#i don’t really like this art anymore but figured it was appropriate to post today

[starshadyy]

` ` i’m jesse and we’re the order of the stone! BOOM! ` ` 💥

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 71 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact: this rewrite is now the second-longest fic in the Drace Race RPF section of AO3. (Second only to the original story, lol.) So if you’re looking for a lot of content…we’ve got you. ;) Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet revealed her estranged relationship with her family to Sutan, and Courtney struggled to live up to Miss Fame’s demands.

This Chapter: Some uncharacteristic vulnerability from Violet, Met Gala meetings and morning television.

***

“Do you want more marshmallows?”

“I always want more marshmallows.”

Katya grinned as she got up from the kitchen table, grabbing Trixie’s mug to top them both up. They were decorating gingerbread men, Katya pulling them from the oven last night. Trixie was doing clothes, drawing in the lines and putting details on them, one of his favorite jobs.

It was a tradition of theirs, spending the Sunday before Christmas in their pajamas, preparing cookies and watching Home Alone, the leftover icing always ending up in the bedroom for some sticky afternoon fun.

***

“Aaaand release...”

“Oh god,” Sutan groaned, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish. “I’m dead.”

When he had jokingly asked if he could join Violet for her yoga session, he hadn’t figured she’d say yes, and he definitely hadn’t expected that it’d be this hard, those last few breaths of extended child’s pose essentially torture where he could feel his bones bend and creak.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Violet grinned, his girlfriend sitting back on her knee, the leg with her cast spread out to the side. “We only did 40 minutes.”

“You’re not even sweating.” Sutan looked at her, Violet’s hair in a high ponytail, the Sunday look of one of his shirts and a sports bra quickly becoming a fave.

“Some of us remember to do more than weights and cardio, Mr. Amrull.”

“I’m texting my trainer right now,” Sutan reached over his head, grabbing his phone that he had left on the floor next to their mats, Violet giggling as she laid down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“There,” Sutan pressed send, his trainer probably falling off of his chair when he read the message, Sutan always attempting to get away with the bare minimum when it came to exercise, but he refused to be humiliated by being unable to reach his toes.

He was just about to put his phone down, when Violet reached up and tapped the screen, his front camera opening up, both of them in frame as they were lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture?” Violet smiled, her sarcastic tone never wavering. “To document the moment.”

Sutan looked at the screen. It was so incredibly tempting to say yes, to keep this moment in the private password protected collection that had steadily grown since Thanksgiving, Violet really and truly trying to let him take pictures, but he couldn’t say yes, not when he knew why she was so confident.

“And can I post it?”

“Post it?” Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up on her elbows. “Why? Isn’t your hair...?”

“A mess?” Sutan didn’t want to smile, but it was impossible not to, Violet knowing him way too well if she had already figured out that he was sometimes embarrassingly vain about his hairstyle, the mess on his head looking like he had been fucking for an hour. “Yes, but I still want to post it.”

“I-” Violet had pulled away completely now, not a single trace of the sweetness left. “No.”

“Violet,” Sutan sat up as well, putting his phone down, “I know you hate social media, but you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t think what I ask for is unreasonable-”

“Sutan. Please” Violet grabbed her mat and rolled it together in an attempt to avoid him. “I said no.”

“And I’m pushing because I don’t understand.” Sutan could feel the annoyance build, the hurt and the rejection. It stung every single time Violet denied him, hurt every time she neglected what they had.

“I’m not saying we have to announce it with a workout selfie,” Sutan hated that they were fighting, but he couldn’t help himself, “but I want to tell the world that we’re together.”

“And I don’t-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes filled with hurt. “If the world knows, they know, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I’m doing.”

There it was. The they, the them, the family from Atlanta that was haunting his girlfriend's life like a shadow that had slowly started to creep into his too.

“Violet, I hate to be the one to tell you,” Sutan didn’t touch her, simply putting his hand down on the floor next to hers, telling her that he was there. “But the internet exists. If they have your name, they can find you, no matter what you do to hide.”

“Have you taken a moment to consider that they might not have that?”

Sutan paused, Violet’s words like a bomb.

“... What?”

Did her family not have her name? It was true that Violet Chachki barely got any hits on google, that it was Parson’s assignments and internships that popped up, the Galactica employee directory right at the top, but Sutan had never considered that possibility, had never even toyed with it.

“This wasn’t how I planned on telling you. Actually, I probably wasn’t counting on telling you at all, but I’m not…” Violet was fiddling with the tiniest hole in her yoga mat, her fingers tugging on the foam. “I wasn’t born Violet. Wasn’t even born a Chachki. Hasn’t it ever seemed weird to you that my last name literally means trinket?”

“It does?”

“Mmh,” Violet smiled, the same heavy sadness he had seen in the hospital in her eyes. “I needed to not be… Blair anymore.”

“Blair?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “Blair Dardo. It was my birth name. I never liked it, and I changed it the moment I turned 18, left it behind the second I could. That’s why I can’t,” Violet gestured vaguely to Sutan’s phone. “Changing it meant that they can’t, that they can’t find me, and I-”

Sutan didn’t know what to say, but it felt like he had just been given another puzzle piece in the mystery that was his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.”

Violet’s head snapped to attention, her eyes widening in confusion. “...What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sutan said it again, making sure he put his genuine emotion behind the words. “I should have realized that you weren’t saying no to be difficult, and yet I kept pushing.”

“Sutan-” Violet still looked confused and a little suspicious, like she didn’t really understand what he was doing. “You don’t have to-”

“No but I do.” Sutan smiled. “I get it now, and I’m sorry, but next time you have a deep dark secret, maybe you could just tell me instead of this charade-”

Sutan was cut off as Violet threw herself in his arms, knocking him down on the floor and kissing him like her life depended on it, gratitude rolling off of her in waves.

***

“Raja?”

Alyssa held out the plate of croissants, Raja waving it away since she didn’t want one. The entire senior management team was gathered in the  conference room, Fame for some ungodly reason always insisting on a full breakfast spread for their Monday meetings, even though only a fraction of them ever actually ate any of it.

“So,” Fame looked around, a gold fountain pen in her hand, a black moleskin notebook open in front of her. “Any updates?”

The theme of today's meeting was the 2015 Met Gala, Raja barely hiding a groan when Courtney had sent out the meeting agenda.

It wasn’t that she disliked the Met Gala, the first Monday in May a spectacular party, but it was such a hassle getting there, the gala the fashion world's version of the Oscars.

“Yes,” Pearl smiled, turning around in her chair. She was weirdly chipper, her blonde hair collected in a clip, her signature leather jacket exchanged with a cropped black fur. “We have the final confirmation from Jessica Chastain’s team. She’s in.”

“Good,” Fame nodded, making a note in her moleskin, the fact that Fame was actually writing herself more than enough to cement the severity of the situation. Courtney was standing against the wall, Ivy sitting at the table with her computer open, typing away, but when it came to the Met, Fame left nothing up to chance.

“She’s looking forward to working with us, and she says she’s honored-”

“Yada yada yada,” Fame made a hand puppet, and Raja had to hide a smile, Pearl leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes, mouthing at everyone else that she’d send a follow up email.

It was Fame who had requested Jessica, in her own roundabout way, her friend casually mentioning to Raja that she had a good smile, which was more than enough for Raja to make Pearl offer her up as Galactica’s celebrity face.

It wasn’t every house who did it, but the big ones always had a celebrity at the gala, wearing their clothes and repping the brand.

“Does anyone know if they’ve moved away from the terrible theme yet?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alaska offered up, the promotional material the Met had sent out at the start of the fall in the middle of the table thanks to Ivy’s forthsight. “It’s December, and since we haven’t heard anything, they’re sticking with China's influence on western fashion.”

“Good god, I was really hoping they had come to their senses.” Fame breathed out through her nose, and Raja had to agree with her. Sure, ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ made sense as an art exhibition, but there was really no way to convert it to fashion without being culturally insensitive at best and offensively appropriative at worst.

Besides, Galactica had never been a brand that sought inspiration from the east in their designs and aesthetics, which made the entire situation quite the predicament.

“I’m sure we can work with it,” Trixie gave a small smile, the stack of papers by his elbow indicating that he had probably already put his senior designers to work coming up with concepts.

“And how,” Fame turned, looking directly at Trixie. “Are we supposed to work with it? Raja’s the only one who could possibly get away with being theme appropriate.”

Usually, Fame and Raja were the ones who walked the carpet together with their celebrity, Fame a nervous wreck for weeks before the gala because of all the strangers, while Raja enjoyed it because of her modeling days, seeing old acquaintances without the stresses of fashion week, a delightful yearly treat.

“I’m Indonesian.” Raja knew Fame didn’t mean anything by it, and she wasn’t that concerned about being politically correct herself, but everyone knew what it could mean for a fashion house to misstep, Dolce and Gabbana somehow walking directly from one scandal and into another one. “Not Chinese.”

“See?” Fame sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a controversial time bomb. Either, we stay on theme, which I refuse since I look terrible in Chinese red, ”

“So we’re going off theme?” Trixie had picked up his papers, sorting through them, and Raja felt a moment of gratitude for their head of design, Trixie of course coming prepared with off-theme suggestions as well.

“Unless they get a grip and change it? Yes. Yes we are.”

*

“There!” Everyone held their breath as Maxwell pointed at Violet’s screen, an email from Ivy just ticking in, the Met Gala meeting still in full swing.

“Open it, Chachki!” Blu was practically biting her nails, hopping from one foot to the other, her red hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“Alright, alright-“ Violet clicked on the email, Bob standing right behind her, his eyes flying over the screen before he called out.

“It’s Jessica!”

A collective sigh of relief went through the floor, a loud ‘yes’ coming from Kiara who was clapping her hands together, the group breaking up, chatter filling the air.

“Thank god,” Maxwell groaned, putting a hand on Violet’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I knew having you here would be worth it Chachki.”

“Right.” Violet raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, clearly not understanding why no one had thought to simply ask Ivy for updates before, the suggestion just casually slipping from her during morning coffee, the entire department running with it instantly. “But I still don’t-“

“Get it?” They turned to look over at Jovan who was sitting at his own desk, the man one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Violet’s computer.

“Yes.” Violet nodded. “If you needed information all this time, you could have just asked-”

“Like we could have just asked you?” Bob said, cutting her off and Violet opened her mouth, only to close it again. “Exactly.” Bob grinned. “You would have told us to fuck off.”

“I see your point.” Violet tapped her fingers on her desk, a small smile on her lips since everyone knew she would have said those exact words directly to their faces when she had been in Fame’s front office. “But, why is it such a big deal if a celeb is confirmed or not? The gala isn’t until May, that’s 4 months away and it’s three outfits. A whole collection is usually done in that time.”

“A collection doesn’t have to be approved by the celebrity,” Maxwell counted on his fingers, “the celebrity’s stylist, Vogue and Anna Wintour personally on top of Trixie, Raja and Fame. Alexis usually starts producing concepts in October.”

“As soon as they reveal the theme girl!” Alexis yelled over her shoulder, already pulling her sketches from their shelf, the confirmation meaning that she’d be in a meeting with Trixie for the rest of the day, working out the details of the first round of negotiations with the celebrity.

“Huh…” Violet looked around, the puzzled expression still on her face. “And what about-“

“Fame and Raja?”

Violet nodded.

“You’d think Fame would be the difficult one-“ Maxwell smiled.

“But make something gorgeous and custom in ivory and she’s on board,” Jovan grinned, putting the pen he was using behind his ear as he turned around in his chair. “Every year, she pretends like she’ll follow the theme, and then never does.”

“Exactly.” Maxwell nodded. “Fame is demanding, but consistent. Trixie has an entire drawer of Fame-appropriate outfits that we all contribute to whenever we have an idea.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Violet looked mildly impressed, and if any of the rumors Maxwell had heard about how she had managed Fame’s front office, that approach wasn’t too far off from how Violet herself had attempted to tame the beast.

“Rule one of surviving at Galactica: Never disappoint Miss Fame. For once, however, Fame isn’t the problem.” Maxwell sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk. “Raja is.”

“Raja?” Violet looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “Every year, she tells us that she’s chill, that she’ll wear whatever goes with the spring collection or the theme-“

“And every single year, she changes her mind at least four times.” Bob chimed in, the drama loving smirks on his lip. “More if you’re lucky.”

“Which is why,” Maxwell nudged Bob’s side with his elbow. “We’ve unanimously decided that you have the honor of dressing Raja for this year's Met Gala.”

“Me?” Violet’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” Violet looked at them, confusion painted on her face. “I’m the most junior member of staff.”

“True, but you’re also sucking her brother's dick,” Maxwell grinned, “so we figured she can’t kill you during the process, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

***

It should have been one of the most exciting mornings since Courtney started at Galactica--Miss Fame and Raja were being interviewed on a talk show, and so she got to go to the famous 30 Rockefeller Plaza building, and be on the set of a real television show. Unfortunately, it was such a whirlwind of activity and Miss Fame was in such a demanding mood that she didn’t have a second to enjoy it.

She felt like a chicken with its head cut off, running around in a hectic scramble to meet every request. Today was the last day before their holiday break, and even though Courtney knew that spending her break with Bianca would be incredible, she also knew that she had about a billion things to do before that could even start. Today was supposed to be a half day, but with how packed the schedule was, she’d be lucky to leave by 5.

