. Fats and sugars were rare and highly desirable as they meant easy calories especially for lean times. This is where our evolutionary biology was cemented and still functions this way, but now we are provided a plethora of cheap fats and sugars everywhere. They taste good and give us a quick boost. But these foods don’t provide sufficient nutrition so we are constantly needing to eat more and more while gaining mostly empty calories and health problems. This makes sense if you stand back and think about it. This is the “addiction” factor that aids companies in getting us to eat poor quality food. The food makes us feel good in the short term, but in the long run we crash and need more. Thus, the “addiction” factor.

Apple or Ring Ding?

While sugar, fat, and salt can be addictive and some people have financial problems, ultimately people choose what they put in their bodies and their bodies will hold them responsible. This is especially true when we are people who know or suspect what we eat is bad for us and continue to do so.  I believe this is tied to an idea I’ve brought up before, our culture. America is the land of opportunity where we can all have the American dream that are really just that for most of us, a dream that we continue to cling too. This ability to better ourselves is both beautiful and tragic. America is a society whose people struggle to face it’s darker sides instead burying them in indulgences or placing blame elsewhere. This collective denial makes us extremely malleable. We are already primed to believe in our food, our politics, our society.  No matter how self destructive over time vices become misconstrued as personal rights. By buying gas guzzling vehicles, shopping, indulging in poor quality foods, collecting dangerous guns we declare our freedom from the system when it’s the system that is providing these.  This beautiful psychology that companies can only cheer us on and count their money. Buy more. Eat more. Excess is wonderful. Be rebellious and trendy by buying phones and drinking soda. Companies let us down, cheat us, and we still buy their products and elect officials who take their money.  We grumble when the government doesn’t punish these companies but we don’t either. Despite having mentioned the short comings and influences of corporations and government, it is up to us to determine what is good for us. I believe what we’ve lost sight of the most in this country is the sense of personal advocacy and a sense of unity to stand up ourselves, the power of the customer, of the voter. Instead we fight and criticize and go along.

The experience of the Whole 30 has helped me be a healthier person, but it has really helped me take action and reconsider my perspective concerning the food I eat. I’ve tried to relay the many facets of what I’ve learned here for others who may be curious. Also I should end with there are some positive changes on horizon.  Organic food is now available in more grocery stores than ever before. The fast casual restaurant offer healthier choices that have eaten into the profits of fast food companies like McDonald’s, all because educated customers have demanded it. However, changes need to come from the top down, from the government and that is where the real hard work comes in because first we need to heal the rifts in our society. Then maybe we can eat better.

7/5/18

The Results.

The end of the Whole 30 has arrived, well, it actually arrived more than a week ago so clearly I’m not a dedicated diarist. I’ve also done the “reintroduction” portion of the meal plan where by I bring back the foods I’ve given up.I’m going to discuss both the small scale and bigger picture results of this experiment.

The results:

I can taste more, For example, fruits are sweeter and meats are richer.

I have more consistent energy.

I don’t get as hungry between meals.

I don’t have the craving for added sugar that I once did but I can tell from sampling foods with added sugar that it is quite easy to go back.

Diary is hard on my stomach.

Alcohol gives me a headache even after one glass of wine