She entered Miss Fame’s green room, silently handing her the coffee she’d asked for and then leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Miss Fame took a sip and then immediately spit the coffee back out.

“What is this?” she asked, holding the cup out like it was a bag of dog shit.

“It’s your usual-”

“This is not my usual. This is weak, and not hot enough, and-did you just roll your eyes?”

“No, Miss!” Courtney insisted, praying that she was telling the truth. She was tired, having arrived at the office at 6 am to drop off her stuff for Bianca’s, and there was a teeny tiny chance that she may have (accidentally) rolled her eyes. “Would you like a new-”

“Let me tell you something, Courtney. This may be the last day before a vacation, but I expect you to be fully present and accounted for. We have too many important things going on and I will not accept anything less than your absolute very best. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now. Please go find me some decent coffee before I get a migraine.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And after you come back, I need you to go to the dry cleaners. I’ve decided to wear my ivory Valentino suit to meet the investors later.”

“Yes, Miss, will do.”

“That’s all,” Miss Fame said, waving her hand, and Courtney took off back down the labyrinthine hallways of 30 Rock to hunt down a coffee that would meet her standards.

***

“Good morning! Welcome back to Coast to Coast. I’m Nina West, and today we are positively blessed to have with us the icons of fashion, Miss Fame and Raja Gemini of Galactica, here to talk to us about dressing to impress in the new year, and their exciting new business ventures. Thank you so much for being here, ladies!”

“Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here,” Fame smiled, the lie easily falling out of her red painted lips.

Raja could see the way her hands were clenched in her lap, her wedding ring turned inward and digging into her palm, and knew that she was at her tensest.

Raja had long ago gotten used to giving live interviews. She had a laid-back attitude and while she always wanted to represent the company in the most flattering light, she tended to relax and let the conversation flow naturally.

Fame, however, had never quite gotten the hang of it in the same way. She was just so brand-conscious, almost to a debilitating degree, written interviews so much more her speed.

She always looked impeccable, very much the ice goddess she was so often called, but Fame had never gotten the same confidence in her speaking skills as Raja, who had been dragged through developing them in her modeling career.

Even though Fame hated being on live TV, they occasionally got an offer they couldn’t turn down, and between the makeup line being released in January and the overhaul of their website and online store, they had a lot to plug.

The whole thing was so stressful Fame had asked Raja four times to check her pits for sweat stains, her papers with facts from the makeup department and pointers from Pearl not leaving her hand until they literally had to go on.

Raja leaned forward, giving Fame’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and added, “This is our favorite show, we never miss it!”

“Aww, thank you!” said Nina, grinning. “Now, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have an exciting announcement.”

“Yes, and we’re so happy to be able to share the news with your viewers first-”

“An exclusive!” Nina exclaimed, eyes comically wide and mouth open as if this was news to her.

“Yes, exactly. Early this year, we released a limited makeup line, and it’s been doing just wonderfully. So in 2015, we’re going to be rolling out a full line of makeup and skincare, with special edition palettes and colors all throughout the spring.”

“All natural, vegan, cruelty free...I always want the very best for my own skin and I wouldn’t offer our customers anything less,” Fame cut in, and Raja felt a surge of pride at how natural she sounded. All their rehearsing had clearly paid off.

“If you use it, I’ll use it!” Nina said with a chuckle. “You both have the most gorgeous skin I’ve ever seen.”

“We expect the first batch to sell out quickly,” Raja said, “So go straight to our website, Galactica dot com, and sign up to be part of the mailing list to receive alerts on all new product launches and where they’ll show up in stores.”

“I’m doing that, the second we go to commercials,” Nina said. “But first, I heard that there’s more news about your spring line...”

***

Patrick reached for the remote, turning off the TV as Nina West rounded out the segment with Fame and Raja.

He was sitting in his office, wrapping up the last details before the firm could close down for the holiday break.

Fame had done a great job, the nerves he knew she had felt not showing on her beautiful face. Patrick picked up his phone, a smile on his lips as he started to type out a text.

Fame would probably not read it until she left work for the day, but he was proud of her, and he hoped that she was proud of herself too.

***

Fame collapsed onto her dressing room sofa, completely emotionally drained, the crystals she had stuffed in her bra digging against her skin.

Being on camera for live television always took up every drop of energy, and left her with nothing to spare. Unfortunately, she knew that she didn’t have much time to rest, since she was due at the Russian Tea Room to meet her potential investors in less than an hour. The makeup artist they’d hired was standing by for touch-ups, and her ivory Valentino suit hung in its dry cleaning bag on the clothing rack. But first, she knew that her blood sugar was dangerously low, so she needed…

She looked around. Where on earth was Courtney? Fame had never met someone with such a tendency to be underfoot at the worst times and completely MIA when her presence was required. She walked to the doorway, spotting Courtney having a casual chat with a girl in a headset, carefree as anything.

“Courtney!” she snapped, and Courtney looked up, surprised, even though she was literally here for the sole purpose of taking care of Fame’s needs. “Come!”

Fame turned and walked back into her dressing room, irritated, the rapid click of Courtney’s heels as she ran over grating on her nerves.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I need to eat.”

“Oh…” Courtney’s gaze shifted to the table, where a fruit basket sat amongst assorted pastries and other snack food.

“Not that sugary garbage,” Fame explained. “Violet always had- Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“Oh, of course!” Courtney exclaimed, rummaging through her purse.

Fame rolled her eyes, sighing. That girl truly was useless. What Bianca saw in her, Fame would never understand. She took one of the protein bars that Courtney had carefully lined up on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“I think you’d better head back to the office and prepare the conference room for the investor presentation.”

“Oh, but did you need anything el-”

“No, I’m much more concerned with the meeting,” Fame said. “Everything needs to be perfect. These people will be paying attention to every little detail.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and take this back with you…” Fame handed over a large manila envelope. “It’s some sketches I’ve been working on.”

“Sure.” Courtney began to put the envelope into her bag, and Fame’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Don’t bend them! For god’s sake…”

“Sorry Miss,” Courtney said, biting her lip, holding the envelope at her side. “Is there anything else you need before I-”

“No. That’s all.”

***

Courtney sat in the back of a cab, eyes squeezed tightly shut, using the time in traffic to center herself and go over her massive to do list. She had to make sure that all the presentations for the meeting were set up, work with IT to test it, messenger out the holiday gifts that Miss Fame added at the last minute, make sure the schedule for January was in order, set up her out of office reply…

Plus, the meeting with the investors wouldn’t begin until they were back from the restaurant, so the “half day” was looking more and more like a full day. At this point, settling in at Bianca’s felt like it was a million years away--and traffic crawling at a standstill didn’t help anything.

She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could set up some of the gift deliveries now, while she was stuck in the cab.

When they were finally in sight of the Galactica building, her phone started buzzing. She looked at the screen. Miss Fame. That couldn’t be anything good.

Courtney took a deep breath and answered, stomach tightening.

“Hello?”

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

[lailanihan]

Hello! I was wondering if you'd be willing to answer a question about the use of Filipino tattoos? I wanted to use some for my d&d npc but I don't want to be insensitive to the culture. The character is a dragon of south east asian descent, and she has a humaonid form that would have the tattoos. I thought it might be nice to have the tattoos to hint she is a dragon, but also for the traditional warrior purpose. Would that be offensive to Filipino culture? I love your art btw, Lailani is cool!

Hey!! This is an awesome question, thanks so much for coming to me about it! Apologies in advance for the really long-ass post, but this is a really important topic to me.

On the topic of Filipino tattooing as a whole:

It’s a practice that was once widespread among many ethnic groups in the Philippines prior to Spanish colonization, each group having their own patterns, meanings, and reasons for tattooing. Post-Spanish contact, much of the practices have since been erased and the idea vilified in modern Filipino society. There are still groups of indigenous Filipinos today who have tattoos and continue to practice, though the art is in danger of dying out due to lack of interest, knowledge, etc. One of the most famed practitioners alive today is Apo Whang-Od, of the Kalinga tribe in the Cordilleras. Many tourists (both local and international) make trips to see her specifically to receive batok (tatoo) from her, so in recent days, its not uncommon anymore for people outside of the culture to wear these marks (though they still are not without meaning and should be held and worn with respect to the history that they hold, much like any cultural tattoo).

Regarding whether or not it is appropriate for a character to have them: I think it is perfectly acceptable to put the tattoos on your character! BUT there are some very important things to keep in mind when doing so.

1. The Philippines, like many places in the world, is not a mono-culture. There are 7,461 islands, and over 120 or so distinct languages (calling them dialects is a disservice, as often times said languages are not mutually intelligible). Do some research into ethnic group influences, figure out what their tattoos looked like specifically and what they mean. Even when tattoos are practiced for beauty reasons alone, certain symbols are commonly used to do said things, and can mean various things even down to where and how they are placed on the body.

2. Much knowledge about pre-colonial tattooing in the Philippines specifically is hard to come by, and a LOT of what we know today about pre-colonial Filipinos is specifically through a colonial lens based on how the Spanish perceived us. Modern Filipinos have done a lot of work at analyzing and reconstructing our own history from this in tandem with oral historical accounts from indigenous groups. Honestly, the interest in the revival of these tattoos has been relatively recent to my understanding, so information changes and is added to regularly!

3. This I think should go without saying, but please please please, take the time to design said tattoos specifically to fit your character, and do not copy the tattoos of someone else 1 for 1! Recurring patterns and pattern placement is fine, but historically, these tattoos across the board have been ways that Filipinos have documented their personal life history + story, and those things show through in their tattoos. You wouldn’t want to wear someone else’s story on your own skin. 

Using Lailani as an example: I’ve changed her tattoos a LOT (and they still continue to change a little bit b/c what is consistency lol) but the primary reason for this is b/c I’m making decisions about what markings I have found fit her that I feel are appropriate for her character’s story, as they don’t exist purely for aesthetic. However, the actual LOOKS of her tattoos are inspired primarily by two groups - the Kalinga, and pre-colonial Visayans. Practically all tattooing practices done in the Visayas have been eradicated thanks to the Spanish, so a lot of it has been guess work + reinterpretation on my end founded on my own research.

TL;DR, it’s perfectly fine to use Filipino tattoos on your character, so long as you are mindful and do your research! I celebrate at the idea of it, because it is a step forward I feel in terms of visibility and I think it helps us in our work to preserve a history that has been all but stolen from us.

that being said, I would love to see the designs that you come up with! I also encourage you to be adventurous with your designs, don’t be afraid to change up placement/flow or break out of what seems to be the bounds of the aesthetics. Lots of cool things can come from that!

[sixth-light]

uncommonsockeater

replied to your post

“Coming to the realization that the Nightingale I’m writing for the...”

Prompts? .... Abigail, ghost tour heckler? All quail before her withering contempt?

roisindubh211 replied to your post “Coming to the realization that the Nightingale I’m writing for the...”

Abigail asks Peter questions because he's her big cousin who's into weird stuff and probably won't rat her out to her folks

Accountability check: I wrote 1200 words of the arranged marriage AU today while waiting for someone to get back to me so I could submit a revised paper I’M NOT GETTING DISTRACTED FROM MY FANFIC GOALS

(I am but. manageably.) 

“...Sir Henry died over a hundred and twenty years ago,” said the tour guide, “but –“

“Hang on,” Abigail said, pitching her voice to the tone that had brought looks ranging from resignation to terror to the eyes of her schoolteachers. “This place wasn’t even built until after the First World War. What’s this Victorian bloke doing haunting it?”

The guide, who was a white guy called Simon probably not too much older than Abigail was herself, had smiled politely when she’d opened her mouth. By the time she was done, the smile had gone a bit thin.

“I think you must have got it mixed up,” he said, with a chuckle. “Look around at this Gothic Revival -”

“They didn’t just all down tools one day in nineteen-oh-one and start on Art Deco buildings the next,” Abigail said. “My cousin’s an architect, he goes on about this stuff.”

That wasn’t exactly true but Peter had done his degree, right, it was just that jobs were hard to get. His tours were way better than this one, too.

Simon’s eyes narrowed, although he managed to keep up the smile. Some of the other people on the tour – all tourists as far as Abigail could tell, mostly white and a few East Asians – were starting to look uncomfortable.

“Look, do you want to hear about the ghost of Sir Henry or not?”

“I just think if you’re going to tell ghost stories they should be real ones,” Abigail told him. She meant it, too.

“As I was saying,” he said, loudly and firmly and making eye contact with everybody to draw them back in, “this building was occupied by an advertising firm before the Second World War, and the copywriters used to report -”

Abigail stopped listening and edged towards the back of the group, trying to look appropriately abashed. Nobody looked at her; they wanted to pretend she hadn’t said anything. Which also meant, she was betting, that when someone eventually noticed she was gone, ten or fifteen minutes from now, Simon the tour guide wouldn’t be interested in finding out where she’d gone to. He’d think it was good riddance.

She sidled down a hallway, tried two doors before finding one that was unlocked, and settled in to wait in the office inside. Nobody even walked past the door – they hadn’t noticed she was gone. Perfect.

She gave it half an hour before she went back down to the main foyer. Peter had done a ghost tour for a couple of years – he’d given it up for strict history because he said it got too many people who took it seriously – and Abigail had asked him about this place. One of the things he’d told her, or more like let slip because she was pretty sure he didn’t know what she’d been planning, was that there were security cameras but they weren’t infra-red or anything. And ghosts didn’t show up on camera, not the real kind, so as long as she didn’t turn any lights on she’d be fine. Now it was just a case of waiting until her ghost – the real one, not whatever that story had been – showed up. She sat down in one of the less-comfortable-than-they-looked chairs to wait.

Twenty minutes later, she thought she heard something – a door creaking – but when she strained to listen, there was nothing else. Then she thought she heard people talking quietly, but that went away, too.

That was the worst bit about ghost-hunting; you got worked up looking for things and started to hear things that weren’t there. Real ghosts, Abigail had found, were not subtle at all, and didn’t require any special equipment or concentration or anything like that to see them. They were just...there.

She shifted a bit, because her left leg was starting to go numb, and then sprang to her feet when the door across the foyer from her opened – not the main one – and a torch flashed right into her eyes. Her left leg gave out, prickly with pins and needles, and she stumbled, putting up a hand against the light. “Aaaaaahhh!”

“Well, that’s not a ghost,” said a sardonic female voice. “I’m disappointed.” Abigail couldn’t make out anything else after half an hour in the dark; she could barely see figures behind the torch, let alone details.

“Excuse me,” said a second voice – man, very posh, in a way that made Abigail hopeful neither of them was the building’s night manager, but not very hopeful that they’d accept her back-up excuse of having got lost from the ghost tour. It sounded more like a voice that was going to tell her to wait for the police to be called. It was, all things considered, probably a good time to make a bolt for it.

“Hold on,” said a third voice, and the torch dropped; Abigail blinked, trying to focus at the same time as she tensed to turn and run. “Abigail, is that you?”

“Peter?” She turned back. “What – you don’t do the ghost tour anymore!”

“No, I don’t,” said her cousin Peter, sounding baffled. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s for a story,” Abigail said, shrugging like it was totally normal to be found in an office building in central London at quarter to midnight by her cousin who did walking tours and – who were those other two people, anyway? “What are you doing here, then?”

With the torch directed at the floor, now, she could see that the woman – whose expression was about as sardonic as her voice had been – was tall for a girl and wearing a black hijab and a very cool leather jacket. Posh Voice was a white man in a three-piece suit carrying an actual cane, which would have made him a good candidate for the ghost she was trying to interview if he hadn’t obviously been not a ghost, and instead a real person studying her with a frown of mild confusion.

“I take it you know this young lady?” he asked Peter.

“Yeah, this is my cousin Abigail, she’s studying journalism,” said Peter, like a complete traitor. “For a story, Abigail, really? What the hell?”

“I am!” Abigail insisted. She could live with Peter thinking she was breaking and entering; she wasn’t going to tell him she was here to interview a ghost. He’d never let her live it down. He probably still remembered when she’d tried to tell him about the ghost on the train tracks, five years ago. “Come on, why are you here? You don’t do the ghost tour anymore.”

“Favour for a friend,” Peter said. “The night manager still remembers me, and there’s two law firms in this building so they’re not thrilled about warrants...does he know you’re here?”

“I –“ Abigail was already figuring out how to answer that when she processed the rest of that sentence. “Wait, warrants?” She took a step to the side, so the chair wasn’t blocking her path to the side door. It was probably futile with Peter right here and telling all and sundry she was his cousin, but still. She turned her attention to Posh Voice and the hijabi woman. “Are you the filth?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Posh Voice. “May I ask what sort of story you’re following up?”

“It’s for a class,” Abigail said quickly. “I’m a student.” She had a flash of inspiration. “I was supposed to meet someone, but I guess they haven’t shown up.”

“Mind telling  us who that someone is?” asked the woman in the hijab. She looked familiar but Abigail couldn’t remember where from.

“I wouldn’t want to reveal a source. And you haven’t told me who you are.”

The woman made a hmph noise and looked away, like she was trying not to laugh. Which was just insulting, really.

“Quite right,” said Posh Voice, and showed her his warrant card, which said he was Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale. Abigail made a show of inspecting it like she’d seen Peter do once when she’d come with him on a research trip and someone had made a fuss about them being there, but she didn’t know what she was looking for, really. It was just a way to gain a second, and see how Peter was taking this. He looked exasperated, and slightly suspicious, but not really worried. So maybe it would come out alright, if she could just persuade them to go away, somehow.

“Okay, Detective Inspector Nightingale,” she said. “And you are?” she asked the woman.

“Detective Sergeant Sahra Guleed,” said the woman. “Hey, that’s where I’ve seen you – you live on the same estate as Peter’s parents, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” said Abigail.

“Yeah, all her life,” said Peter. “You’ve probably seen her round. Sahra lives near me,” he explained to Abigail. “So she’s fine, and Inspector Nightingale’s a friend of mine, so – look, you shouldn’t be here, it’s nearly midnight. How about I walk you out?”

“I can find my own way out,” Abigail said, trying to look dejected. “It’s fine.”

“Ms - Abigail,” said Inspector Nightingale. “As Sergeant Guleed said – would you very much mind telling us who you were intending to meet? In general terms. I won’t ask for a name.”

“A guy,” Abigail said, figuring she could work with this. “Who had some things to say about…a cold case.”

“It wasn’t, by any chance,” he said, “John Geraldson?”

Abigail tried really hard not to react to that but she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Uh…who’s that?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. He’d known her way too long. “Abigail. You know a few years ago when you told me about that thing, near school, on the train tracks…is it like that?”

“You didn’t believe me then,” Abigail said, and knew she sounded bitter and was annoyed at herself that she did. “Why are you asking about it now?”

“You changed your mind and said you were joking,” said Peter. “I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.” He paused. “Also, fine, I didn’t believe you then, but I’ve had reason to change my mind since. So. Anything like that?”

“Are you telling me,” Abigail said, incredulous, “that these are the ghost police?”

“Wow,” said Sergeant Guleed. “That’s actually worse than anything I’ve heard down at Belgravia.”

“In that case,” said Inspector Nightingale, “perhaps -”

That was when the ghost threw the chair Abigail had been sitting in across the room, so things got a bit complicated after that.

                                                             *

Because it was after midnight they retired to an all-night caf and Peter bought Abigail a Coke, which was frankly the least he owed her.

“It’s that annoying time when I really want a drink but it’s too late to start,” he said, looking around. Inspector Nightingale made a noise of agreement.  

“You’ll live,” said Sergeant Guleed, not very sympathetically. “Besides, you can’t tell me Abigail’s old enough to drink.”

“I am so,” said Abigail, which made her sound like she wasn’t but was one of those things you had to push back on. “What, you want to see my ID?”

“Sure,” said Sergeant Guleed.

“She is, not that it matters right now,” said Peter. “Was that an exorcism, then?”

“Not really,” said Inspector Nightingale. “More like a red card. Although hopefully it lasts for longer than eighty minutes.”

“Now I’m going to have to go to a library and do research,” Abigail said, still feeling aggrieved. “You could have let me talk to him.”

“He didn’t seem to be in the mood,” said Sergeant Guleed. “In my extensive experience of ghosts.”

“Three months is rather more extensive than anybody else on the force at present,” said her boss. “So I’d say you’re qualified to make that judgement.”

“Oh, fantastic,” she said, and eyed Peter dubiously. “Have I thanked you again lately for getting me into this?”

“Every time you see me,” said Peter. “Abigail, look - I’ll put you in touch with someone at the British Library, I bet she’d love to help. She’s friends with Mum. And she knows all about ghosts and – all about ghosts, so you can just tell her the whole story.” He paused to take a bite of his kebab. “Isn’t this all a bit excessive for a first-year assignment, though?”

“It’s not just for the assignment,” Abigail explained. “I mean, it is, but sometimes I can publish things online, and sometimes I even get money for them, and that’s gonna look way better for my portfolio than just assignments.” Especially when there were people who had parents who worked for newspapers and things and got their stuff in them. She had to try harder, that was all there was to it. 

“What sort of website was going to publish a story with a ghost as an interviewee?” Inspector Nightingale asked, like he was just curious, but his eyes were sharp.

“I wasn’t going to put that in the story,” Abigail said. “Then all you get is, like, really terrible tabloids. I was going to figure out where I was supposed to have found things out after I found them out.”

“That doesn’t sound like great journalism,” said Peter.

“I wasn’t going to write anything that wasn’t true.”

“Ghosts,” said the Inspector, “are not always reliable witnesses, anymore than humans are – in fact they’re often worse.”

“Yes, but they’ll talk to you, and sometimes people won’t,” said Abigail. “Talk to me. And I know nobody else is out there interviewing ghosts, so it’s something I’ve got they don’t. Totally worth it.” She paused to sip her Coke. “But Peter just said ghosts and, so tell me, Inspector Nightingale. What’s ‘and’?”

“How about,” he said, “we won’t discuss and, and we also won’t discuss breaking and entering.”

Peter made a noise of protest at this – at least he was good for something.

“I didn’t break and enter anything,” Abigail said, not breaking eye contact with Inspector Nightingale. “I paid to go on a perfectly legit walking tour which had permission to be in the building, and I got lost on the way out.”

“Oh, Jesus,” said Peter. “Was that Simon’s tour? Were you heckling him?”

“Only at that last stop,” Abigail said. “So he wouldn’t be sorry I was gone.” She sniffed. “He was totally making everything up, anyway, it was embarrassing just listening to it.”

“It’s embarrassing knowing he’s in business, is what,” said Peter, “but I’m really disappointed in you, Abigail.” He paused for emphasis. “You should have heckled him at every stop.”

“Then he would have asked me to leave early,” Abigail said, but she grinned at Peter, and he grinned back, so at least they were all right and he wasn’t going to tell on her to her dad, which would be the worst, or to his mum, which would be the same thing except he could claim he hadn’t. Even Sergeant Guleed made an amused noise.

“I’ll accept there’s an argument about the legalities,” said Inspector Nightingale, and he was smiling a little bit too.

“So,” Abigail said. “And what?”

“She’s very persistent,” said Peter. “Fair warning.”

“A family trait, I see,” said Inspector Nightingale.

“She also did see you do sort of an exorcism,” said Sergeant Guleed. “I think it might be faster if we came clean.”

Inspector Nightingale sighed. “Ghosts, and – I’m a wizard.”

He said it very matter-of-factly, as if he were saying I’m a policeman or lovely weather today. Abigail took a moment to consider it.

“Why are you hanging out with a wizard policeman?” she asked Peter. She glanced at Sergeant Guleed. “Two wizard police officers.”

“They have a very interesting library,” said Peter. “And he’s right, we are a very persistent family.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Abigail said, and sat up a bit straighter, and decided that, even though it was nearly one in the morning and she had class tomorrow – today, this might be something worth being persistent about.

[riusugoi]

Protocols: Duty, Despair and Decentralisation transcript - Matt Dryhurst

https://medium.com/@matdryhurst/protocols-duty-despair-and-decentralisation-transcript-69acac62c8ea  No-one is going to pay for music anymore sufficient to keep scenes as we know them going. At least not in the ways many have been used to. So while some artists might make petty change from digital sales through Bandcamp, my assumption is that those figures will dwindle over time as streaming establishes greater supremacy. My assumption is also that whichever streaming platform wins (as all roads lead to monopoly in this current paradigm), the artists that benefit from that streaming platform will be those that most dutifully satisfy the requirements of the streaming platform, which I think is a very different aspiration than satisfying the requirements of feeding healthy international and local music scenes. When Daniel Ek says he wants “one million artists to live from their work”, I think of one million musicians, sitting in flat shares, stocking playlists for people to shower to. Music from nowhere, for no-one in particular. A far cry from a healthy, or interesting, music community that people in attendance today might care about.  My other assumption is that Spotify won’t succeed. If I were Google, or Apple, or Amazon, I would look at Spotify’s immense burn rate: “they posted an operating loss of $461 million on revenue of nearly $5 billion last year”, and bide my time. From where I stand, Spotify is spending immense amounts of money to reorder the way music works as we know it. They might well eradicate the traditional label and publishing model, by finding new ways for artists to post directly to their platform, locking them into new forms of agreements over their work that also indemnifies them, or any prospective parent company, from legal action over copyright infringing material that might be hosted on their servers. Soundcloud is trying to do something similar with their new agreements, and in lieu of a viable business model appearing, all I read from that is that these are moves to leave the door open to potential acquisition by a bigger fish I don’t think there will be a streaming competitor to Spotify, or whoever might acquire them. Our best bet is to drastically reconsider the value proposition of music. What do people value and what are they prepared to support? the club music economy is resilient in ways that other scene economies are not. Club music, on the contrary, is very much based on location and loyalty, and is more generalised and functional. People go to dance, and are often less concerned with who is playing than what they are playing. The functional underpinnings of most club music are also compatible with the functional expectations of streaming, as both require a fast and steady stream of somewhat anonymous compositions that transition seamlessly into one another. Music to work to. Music to play to. Seamless. This is all well and good, but again we are left asking, what about those musicians who don’t want to tailor their output to a predetermined function?

One of the significant battles we face at the moment is a war between music from nowhere, and music from somewhere. Music designed for instantaneous engagement, and instantaneous dismissal, and music that communicates with an archive. The role of the critic has been under threat some for time, and will continue to lose influence to algorithmic populism, and the kindof process-hack algorithmic manipulation that makes stars on Instagram and Youtube. Spotify and Apple are already hiring journalists to cover the work they promote on their platform, so we will see more hagiographical journalism feeding that system, and the traditional idea of the critic as arbiter of taste, and gatekeeper of the archive, will continue to be eroded. Other gatekeepers, such as labels and niche festivals, will continue to lose prominence over time unless they radically reconsider their value propositions. The end of history? Nope, but the end of an era for sure. The recent announcement that Conde Nast intends to paywall all of it’s publications, presumably including Pitchfork, by 2020 is interesting news. Exclusivity like this might work for the cream of publications, and also might perhaps trigger a snow ball of similar subscription plays by smaller publications. I like it when people pay for things, and we will see how that experiment plays out, but once paywalled, what we understand as the archive might well end up being housed behind those walls. Better that than disappearing altogether, perhaps. RBMA and Boiler Room have been busy creating maps of culture. Maps are valuable, as they allow for the establishment of trade routes. On the one hand, RBMA and Boiler Room are doing a great job, as their models are predicated on the primacy of the kind of cultures that are under threat by the algorithmic populism of say, a Spotify or a Youtube. Contrary to the hackneyed divisions that linger from the past, there really is no “mainstream” or “underground” in this new economy. Under ad-driven platform capitalism, there are either fertile pathways to sell people stuff, or barren and quantified pathways to sell people stuff. It’s a map. I’ve said a million times, in this economy, unique niches (or unexplored corners) are highly valuable. If you are an artist whose practice speaks to a unique intersection, say based on genre, identity, or personal narrative, then you are an interesting proposition to advertisers, as you are prospectively establishing new territory to sell people stuff. Brands, as patrons, want you to establish new territory on their behalf, and be first to that party. So, for example, if now millions of people have the tools to create good-enough-Jeff-Mills-derivative techno tracks, it only makes sense that the distinguishing logic that someone might use to opt to support producer X over producer Y would heavily focus on tangential narrative elements. So much so that these narrative elements become the main source of value when competing with art of similar formal characteristics. Those tangential elements are perhaps better understood as metadata; equally optimal for growing new audiences and courting the interest of brands looking to achieve visibility in new niche markets. The original indie pioneers did a great service to music, but let’s be real, have left us all an impossible legacy to continue. Record sales = money in the bank = options. Period. Options to say no. Options to do wild, and risky things. Who has those options today? Where would the money come from?     So the original indies, as far as I can tell, were predicated on two firm principles: 1.The majors were corrupt, strong armed bad music into the popular spotlight, and ignored radical new developments in music creation and localised scenes that needed to be represented. 2.On the other hand, being independent meant doing what you wanted, however you wanted it, with no-one above you influencing your creative decisions. Self sufficiency basically. People who colluded with brands were considered sell-outs as they had to tame their vision to appeal to a wider audience and secure that funding. I know of more people who cite concerns about the gentrifying effects of transnational cultural institutions spending money across the globe, but lets be honest, indie music scenes of socially mobile young artists were doing just fine at gentrifying neighbourhoods before brand money got involved. So, in the vast vast majority of cases, what is the inconsistency here? Warp, or Dischord, or 4AD, or whatever, aren’t communist enterprises. They aren’t radical free culture enterprises. No. They are and were, for better or worse, entities that made great strides to support the individual visions of unique artists, and helped them to gain prominence in the market for music, and for a period of time symbiotically reaped the rewards from sales of that work. I think that in many ways, the foundational logic of independent music won. Now large portions of the economy are predicated on the promise of individualist independence. Everyone is free to self publish their unique perspective, and hypothetically find an audience for it online. That being said, we hardly live in a utopia as a result. 

It is no secret that many of the original indies were founded by the wealthy, or in many cases by middle class entrepreneurs who could afford to dedicate their 20s to a speculative cultural business. Equal ability to publish something means nothing when only those with the ability to fund promotion of the work are discovered. I’ve said it before, there will be an abundance of free culture, and free time, in the slums. Amazon can produce your product cheaper than you can, and strong arm you out of business unless you work with them. Facebook can acquire any competitor before they become dangerous. Pop music can appropriate and spit out your micro-scene before it has any ability to generate its own momentum, or it’s own funds.

In 2019 we all work for Kanye, only some of us figured out how to get paid for it.

So in the absence of the ability to accrue a foundation of wealth and stability for new music, independent artists who gained prominence via the centralised media channels of the 80s and 90s will reign supreme over the long tail of precarious younger artists until the day they choose to call it quits. The gravitational pull of those artists who established the categories by which playlists, and festival line ups, must orient themselves to reach enough people, dictates that most new music emerging needs to flatter the formal and conceptual foundations of those pioneers.

There is going to be a whole lot more music that flatters the impressive legacies of Aphex Twin, Bjork, Timbaland, Missy Elliott, Aaliyah, Jeff Mills etc as those are the kind of petrified shapes of envelope-pushing music from just before when the volcano of Web 2.0 went off 🌋 .Radical musical culture circa-1996 preserved forever, like the ruins of Pompeii - or as I believe Mark Fisher (or Simon Reynolds, or both??) referred to it, a kind of permanent 1990s.

Well on the one hand, the platform monopolies like Spotify and Youtube are going to continually erode your influence with every new person that comes online. Their algorithms will direct traffic away from your priorities, and towards theirs, and to survive in that ecosystem you will need to satisfy their agenda. Doesn’t sound too independent does it? Journalists will have to write more about what Spotify prioritises. Artists will have to make work to satisfy the debased formal requirements of those platforms. Labels will be shoo-ed off like annoying pests that are messing with the platforms long term vision. Really bad, and a great reason to be really angry at that particular logic of culture.

If your previous raison d’être was to support marginal communities, and weird music, you are probably going to end up being out competed by their models. Models that manage to leverage brand money to support those communities will grow and grow in prominence. The thing is, if you are playing exactly the same game, and one entity found a model to support exactly the same thing that you have supported traditionally, but more effectively, then you are probably going to lose that game. It sucks, but that’s what is likely going to happen.

I think the ‘cultural cartography’ model discussed before is quite precarious, as of course they too need for new and diverse things to actually be happening on the ground in order to maintain the model that they have built. Companies dependent on brand money are always a few emails away from being out of favour. State supported festivals are very fragile to that possibility too. As the popular narrative that Spotify is ‘solving the problem’ of music proliferates further, it is going to become increasingly difficult for people to convince brands, or an increasingly conservative state, that these niche pockets of music we might care about are worth the investment. Stat-supported music, if unimpeded, will come into direct conflict with state supported music.

So I actually think it is in everyone’s interests for new models to emerge.

I think some of those models can be complimentary to the institutions we have today, and some can be wholly antagonistic, and ideally we would see both come to prominence in the next few years for the health of scene development across the board.

As I said before, one reason I see things going south for competitors to the brand-aligned organisations is that they are competitive. You solve this problem quite easily by becoming uncompetitive, and doing something they can’t or won’t do.

One thing brands or their intermediaries can’t do, for example, is distribute ownership under a cooperative model. They literally can’t. But there are all kinds of reasons why that might make sense for various different cultural scenes or organisations.

Co-operativising creates loyalty and an alignment of interests between an organisation, festival, artists and audience.

Co-operativising allows for collective strategising towards common objectives. Rather than funds being ingested to the benefit of one artist, in competition with another, those same funds can be channeled into infrastructure that helps everybody and keeps the culture afloat.

So what of decentralization? To explain what decentralisation is, I’m going to borrow from Ethereum founder Vitalik Buterin’s model, which is focussed on technical infrastructure but has application beyond that.

He breaks decentralisation into 3 groups:

Architectural (de)centralization — how many physical computers is a system made up of? How many of those computers can it tolerate breaking down at any single time?

Political (de)centralization — how many individuals or organizations ultimately control the computers that the system is made up of?

Logical (de)centralization — do the interfaces and data structures that the system presents and maintains look more like a single monolithic object, or an amorphous swarm? One simple heuristic is: if you cut the system in half, including both providers and users, will both halves continue to fully operate as independent units?

Benefits of decentralisation in the context of music:

1) the network/archive is hard to take down. If Soundcloud fails, what happens to all that music, and the activity around it? If a magazine goes down, what happens to all of that history?

Decentralised, nodal systems like blockchains, or torrent networks, are resilient both architecturally and logically. You can’t cut the head off them. It took the state to take down What.cd for example, such was its resiliency.

Projects like IPFS propose a peer-to-peer immutable web, a web that can never be taken down, fortified by a nodal structure not dissimilar to torrent seeding.

2) regarding political decentralisation, this can be approached by entertaining ideas of common ownership. Rather than a centralised team at Spotify, or Youtube, making decisions that determine how your artwork is distributed, or the logics by which some work is made more visible, and prioritised over other work, politically decentralised networks entertain the possibility of pluralistic and democratic decision making.

3) Decentralised networks, when dealing with an open source code base, also allow for forking. If you don’t the way things work, you are encouraged to take the code and build something that disagrees with it. Over time what this mechanism creates is a healthy competition of ideas, and participant choice.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 8

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): I could not wait to post this. I know it’s only Wednesday but I couldn’t wait and I had to. I’m sorry... I’m sure the next chapter will bring us back to the regular schedule. This chapter is really weird, at least in my opinion (but it might just be that I read it again and again a million times over), but I’m really happy with it and... also not really. Some people in this chapter need to... I don’t want to say anything. It would only make things worse if I say anything.

Thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original suggestion, to @whatwashernameagain for all her help and for being a sweet lil angel of a person, and to my little elves, @anony-phangirl, @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph for dealing with my bullshit. A special one goes to Nicky this time, for being an adorable bean and reading this chapter ahead of time to help me figure things out. I am so grateful that I have this lovely group of people to help me and I can’t thank them enough.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemyspoopydad, @violetblossem, @prinxiety-an-chocolate

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). Especially in this chapter, and not necessarily period-appropriate, but... you have been warned.

—————

Wednesday, November 27th, 2002

Remy finally understood the point of existentialism and, more specifically, of the saying "Hell is other people".

He couldn't even take comfort in knowing how close India was. She didn't leave Boston for the holiday, and she wouldn't have anyway. Her family in North Carolina were horrible people and she told him that she hadn't seen any of them since she came to Harvard.

That meant that, for the next few days, he was stuck in Social Circle, Georgia. All alone. With no escape plan.

"Sarah, look, Remy's here!"

...and Leah.

She came down the road on her rollerblades, looking entirely too proud of herself, and their cousin Sarah on her trail. Sarah wasn't particularly bad, but Remy wasn't entirely comfortable around—

"A little bird told me you were going to be away this year."

"Gurl, you don't even want to know what happened."

"No I don't. I'm just glad you're here, Becca."

Becca. A cursed name. Yeah, maybe that's going a bit overboard, but… Remy wasn't called Becca since… well, Christmas of last year. But it's been a long time!

"I can rollerblade, right Remy?" Leah was holding onto his leg, almost dragging him down, and started taking her rollerblades off. "You saw me do it!"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want Mom to see…"

"But you'll freeze!"

"But she won't be mad at me!"

"Becca, would you like to hear the holiday forecast?" Sarah tapped Remy on the shoulder as she said that. He didn't really, but… "Sunny. Way too sunny. With high chance of showers and a possible thunderstorm."

(Translated, it meant there will be fights. A lot of fights. And Remy was ready to deal with them, but… it didn't mean he wanted to hear it.)

"Wow, thanks for all the help, Sarah."

"No need to be rude, I'm just trying to prepare you. Everyone is coming. And some of us aren't as accepting of your ‘identity' as others."

That was incredibly true. Sadly. It took Linda no time at all to let everyone know that her daughter believes that she's a boy, and it took his grandmother no time to tell him that when she was younger, she had a very good friend who was born a boy, but lived as her true feminine self, and that she misses that friend so much because "there was no kinder or sweeter woman you'd ever meet, too bad we had to lose her to that wretched AIDS. We didn't have no cocktails or whatever back then, not like today. She died something like three years after you were born. You would've loved Celia."

It was going to be an insufferable holiday.

"Sarah, you're barely two years older than me. You don't—"

"I'm not mothering you. I'm just pointing out the facts."

Leah let go of Remy's leg, and instead grabbed onto his arm, the rollerblades in one hand. She was barefoot, she was cold, and he just wanted to hold her tight so she wouldn't freeze too much.

He was falling hard and fast for the sister he didn't want to meet a couple weeks ago, and he was struggling to understand what exactly happened.

"Sarah has a boyfriend now," Leah said happily as she led Remy (and his bag) to the house. "He's not very nice." She threw her rollerblades into a small shed near the door and quickly closed it.

"I'll bet."

"It's why she's being a bitch. I think. I don't know."

"It's how she's always been. Don't feel bad."

Leah decided to give him a house tour, and explained that nobody was there yet because everyone will come tomorrow and Stephen had a thing to do in Atlanta and Rachel had a play date. And Linda's house was… well, a house.

Remy was so used to the small and outrageously expensive apartment on West 106th, with the bad lighting and the closet-sized bedrooms, that the house seemed huge to him. The living room alone was - mismatched furniture aside - incredibly impressive. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in so much natural light that reflected off the shiny hardwood floors, the cream-colored walls and the needlessly large flat-screen TV, that Remy doubted they even needed the huge fucking chandelier (okay, maybe he was exaggerating a bit) that hung in the middle of the room. The walls were covered in crayon doodles and bright purple marks where the girls' heights were measured, and a few dark scratches. Obvious evidence that a certain scooter kept running into them.

Two black suede couches faced the brick fireplace (a fucking fireplace? Utterly pointless, much like a lot of things in this room), with dark blue and gray throwing pillows placed strategically on them. It looked incredibly comfortable. Between the couches and the fireplace was a small glass coffee table, "adorned" with misplaced toys and children's art supplies. A beautiful, blue-green glass vase full of white daffodils was right in the middle of the table. Leah proudly told him that she picked them herself.

Wooden bookcases covered the wall next to the entrance, and two light gray, plush armchairs, with the same dark blue and gray pillows, faced them. Remy was very familiar with those armchairs. They used to belong to his grandparents. He used to torture those chairs with Sarah when they were younger, draw on them with markers and put stickers all over the armrests. How his grandmother managed to remove the stickers was beyond him, but he knew for a fact that she put them through very intensive cleaning after every visit.

Two years ago they disappeared from their house in Red Bank, New Jersey. And nobody could explain to him why.

In the corner of the room, next to the bookcases, sat a sleek Steinway that Remy knew very well. It belonged to his grandfather. He wasn't even aware that it, too, made its way from New Jersey to Georgia.

(Nobody told Remy anything anymore, as it turned out. At least he could take comfort in knowing that Roger's piano was being put to good use.)

And that was just the living room. Remy didn't even want to think about the hallway.

"We moved here from Atlanta when I started going to school and my grandma and grandpa wanted me to go to where Dad went to school," Leah started rambling. "And I miss Atlanta. There's a lot more to do there, there's a lot more fun stuff to—"

"I know." The offended look on her face went away when Remy put his hand in her hair, to calm her down. "I live two blocks away from Broadway, I just need to take the subway and I'll be at Times Square, but I can't. I don't have the money for it and I don't want to take money from my dad."

"Isn't that annoying?"

"Leah, you're seven. Stop complaining about that kind of stuff," Sarah chided as she pushed past them, a glass of water in her hand, and went to sit down. "Just wait until you're in college."

"You mean, the place where everything is close by and rather affordable thanks to student discounts and the option of working on campus?"

"You're only a senior in high school, what do you know—"

"I go to Harvard, Sarah. It's been a couple months already."

"Oh… yeah. I'm sure you're doing great."

Yeah. Maybe this holiday he'll just stick to Leah.

——

"If there is a thing you should know about your mother," Edith Brigham told her grandchild in late 1992, "it's that she is too headstrong for her own good. It doesn't matter how much you try to change her mind, she'll never listen."

This was the reason Remy kept talking to his grandmother after the divorce. Why he kept visiting Edith and Roger after Linda left.

"Where's grandma and Roger?"

"They won't be coming this holiday, Rebecca. They're in Thailand."

Remy was absolutely not ready for this thanksgiving.

Stephen started a conversation with him about college while Linda was finishing things up in the kitchen that Wednesday. He asked him about his boyfriend, Remy did his best to avoid those particular questions ("is Ian playing any sports?" "She told me she was a cheerleader in high school, she wasn't allowed to do color guard"; Stephen choked on his beer when Remy said that), and things just seemed…

Overall, things seemed strangely calm.

Remy missed Edith and Roger.

"Who's she?" Linda asked from the kitchen.

"Never heard of her."

"Rebecca, please be serious."

"Remember when you met my best friend and she told you her name is Ian?" Linda made a choking sound. "Remember grandma's friend Celia?"

"That— you never even met her. You were too young. You don't even remember her. You are not the same as grandma's friend."

"I'm sure my best friend would love to hear that."

"So he's… he…"

"You can call her a she, you know."

"Grandma doesn't have a friend called Celia," Leah piped in from the corner, where she was sitting at the piano, trying to motivate herself to play it. Little Rachel was pressing all the keys, irritating Leah quite a bit.

"She died of a really bad disease before you were born," Linda said sharply. Something in her changed when talking to Leah.

"She was very nice," Remy added, trying to be softer than Linda. "Grandma says that she was a painter, and she spent a lot of time reading books, and that there was nobody sweeter than her. She died of AIDS."

"What's that?"

"Don't you—"

"Acquired immune deficiency syndrome." Leah hummed to herself as Remy said that. He could feel Linda glare at him. "You get it from contaminated blood or unsafe sex, and your immune system just doesn't work. I don't know a lot about it, so you should probably read about it—"

"Rebecca, she's seven years old!"

"She's a seven year old who knows that female hyenas have penises, Linda! She's old enough to know about AIDS."

"...you sound just like your grandmother."

"Thanks, I try to."

Leah just hummed again in understanding and left the piano in order to go painting. Rachel's key-pressing was getting too annoying for her. She said her hearing can't take it anymore.

Remy believed her.

"You can't just explain STDs to my child, Rebecca," Stephen hissed at him through gritted teeth, suddenly looking rather threatening.

"One of my professors said that if you can't explain it to a child, you don't truly understand it yourself."

"That's no excuse to—"

"Mom I have a headache can you tell Rachel to go away?"

"Deal with it. Rachel, sweetie, come here."

"Deal with it?" Linda just… shrugged. "Leah, come here, love. And bring my bag with you."

So she did. Remy took an ibuprofen pill out of the bag and gave it to her. And Linda...

"You're drugging up my kid?"

"She told you she has a headache. I'm having cramps right now, so I have painkillers on me. Shocker? To you, probably. You're the one who taught me that the cramps are just another sign that my body so terribly wants to have children, and—"

"Spit that out, Leah. You don't need anything."

And with that, Remy gave up on trying to talk to Linda. (Leah did not spit out the pill.)

——

Sunday, December 1st, 2002

The rest of the holiday was just as awful. Leah got overwhelmed by everything, Remy kept fighting with his aunts, and the alcohol didn't help in the least. Everyone felt Edith and Roger's absence and it only made things that much worse.

He should've stayed in Boston.

When he called India after getting off the plane, she told him to take comfort in the fact that Christmas is only three weeks away. And, yeah, she was right. But it didn't make things any better…

For now, he decided, he should focus on other things. Midterms were starting very soon. Next Tuesday was Emile's birthday. His dad started working on a new production—

There was a knock on the door.

"I heard you had a horrible holiday," an adorable, heavily-accented, quiet voice said once Remy opened the door. He could hear the smile in it. "Nothing cuddles and cookies can't solve, right?"

Thin, pale hands pulled Remy in for a hug, and finally. Remy came home.

——

"Umm… Emile, babe, you're crushing my lungs."

"Oh, oops. Sorry."

"Want to watch Nightmare Before Christmas and do absolutely nothing else?"

"Sounds lovely. Let's do it."

[sparklywaistcoat]

Take a seat, children. I’m gonna tell you a story.

It’s Patrick Macnee’s birthday today, and somehow it feels right for me to get this out there, this thing I’ve been cooking for a few years now. So here goes.

About six years ago or so, I had a severe breakdown, both emotionally and physically. I had nearly worked myself to death (yes, literally; I was probably about two weeks away from needing to be hospitalized, and maybe four to eight from needing to be coffinized if I hadn’t regained my senses and stopped), and I was actively suicidal. I hadn’t actually made any attempts (and never did), but I was at the point where I was seriously considering methods and how I wanted to be found and by whom. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia soon thereafter, and a bit later had to deal with learning that I am autistic and have ADHD after already having lived nearly 50 years completely ignorant of those facts. (Actually it was something of a relief to finally know, but still; I had a pretty full plate already without having to also figure out what that meant for me.)

And all that up there? That’s just part of the story. (Yes, it was even worse than what’s in that bit up there. No, I am neither exaggerating nor joking.)

Anyway. With the help of some good meds and a better therapist, I started putting the pieces back together. And then my father died. His death wasn’t really unexpected, but it was kinda sudden, and since he passed an hour before my plane landed, I didn’t really get to say goodbye. (No, this isn’t the bit that’s missing from the first paragraph. My dad dying was on top of all the rest of that. Fun times.)

When I got home after the funeral, I started looking for old TV shows we used to watch together, and I remembered that my dad liked Avengers, although I myself had only the very foggiest memories of the show. But I looked around and found out Hulu happened to be streaming Seasons 4 and 5 for free at the time, which was convenient.

And into the cosmic shitshow I had been enduring walked John Steed and Emma Peel. And in a manner of speaking, they saved my life.

Oh, I had stopped being actively suicidal by then, because rest and meds and therapy, but Avengers was the thing that tipped the balance. I should mention that the whole suicide thing wasn’t exactly new for me: I had, in fact, been dealing with suicidal ideation of one kind or another for almost 30 years at that point, although I never really was tempted to actually do anything to myself until that breakdown. But after Avengers? I’ve had hardly any suicidal thoughts at all. Like, maybe once every six months or less, after having them on a weekly, if not daily, basis for three decades. And it’s not that I’m actively repressing them or anything. They just don’t happen much anymore.

Avengers was a revelation. I mean, here were two strong, intelligent people who were unapologetically themselves; who truly gave not a single rat’s ass about what others might think of them; who weren’t afraid to take open delight in things they loved and things that made them happy; who really loved each other and acted like it; who knew how to give each other their space and not resent the other’s need for privacy or alone time; who treated each other like equals and full human beings; who supported each other unconditionally and celebrated each other’s talents and contributions both to their work and to their relationship; who honestly trusted one another, and with good reason; and who really saw and respected one another and the other people they interacted with. I had never seen or experienced anything like it. (Sad, no?)

You know those “what I learned from Steed/what I learned from Mrs Peel” things I did a while back? Those weren’t jokes, and they weren’t just fun blog posts. Some of those really were things I learned from watching the show, while others were reminders of things that I never should have forgotten in the first place, but all of them things I consider life goals. (Well, except for maybe the kilt one. That was a little jokey. And I can’t really afford champagne on a daily basis. Also I don’t know how to do martial arts. Yet.)

Steed and Emma saved my life because they gave me back my self. For as long as I could remember, I had been walking a tightrope between trying to stay true to myself and trying to meet other people’s expectations of me, other people’s visions of who I am and how I should be in the world. Steed and Emma’s example gave me the courage to say FUCK THAT and just be myself, to stand up for myself, no matter what anyone else said, and showed me that it’s okay to be angry and to fight back because sometimes that’s the appropriate and necessary thing to do.

I think that’s the major reason why the suicidal ideation evaporated: I’ve stopped playing games, stopped trying to be someone I’m not, stopped feeling bad that I can’t be the person others want me to be, stopped beating myself up about the struggles I have because of my disabilities, stopped diminishing myself and twisting myself into pretzels so that others can be comfortable with me. Avengers showed me that was possible, and gave me the courage to do it.

So yeah. John Steed and Emma Peel kinda saved my life. They’re probably the two best role models I’ve ever had. That’s why they matter so much to me.

[cessanderson]

How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story https://ift.tt/2QzhFjt

Did you update your bathroom? Revamp your kitchen? Install new flooring? We would love to share your project, big or small! Send us what you did and our editorial team will consider it for our “My Fresh Home” series, which will be published every Thursday. Check out our submission instructions at the bottom of the page.

Today we want to share a story from TPG reader Krissy, who built her own she-shed in her backyard:

The over-sized shed in our backyard that was made over into a home office.

My husband would likely die if he read that headline, especially because he is using our new she-shed too. We should really call it a “We-shed.” This is the story of how we turned our over-sized shed into an amazing work space for two!

Why do we need a she-shed?

This project all came about when we found out we were expecting our third child.  While absolutely thrilled with this news, it meant that our 4 bedroom home no longer included a home office. During my maternity leave, my husband took a new job and his commute changed from taking the train into the city to sitting on our bed working from his computer. I also work from home and have been doing so for about two years. When maternity leave was up, and I needed to reclaim the bedroom as my office, we thought that this house might not work for us anymore. 

We considered a couple of options for our home office. This included everything from buying a new house-not in the budget, to renting an expensive office space, to converting our garage into an office. Then one day I said what about our shed?  When we bought our house two years ago, it came with a huge shed used by the previous owner as a woodworking space. We literally only used it to store a lawn mower and a canoe, so we thought this may be a viable option. The shed already had electricity, and we thought it would only need heat and a WiFi signal to be all set. If only it were that easy!

Manland in the fall.

Prior to this, my husband had initially claimed this shed and its land as his own and called it ‘Manland.’ Since the kids play area took over our basement, he had no man cave space to claim for himself. So he moved to the wood near our shed and built a fire pit area. He strung some lights, added some Adirondack chairs and made a really cozy little campground dubbed “Manland.” This space stayed Manland for about 2 months and now has been turned into our We-Shed…with a cozy fire pit for s’mores breaks.

Laying the plans to build a she-shed

The minimal interior of the shed allowed us to determine its viability as an office pretty easily.

Deciding to convert our shed into a home office was the easy part; figuring out IF we could convert it took a lot more work.  Living in the Northeast, our weather conditions played a big role on the development of our shed. If you live in San Diego or any other comfortable 74 degree location, you may be able to skip the insulation and heating/cooling portion of this process. Here in Pittsburgh, PA, we knew insulation and heat was a must. 

Creating a comfortable space

We added insulation to the walls, ceiling and beneath the floor boards to keep the external elements outside.

To determine if the shed could be a warm and comfortable space in the dead of winter, we hired a contractor to come out and check out our space. It was easy to figure out what we needed to do because the space was just framing, no drywall or really anything but the bare bones of a structure. The contractor recommended that we add insulation to the walls and ceiling to protect from the exterior elements. He also ripped up the plywood floorboards and added a water barrier to protect the floors from the bare ground below. This would ensure warmth but also serve as a moisture barrier. On top of the barrier he laid more insulation before adding new floor boards.

It’s starting to come together. The shiplap paneling is getting installed.

Because a shed is more exposed to the elements, we opted for wood paneling walls vs. sheets of drywall. This would also help to protect against moisture. Now I’m sure when you think wood paneling you are thinking your grandfather’s 1970’s television den, but paneling has come a long way people! Perhaps you have been living under a rock and aren’t familiar with the term “shiplap,” but thanks to the influence of Joanna Gaines we fell in love with the white shiplap look. So that is exactly what we selected.  (PS taking three kids to Home Depot to pick out your She-Shed materials isn’t exactly an enjoyable way to spend a morning.)

Three kids in Home Depot, not a relaxing way to spend a Saturday.

At Home Depot we also selected our floor covering. Now if you thought paneling was dated, wait for this term… VINYL. I promise, this was a great option for our space and like wood paneling it’s evolved a lot since that 1980’s kitchen look we all remember. The vinyl comes on a big roll 12 ft wide and cut to whatever length you need.  Our space is an 11 foot box, so this meant we wouldn’t have any seems in our floor, another way to protect from moisture. It was also super affordable.

Vinyl has come a long way since my childhood 1980’s kitchen.

Power, internet and flipping the switch

We really thought that insulating and making the shed feel comfortable would be the extent of our work. When our contractor came out to inspect what we were working with, however, we learned that we needed to add some additional elements. I mentioned earlier that there was electricity to the shed, but the voltage was too low to power all of our office equipment and we needed to beef up our panel with the necessary voltage.  Unfortunately, the conduit that ran the power from our house to the shed was too small to hold the additional wire. This meant we needed to retrench our yard.

Thanks to the new wiring run up to the shed, we have a TV that we can use indoors as well as outdoors.

We had our friend who runs a landscaping business rent out the necessary equipment to dig an 18 inch deep trench in our yard the 120 feet from our house to the shed.  Luckily we knew that we had a fairly large gas line buried in our back yard so we made sure to reach out through 411 to have the team come out and mark where the line was.  To be sure we didn’t cut this line, we hand dug the trench in this area. After we dug the trench we were able to run a new conduit to the shed with the appropriate power needed as well as the lines needed to have ethernet, cable and phone service in the shed. My husband was thrilled with this addition because it mean he could have a television in Manland.  Football and firepits all fall long!

The additional power capacity was an added expense and something that we didn’t really anticipate, but was necessary to make the space function for our needs. The trench and electrician work nearly doubled our initial budget. This did not make me happy at the time, but I can now say I’m so happy we did it the right way.

All the little details

We have walls, floors, baseboard heat and lights… it’s looking like an office!

We are still in the midst of adding details to make the office shed feel really comfortable, but here are some of the things we’ve done so far to make it workable. We added two matching desks from IKEA.  We already had one desk so we added another and put them right beside each other to allow us to make the best use of our space. This also allows us to enjoy the sunshine that comes through our screen door. Come summer we will have to think through ways to keep our space cool (an HVAC unit was not in the budget at this time), but having a screen door should allow for some nice breezes. Speaking of temperature, we added two baseboard heating systems. These run off electricity and keep the space super warm. We keep them on all day to make sure the space is super comfortable as soon as we arrive every morning.

Screen door added for extra sunlight and a warm summer breeze.

We also added LED can lights that have various colors of brightness. Sometimes LED lighting can be too white, almost like fluorescent lights, so we like that we can adjust the softness of these lights to make sure the lighting is just right.  We also added a place to put our shoes, hang our coats and wipe our feet so that we don’t trek mud, dirt and moisture into the space. We are in the midst of hanging whiteboards and bulletin boards and hope to add some art to the space to punch up the color.

Cost and evaluation of our shed renovation

Desks and computers are in and the space has been fully functional for about a month.

All in we spent nearly $9,000 to renovate, rewire, insulate and furnish our shed office. It’s way more then we had hoped to spend, our original budget was $6,000, but totally worth it. The space has been a huge boost to our productivity and has allowed us a space to escape for work.  Oftentimes, when you work from home it’s hard to separate work and home life.  Having this separate space has really allowed us to leave our work in the office shed at the end of the day to come back down to our house and enjoy our lives with our little family.

How to Submit User Stories

1: Include “My Fresh Home Project” in the subject line. Then, in the body of the email, please provide an explanation of why you chose to do the project, an outline of steps you took to get it done, and any advice for readers considering similar projects. Make sure to include your name and any before/after images you have! 

2: Email your story to team@mail.freshome.com. (note: link)

And that’s it! Easy, right? If selected, your story will be shared as an article on Freshome!

The post How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story appeared first on Freshome.com.

Freshome Team

[jovialsoulinfluencer]

How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story

Did you update your bathroom? Revamp your kitchen? Install new flooring? We would love to share your project, big or small! Send us what you did and our editorial team will consider it for our “My Fresh Home” series, which will be published every Thursday. Check out our submission instructions at the bottom of the page.

Today we want to share a story from TPG reader Krissy, who built her own she-shed in her backyard:

The over-sized shed in our backyard that was made over into a home office.

My husband would likely die if he read that headline, especially because he is using our new she-shed too. We should really call it a “We-shed.” This is the story of how we turned our over-sized shed into an amazing work space for two!

Why do we need a she-shed?

This project all came about when we found out we were expecting our third child.  While absolutely thrilled with this news, it meant that our 4 bedroom home no longer included a home office. During my maternity leave, my husband took a new job and his commute changed from taking the train into the city to sitting on our bed working from his computer. I also work from home and have been doing so for about two years. When maternity leave was up, and I needed to reclaim the bedroom as my office, we thought that this house might not work for us anymore. 

We considered a couple of options for our home office. This included everything from buying a new house-not in the budget, to renting an expensive office space, to converting our garage into an office. Then one day I said what about our shed?  When we bought our house two years ago, it came with a huge shed used by the previous owner as a woodworking space. We literally only used it to store a lawn mower and a canoe, so we thought this may be a viable option. The shed already had electricity, and we thought it would only need heat and a WiFi signal to be all set. If only it were that easy!

Manland in the fall.

Prior to this, my husband had initially claimed this shed and its land as his own and called it ‘Manland.’ Since the kids play area took over our basement, he had no man cave space to claim for himself. So he moved to the wood near our shed and built a fire pit area. He strung some lights, added some Adirondack chairs and made a really cozy little campground dubbed “Manland.” This space stayed Manland for about 2 months and now has been turned into our We-Shed…with a cozy fire pit for s’mores breaks.

Laying the plans to build a she-shed

The minimal interior of the shed allowed us to determine its viability as an office pretty easily.

Deciding to convert our shed into a home office was the easy part; figuring out IF we could convert it took a lot more work.  Living in the Northeast, our weather conditions played a big role on the development of our shed. If you live in San Diego or any other comfortable 74 degree location, you may be able to skip the insulation and heating/cooling portion of this process. Here in Pittsburgh, PA, we knew insulation and heat was a must. 

Creating a comfortable space

We added insulation to the walls, ceiling and beneath the floor boards to keep the external elements outside.

To determine if the shed could be a warm and comfortable space in the dead of winter, we hired a contractor to come out and check out our space. It was easy to figure out what we needed to do because the space was just framing, no drywall or really anything but the bare bones of a structure. The contractor recommended that we add insulation to the walls and ceiling to protect from the exterior elements. He also ripped up the plywood floorboards and added a water barrier to protect the floors from the bare ground below. This would ensure warmth but also serve as a moisture barrier. On top of the barrier he laid more insulation before adding new floor boards.

It’s starting to come together. The shiplap paneling is getting installed.

Because a shed is more exposed to the elements, we opted for wood paneling walls vs. sheets of drywall. This would also help to protect against moisture. Now I’m sure when you think wood paneling you are thinking your grandfather’s 1970’s television den, but paneling has come a long way people! Perhaps you have been living under a rock and aren’t familiar with the term “shiplap,” but thanks to the influence of Joanna Gaines we fell in love with the white shiplap look. So that is exactly what we selected.  (PS taking three kids to Home Depot to pick out your She-Shed materials isn’t exactly an enjoyable way to spend a morning.)

Three kids in Home Depot, not a relaxing way to spend a Saturday.

At Home Depot we also selected our floor covering. Now if you thought paneling was dated, wait for this term… VINYL. I promise, this was a great option for our space and like wood paneling it’s evolved a lot since that 1980’s kitchen look we all remember. The vinyl comes on a big roll 12 ft wide and cut to whatever length you need.  Our space is an 11 foot box, so this meant we wouldn���t have any seems in our floor, another way to protect from moisture. It was also super affordable.

Vinyl has come a long way since my childhood 1980’s kitchen.

Power, internet and flipping the switch

We really thought that insulating and making the shed feel comfortable would be the extent of our work. When our contractor came out to inspect what we were working with, however, we learned that we needed to add some additional elements. I mentioned earlier that there was electricity to the shed, but the voltage was too low to power all of our office equipment and we needed to beef up our panel with the necessary voltage.  Unfortunately, the conduit that ran the power from our house to the shed was too small to hold the additional wire. This meant we needed to retrench our yard.

Thanks to the new wiring run up to the shed, we have a TV that we can use indoors as well as outdoors.

We had our friend who runs a landscaping business rent out the necessary equipment to dig an 18 inch deep trench in our yard the 120 feet from our house to the shed.  Luckily we knew that we had a fairly large gas line buried in our back yard so we made sure to reach out through 411 to have the team come out and mark where the line was.  To be sure we didn’t cut this line, we hand dug the trench in this area. After we dug the trench we were able to run a new conduit to the shed with the appropriate power needed as well as the lines needed to have ethernet, cable and phone service in the shed. My husband was thrilled with this addition because it mean he could have a television in Manland.  Football and firepits all fall long!

The additional power capacity was an added expense and something that we didn’t really anticipate, but was necessary to make the space function for our needs. The trench and electrician work nearly doubled our initial budget. This did not make me happy at the time, but I can now say I’m so happy we did it the right way.

All the little details

We have walls, floors, baseboard heat and lights… it’s looking like an office!

We are still in the midst of adding details to make the office shed feel really comfortable, but here are some of the things we’ve done so far to make it workable. We added two matching desks from IKEA.  We already had one desk so we added another and put them right beside each other to allow us to make the best use of our space. This also allows us to enjoy the sunshine that comes through our screen door. Come summer we will have to think through ways to keep our space cool (an HVAC unit was not in the budget at this time), but having a screen door should allow for some nice breezes. Speaking of temperature, we added two baseboard heating systems. These run off electricity and keep the space super warm. We keep them on all day to make sure the space is super comfortable as soon as we arrive every morning.

Screen door added for extra sunlight and a warm summer breeze.

We also added LED can lights that have various colors of brightness. Sometimes LED lighting can be too white, almost like fluorescent lights, so we like that we can adjust the softness of these lights to make sure the lighting is just right.  We also added a place to put our shoes, hang our coats and wipe our feet so that we don’t trek mud, dirt and moisture into the space. We are in the midst of hanging whiteboards and bulletin boards and hope to add some art to the space to punch up the color.

Cost and evaluation of our shed renovation

Desks and computers are in and the space has been fully functional for about a month.

All in we spent nearly $9,000 to renovate, rewire, insulate and furnish our shed office. It’s way more then we had hoped to spend, our original budget was $6,000, but totally worth it. The space has been a huge boost to our productivity and has allowed us a space to escape for work.  Oftentimes, when you work from home it’s hard to separate work and home life.  Having this separate space has really allowed us to leave our work in the office shed at the end of the day to come back down to our house and enjoy our lives with our little family.

How to Submit User Stories

1: Include “My Fresh Home Project” in the subject line. Then, in the body of the email, please provide an explanation of why you chose to do the project, an outline of steps you took to get it done, and any advice for readers considering similar projects. Make sure to include your name and any before/after images you have! 

2: Email your story to team@mail.freshome.com. (note: link)

And that’s it! Easy, right? If selected, your story will be shared as an article on Freshome!

The post How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story appeared first on Freshome.com.

from https://freshome.com/how-i-created-my-own-she-shed/ via How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story

[owensrhodes]

How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story

Did you update your bathroom? Revamp your kitchen? Install new flooring? We would love to share your project, big or small! Send us what you did and our editorial team will consider it for our “My Fresh Home” series, which will be published every Thursday. Check out our submission instructions at the bottom of the page.

Today we want to share a story from TPG reader Krissy, who built her own she-shed in her backyard:

The over-sized shed in our backyard that was made over into a home office.

My husband would likely die if he read that headline, especially because he is using our new she-shed too. We should really call it a “We-shed.” This is the story of how we turned our over-sized shed into an amazing work space for two!

Why do we need a she-shed?

This project all came about when we found out we were expecting our third child.  While absolutely thrilled with this news, it meant that our 4 bedroom home no longer included a home office. During my maternity leave, my husband took a new job and his commute changed from taking the train into the city to sitting on our bed working from his computer. I also work from home and have been doing so for about two years. When maternity leave was up, and I needed to reclaim the bedroom as my office, we thought that this house might not work for us anymore. 

We considered a couple of options for our home office. This included everything from buying a new house-not in the budget, to renting an expensive office space, to converting our garage into an office. Then one day I said what about our shed?  When we bought our house two years ago, it came with a huge shed used by the previous owner as a woodworking space. We literally only used it to store a lawn mower and a canoe, so we thought this may be a viable option. The shed already had electricity, and we thought it would only need heat and a WiFi signal to be all set. If only it were that easy!

Manland in the fall.

Prior to this, my husband had initially claimed this shed and its land as his own and called it ‘Manland.’ Since the kids play area took over our basement, he had no man cave space to claim for himself. So he moved to the wood near our shed and built a fire pit area. He strung some lights, added some Adirondack chairs and made a really cozy little campground dubbed “Manland.” This space stayed Manland for about 2 months and now has been turned into our We-Shed…with a cozy fire pit for s’mores breaks.

Laying the plans to build a she-shed

The minimal interior of the shed allowed us to determine its viability as an office pretty easily.

Deciding to convert our shed into a home office was the easy part; figuring out IF we could convert it took a lot more work.  Living in the Northeast, our weather conditions played a big role on the development of our shed. If you live in San Diego or any other comfortable 74 degree location, you may be able to skip the insulation and heating/cooling portion of this process. Here in Pittsburgh, PA, we knew insulation and heat was a must. 

Creating a comfortable space

We added insulation to the walls, ceiling and beneath the floor boards to keep the external elements outside.

To determine if the shed could be a warm and comfortable space in the dead of winter, we hired a contractor to come out and check out our space. It was easy to figure out what we needed to do because the space was just framing, no drywall or really anything but the bare bones of a structure. The contractor recommended that we add insulation to the walls and ceiling to protect from the exterior elements. He also ripped up the plywood floorboards and added a water barrier to protect the floors from the bare ground below. This would ensure warmth but also serve as a moisture barrier. On top of the barrier he laid more insulation before adding new floor boards.

It’s starting to come together. The shiplap paneling is getting installed.

Because a shed is more exposed to the elements, we opted for wood paneling walls vs. sheets of drywall. This would also help to protect against moisture. Now I’m sure when you think wood paneling you are thinking your grandfather’s 1970’s television den, but paneling has come a long way people! Perhaps you have been living under a rock and aren’t familiar with the term “shiplap,” but thanks to the influence of Joanna Gaines we fell in love with the white shiplap look. So that is exactly what we selected.  (PS taking three kids to Home Depot to pick out your She-Shed materials isn’t exactly an enjoyable way to spend a morning.)

Three kids in Home Depot, not a relaxing way to spend a Saturday.

At Home Depot we also selected our floor covering. Now if you thought paneling was dated, wait for this term… VINYL. I promise, this was a great option for our space and like wood paneling it’s evolved a lot since that 1980’s kitchen look we all remember. The vinyl comes on a big roll 12 ft wide and cut to whatever length you need.  Our space is an 11 foot box, so this meant we wouldn’t have any seems in our floor, another way to protect from moisture. It was also super affordable.

Vinyl has come a long way since my childhood 1980’s kitchen.

Power, internet and flipping the switch

We really thought that insulating and making the shed feel comfortable would be the extent of our work. When our contractor came out to inspect what we were working with, however, we learned that we needed to add some additional elements. I mentioned earlier that there was electricity to the shed, but the voltage was too low to power all of our office equipment and we needed to beef up our panel with the necessary voltage.  Unfortunately, the conduit that ran the power from our house to the shed was too small to hold the additional wire. This meant we needed to retrench our yard.

Thanks to the new wiring run up to the shed, we have a TV that we can use indoors as well as outdoors.

We had our friend who runs a landscaping business rent out the necessary equipment to dig an 18 inch deep trench in our yard the 120 feet from our house to the shed.  Luckily we knew that we had a fairly large gas line buried in our back yard so we made sure to reach out through 411 to have the team come out and mark where the line was.  To be sure we didn’t cut this line, we hand dug the trench in this area. After we dug the trench we were able to run a new conduit to the shed with the appropriate power needed as well as the lines needed to have ethernet, cable and phone service in the shed. My husband was thrilled with this addition because it mean he could have a television in Manland.  Football and firepits all fall long!

The additional power capacity was an added expense and something that we didn’t really anticipate, but was necessary to make the space function for our needs. The trench and electrician work nearly doubled our initial budget. This did not make me happy at the time, but I can now say I’m so happy we did it the right way.

All the little details

We have walls, floors, baseboard heat and lights… it’s looking like an office!

We are still in the midst of adding details to make the office shed feel really comfortable, but here are some of the things we’ve done so far to make it workable. We added two matching desks from IKEA.  We already had one desk so we added another and put them right beside each other to allow us to make the best use of our space. This also allows us to enjoy the sunshine that comes through our screen door. Come summer we will have to think through ways to keep our space cool (an HVAC unit was not in the budget at this time), but having a screen door should allow for some nice breezes. Speaking of temperature, we added two baseboard heating systems. These run off electricity and keep the space super warm. We keep them on all day to make sure the space is super comfortable as soon as we arrive every morning.

Screen door added for extra sunlight and a warm summer breeze.

We also added LED can lights that have various colors of brightness. Sometimes LED lighting can be too white, almost like fluorescent lights, so we like that we can adjust the softness of these lights to make sure the lighting is just right.  We also added a place to put our shoes, hang our coats and wipe our feet so that we don’t trek mud, dirt and moisture into the space. We are in the midst of hanging whiteboards and bulletin boards and hope to add some art to the space to punch up the color.

Cost and evaluation of our shed renovation

Desks and computers are in and the space has been fully functional for about a month.

All in we spent nearly $9,000 to renovate, rewire, insulate and furnish our shed office. It’s way more then we had hoped to spend, our original budget was $6,000, but totally worth it. The space has been a huge boost to our productivity and has allowed us a space to escape for work.  Oftentimes, when you work from home it’s hard to separate work and home life.  Having this separate space has really allowed us to leave our work in the office shed at the end of the day to come back down to our house and enjoy our lives with our little family.

How to Submit User Stories

1: Include “My Fresh Home Project” in the subject line. Then, in the body of the email, please provide an explanation of why you chose to do the project, an outline of steps you took to get it done, and any advice for readers considering similar projects. Make sure to include your name and any before/after images you have! 

2: Email your story to team@mail.freshome.com. (note: link)

And that’s it! Easy, right? If selected, your story will be shared as an article on Freshome!

The post How I Created My Own She-Shed – Reader Story appeared first on Freshome.com.

[wildflower8281]

Getting Spicy - Saying No

Why the fuck do people think it’s ok to say yes to every freaking thing that comes their way, that is asked of them, that they’re invited to? I mean, it is ok if you enjoy living your life exhausted, sick and not spending most of your time actually doing the things that you love.

I’m inspired to write this post because recently I’ve had many a friend share with me their need to begin saying no to things – be that work decisions, personal life, etc. They have said yes over and over again and are finding themselves in an exhausting and uninspiring place. And they want out. And they are intuiting that saying no is the magic sauce to their escape plan. And it is.

I feel that in my life, I’m one of the rare people who is very ok, delighted even, with saying no and saying it often. Or just generally, knowing what not to take on and how to create a life with abundant free time and very little commitments that I don’t really enjoy. Why am I like that? How did I get this way?

I’ve figured it out.

One hashtag: #nunlife

I realized that my freedom and ease with which I can say no now is because for close to 8 years, I freely gave up ownership of my time. Time was no longer mine and I simply spent it however “God ordained” my day to be spent: prayer, study, cooking, teaching, cleaning, driving, etc. It just was not mine to spend. In some ways, that made certain things easier – I didn’t have to think and choose how I would spend my time or with whom. I simply followed the schedule and did as my superiors asked me to do. Period. So, from age 22 to age 30, I said yes to everything, always. Because if I didn’t, I would not be “doing God’s will” for me. It was that clear and simple. (#brainwashed much?)

Now, my thoughts on religious life as a whole are for an entirely different post (would you like to know them?...Actually, there are a bunch of posts about it on my blog already, but I can write more!)…but to stick to this topic -  what happened to me personally after 8 years of only saying yes? I found myself miserable, in my (shared) room crying daily, not eating or wanting to be with my community of sisters or be with people anymore or ever again. I was utterly broken, exhausted and burnt out on every single level, especially mentally and emotionally. All my circuits for bearing the things of life were broken. I never smiled. It was the lowest I’d ever been – dark and lost. Granted, my case is somewhat unique, but I wouldn’t say all that rare, honestly! (Any former SSVM can attest to the lifestyle!)

Clearly, I should have seen the signs sooner.....

and decided to leave sooner, but I was in denial and it wasn’t until I literally could not anymore, that I spoke up and said my time here is done. I’m going home. Just speaking that out loud opened something in my being, and it began to give me my Light and power back.

Fast forward a few weeks and months (Fall 2011,) and find Kelly in awe at what a ‘weekend’ feels like!!!! Two full fucking days to do whatever the fuck I want! (I didn’t say fuck back then though 😉) And that is still how I feel about free time! In the convent, we did not have free time to do whatever we wanted, rarely ever, honestly. We did not have weekends. Both Saturdays and Sundays were often filled with works of service...

 teaching, being in Church, etc. Even “Free Time” was structured and often we used it to catch up on tasks (because we were overworked and over-scheduled, like most of America) like doing the dishes, setting the table, laundry, studying or prepping classes, showering (yes, there are certain times allotted for showering) or calling home. Free Time was RARELY really free and there was always a set end time. So, for those of us who need solitude, who need to write or draw, walk or read alone, we would scrape together 15 minutes sometimes to be alone to do that thing that restored us…we would find a corner in the convent our just huddle on our bunk bed and revel in the few small moments we had to reconnect with ourselves, to give ourselves that precious time that our souls needed to remember who we are and what we love to do.

Then the bell rings. (Sound shady?!)

And it’s all over and we go back to the scurrying about of tasks, of serving, of prayer time and structured life until next Sunday afternoon, maybe.

So, needless to say, I guard my free time like a wolf guards her young…pretty fucking fiercely. And people have given me shit about it or they just don’t understand how I can be so sweet, and also so easily say no. And it’s really only because it’s been in my free time that I have been able to re-discover myself post-convent. I was Sr. Lumen for 8 years. The identity I formed of myself during my formative years was as ‘Nun-Religious-Servant of Christ.’ Welp, I had walked away from that and found myself in an interesting point at age 30 – Who the hell am I out here? Who is KellySue? What is she like? What does she like & do? Only in my free time was I able to reach inside and find KellySue again. It’s in my free time when I found art, when I began to paint and write, and read regular books that opened my mind. It was in my free time that I began exploring yoga, getting to know my body for the first time. It’s been in my free time that I’ve been able to wander in nature for hours, to hike and be moved by creation. It’s been during my free time that I’ve been able to make dates with friends who light me up, to hang out with whoever I please, to laugh and not have a schedule or a bell hanging over my head, ready to end it all. My free time has given me space to find me, be me and grow me. It has given me space to find ease, happiness and fullness of Life. Aside from a magical web of insane Love from family and friends, Free Time has been the biggest Gift I’ve ever received upon returning home from the convent. In more hip lingo: I’m Free Time’s bitch.

I think it’s only when something has been taken away from you and then returned, that you can appreciate it at the highest level. You all – Readers - have always had time. It’s always been yours to spend however you wanted.  Maybe you’ve made shitty choices and not spent it well or not formed the best habits with your free time. Maybe you’ve chosen to be a parent and freely chosen to give your free time to your creation. Those of us who chose religious life (or any type of lifestyle that is structured for us) freely gave up creating our own lives for a time, and freely gave up ownership of time. For a huge chunk of my formative young life, time was just not mine to spend. And I’m very ok with that and actually grateful that I spend most of my 20s not putting myself first, but rather in service to others, helping, being with children, immigrants, the elderly and the sick, getting to travel, living with dozens of sisters from all over the world, spending time in prayer. I really am grateful and ok about it. Obviously, there were pros and cons to the whole gig. It’s just that my being really suffered from having no say in my life and specifically she suffered from not being able to do the things that light her up, and so ironically, I lost my light (my religious name Lumen means Light.) And I think, sadly, many people today lose their light (aka: their truest self) by not learning the grace and wisdom of saying no.

I hold it so tightly – the freedom to say no – because I lived through the misery and darkness that comes with finding yourself huddled inside a life that is none of your choosing, that is nothing that you love and all that is heavy and burdensome to you. I found myself there and never, ever want to find myself there again. And the way I make sure of that is by saying no to all the things that I need to. And if you want to give me shit about it, that’s cool. I say no to:

Ø  People that drain my energy – I just don’t engage much and I definitely do not hang out with them. I’ve learned to gauge this very quickly and make a hard line about it. What helps me is remembering the feeling I get when I am with someone who drains me, who complains, who just has negative energy or is all about themselves all the time. Those feeling-memories help me to be like – Nope, don’t want to be in this presence any longer than I have to. Don’t even want to engage, unless I have to. Period. Moving on. Nothing personal, just my time is worth everything to me, so I don’t waste it if I don’t have to.

Ø  Social gatherings – either for work or play – where there will be a lot of people, most of whom I don’t know. This is just me – I’m usually uncomfortable and anxious at parties and bar mixer type things, so I just don’t go. Unless it’s mine of course! 😉 In the convent, we had to socialize all the time, with everyone. Surprisingly, aside from a few hours of prayer, a lot of our time as missionaries was out with the people, socializing, working side by side. People expect young, happy nuns to be chipper and friendly. Try 8 years of that as an INFJ Introvert. Yep, over that shit, thanks. I’m giddy to spend a Friday nite at home, on my couch with my Spanish Netflix, thanks.  

Ø  Extra work responsibilities that are not mine and that will take away from my normal responsibilities. I just say no. Sure, I’ll take on smaller extra things that I know I can handle or even temporary situations, but I don’t say yes to big extra projects or basically things that aren’t mine. Hire a new staffer or give it to someone more appropriate. I love us, what we do and I cannot do my job well and keep up the magical, amazing quality of timely work that I do if you want me to take on random X, Y and Z also. I know my limits and have boundaries even within my work and I’m not afraid to make them known. I guard my work like I guard my time. Fiercely. I don’t do half-assed shit. I’m a Virgo and analytical as hell. I give you the most detailed, edited, reports and work. You put more on my plate and that all goes to hell and I become a bitch because I’ve let you take away what I need to work my magic. And then I leave. So, it’s in everybody’s best interest to not to that. I LOVE, LOVE what I do, who I do it for and why I do it. I’d love to keep it that way 😊 So I say no. (Thankfully, I have superiors who generally get me and understand and don’t fire me when I say no. At least not yet!)

Ø  Putting in lots of extra work hours. I work 8:40-5ish and I walk out that door. Even if my inbox still has 45 new emails. I leave it there. I’m pretty fucking great at prioritizing and getting shit done that I need to in a day, and in a week. I trust myself that I will get done what needs to get done in a week. I will not find joy in staying another 2 hours to respond to those emails. I leave work when I should, hop on my bike and fly home happy to enjoy the next few hours however I please!

These are just some main examples that are in the forefront, that I make a hard line about because, as cliché as it sounds, I’ve learned the hard way. Again, when you’ve lost something and then found it again, you treasure it all the more. And when you’ve learned a lesson by real life experience, you really learn it.

So, I’m happy to be the Guru of Saying No and I’m happy to encourage you to do so. I truly believe that if we all let go of the old fucking paradigms of being the martyr, keeping others happy by saying yes and saying yes to tons of shit we dred doing, that we’d be a much happier and much healthier people. Plus, none of us would take it personally, because we’d all realize that we’re just trying to live a life we love and enjoy. And who doesn’t want that?!

What do you say yes to that you dred?

Who are you afraid to say no to? Why?

Have you ever said no and then felt a burst of freedom and lightness? How can you do more of that?

(All of this to say that I know that Life sometimes brings you responsibilities that you simply cannot turn away…family stuff, health stuff, friend stuff…Be a faithful friend, be a faithful daughter or son, and take care of your body. That stuff is no joke and there is a lot of soul medicine right there too, in those situations that you simply cannot turn away from. The Universe has your back and knows.)

[icehot13]

ch 1!!! new fic!!!!

i’m still writing this but i just!!! i’m so excited!!! i don’t want to wait to post!!! i have no impulse control ok

ch 1!!!! vampire academy AU!!!! (technically a Vampire Knight AU, sort of, a little bit. i watched episode 1 and took off, ok)

               Flurries of snow whipped around the tiny figure in the woods, the sky dark despite being filled with snow. The lost toddler wound a stumbling path through the snow drifts, as fast as he could manage, scrabbling on his hands and knees when the snow became too deep.

               “Mama!” he sobbed, trying to get away from the thing and go to his mother, but they were in the same place and he didn’t know where to go anymore.

               It found him. Easily, swiftly, it found him.

--

--

               Tyler’s normal state of existence was tired. He’d become an expert at sleeping in class – a few sentences into the lecture, and he could be slumped over at his desk, head down, so deeply asleep it took a particularly hard kick in the ankle from whoever was sitting next to him to wake him up. Usually, anyways. Today, he woke up well after the kick from Ty, instead waking to the sound of his history teacher mid-shout, going on about how “if we all slept through life like Mr. Seguin, we wouldn’t have history class, because there wouldn’t be any history! Nothing would happen!”

               “Wouldn’t that be more peaceful?” Tyler asked groggily, because really, it kind of would be?

               “But at the price of zero innovation,” Mr. Hammond cried, like this would be the actual end of all humanity, “because people stayed awake at the appropriate times, they created art, invented technology, wrote plays, and, unlike Mr. Seguin, didn’t have detention.” Tyler sighed, knew what this meant. Just in case he missed it, Mr. Hammond added, just as the bell rang, “detention, Tyler. I know the disciplinary committee is taxing, but it really is important that you’re awake for your classes.”

               “I know, I know,” Tyler sighed as he scooted his chair back, waited for a few more students to file past him before heading out of the room, Ty just behind him. He looked over his shoulder at Ty as he reached the hallway, grinned at him. “How about you go punch someone in the face so you can have detention with me?”

               “Tempting,” Ty said, and Tyler knew he was teasing even if his ice-blue eyes didn’t show it. Ty was like that, hard to read. He’d been Tyler’s best friend since – well, almost as long as Tyler could remember, even if that was missing a few years.

               Tyler had been around Cross Academy since he was four. Before that, he didn’t know. He didn’t even know who would know, because as far as everyone now in his life was concerned, that was the moment he began existing. To them, he was a little boy who was rescued from a vampire who most likely killed his mother, and was delivered, newly-orphaned, to Kaien Cross by another vampire. Tyler remembered very little of it all, and from what he’d heard, that was probably a good thing. He’d have liekd to remember his mother as more than screams and blood and snow, but was glad he couldn’t remember more of that particular night than that.

               He remembered Kaien taking him in; he remembered laughing, of all things. The vampire told Kaien about the murder and their voices were dark and quiet, and Tyler was hiccupping little sobs quietly, and then the vampire got to the part about thinking maybe Tyler should stay with Kaien for now – and then Kaien all-but squealed “I have a baby now?! Hello, baby!” in the happiest voice Tyler had ever heard, and on the darkest night in Tyler’s life so far, he was giggling.

               It took some time to exhaust their resources in attempts to find Tyler’s family, and by then, Tyler was already completely attached to Kaien, who carried him everywhere indulgently and brought him to work every day. Before long, Tyler was there to stay, playing in Kaien’s headmaster’s office at Cross Academy and calling Kaien daddy, knowing full well he wasn’t technically, but deciding it would guarantee that Tyler would get to stay. The decision was already made at that point, but Tyler wanted to be sure, even though Kaien had already talked to him about staying.

               Because of this, Tyler knew about Cross Academy’s unique quality long before even starting school there. It was also why he was the sole member of the disciplinary committee – because he was the sole student who knew the difference between the Day Class and the Night Class, what the Night Class students were.

               Vampires.

               --

               Jordie always figured he’d end up at a boarding school. He wasn’t surprised to be here, and, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn’t surprised that his transition into the school started with a visit with the school counsellor. Therapists were old news by now.

               “So, tell me about yourself,” the therapist – Yvonne, just Yvonne! Mrs. Andrezejewski was so hard to say, she sure missed her maiden last name, Wu, a fifth as many letters! – said. Jordie sighed.

               “Um, I’m new here,” he started, trailing off as he remembered that she obviously knew that. “And… I’m here on scholarship. For, uh. Grades, and stuff.” She probably knew that too. He scuffed at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker, dropped his gaze. “I’m, like. A foster kid, I guess.” He was something, anyways. He’d been living with his grandparents when – well, he lived with them until they passed away, and then there was no one left. He’d passed through a few families in the past two years and this seemed like the resting place, a boarding school that would keep him until he was old enough to just plain be on his own.

               “Yes,” Yvonne said, nodding. He was basically reading his file aloud, he figured. “We’re very happy to have you here, you know. It’s a lovely school, the students all become very close, and the teachers know everyone in their classes because they’re so small. That’s why I talk to all of our new students, because we really would like to get to know you as a person!” Jordie nodded mutely. He didn’t need anyone doing that, didn’t want it even as he sort of – did? Mostly, he felt guilty keeping things from people, because if they knew him, they wouldn’t hang around.

               “That’s cool,” he said, when it seemed like she was waiting for a response.

               “Now, we really want to do everything we can to help you feel involved, because that’ll really make a difference in your life here,” Yvonne continued, “we’d encourage you to pick an activity to join, starting on your first day, to really immerse yourself in student life. It feels like home when you’re involved!” She produced a list from his folder. Typed, like it was standard, but with a few things circled by hand and a note at the end written in pen. “Why don’t you take a look and see if anything jumps out?”

               The list wasn’t terribly interesting; team sports, choir, art, band, book club, chess club, foreign language groups, debate team, volunteering, mock trial, theatre, yearbook, school newspaper. If forced, he’d probably go for like, the newspaper. He didn’t like writing, but at least it didn’t involve talking. At the end of the page, someone had written disciplinary committee. They’d circled that, plus hockey, baseball, volunteering, and the newspaper.

               “What’re the circles?” he asked, and Yvonne beamed.

“The headmaster, Mr. Cross, just wanted to give you a few suggestions! Your school file says you played those sports before, the volunteering club is a very large club so there’s lots of people to meet, and the newspaper has a lot of opportunities to come up with your own ideas, so it’s very welcoming to newcomers.”

“And the committee?” Jordie held out the page, pointed to the bottom.

“Oh! Well, that’s the committee that supervises the change between our Day Class and Night Class, and keeps an eye on things just before and afterwards. The headmaster’s son Tyler is on that committee – well, he’s the entirety of it – and he’s a very nice boy, so I suppose that’s why he suggested it.”

“Okay,” Jordie scanned the list again. “And I… pick something now?”

“You can change your mind later if it’s not a good fit, or add on other activities too!” Yvonne said, “you could choose yearbook now, and then meet some classmates in the photography club tomorrow, and decide to join that too, or instead! We just like you to pick one to get the ball rolling on school involvement.”

“Okay…” Jordie knew he didn’t want sports. Not that he wasn’t good at it, or anything, he just didn’t do the whole team thing. Volunteering sounded overwhelming, if there were a lot of students. Newspaper was alright, even though he dreaded writing anything. The committee sounded iffy, he wasn’t great at one-on-one stuff.

He startled when someone knocked on the office door, looked up as Yvonne chirped “come on in!” It was the headmaster, who Jordie had met briefly already, followed by a boy with beautiful cheekbones and bright eyes. He smiled shyly at Jordie from behind the headmaster, and Jordie actually felt himself smile back automatically.

“Hello!” Mr. Cross sounded absolutely thrilled to see Jordie, “I see Yvonne has shown you all the activities we have here! Have you chosen something yet?”

“Um, not yet,” Jordie glanced back at the boy again, couldn’t help himself. He looked sweet, something about his pinked cheeks and soft brown eyes.

“Well, let me give you an idea! This is Tyler, my son,” Mr. Cross beckoned the boy forward, hugged an arm around his shoulders, “he heads up the disciplinary committee!”

“Oh, I, um. I heard about that,” Jordie said.

“You could do that with me,” Tyler said, sounded eager, “it’d be fun to have someone to do it with! I’m all by myself right now, so it’d be cool.”

“Okay, um. That one, then,” Jordie decided, and sure, he was being won over by a cute boy and for no other reason, but he couldn’t help it. There was a moment where he felt happy, just now, and he wanted to chase it. Things had always felt pretty muted; the way Tyler looked right at him and smiled brilliantly, Jordie felt kind of warmed up by it, and it was nice.

--

“So how come your dad wants you to hang out with this guy?” Ty asked, as Tyler collected up his papers from the library table. They’d been studying, kind of. Tyler had been doing more despairing over his English essay than writing it.

“He thinks we could like, bond over being orphans?” Tyler shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders. He paused for a moment, just looking at Ty waiting for him; he just, he liked seeing Ty there, waiting for him. “I don’t really know why, though, because I was so little when all that stuff happened, and I think this guy was older when it happened to him.”

“Hmm,” Ty started towards the door, but then added, “well, even if you don’t remember, it’ll still be good for him. You’re good at making people feel safe with you.”

“Yeah?” Tyler was nearly breathless, couldn’t help it. Compliments from Ty felt nice, and Tyler didn’t even know this – people felt safe with him? It was a nice thought, especially coming from Ty.

“You should hurry though, it’s almost six thirty,” Ty said, and Tyler made a face at his own lateness. Six-thirty was when the Night Class went to classes. The school was organized in four sections, the two sets of dorms, the classrooms, and the rest of the school buildings, all separated from the others by walls. The Day Class had to be in their dormitory section by seven, and in theory, weren’t supposed to be there when the Night Class went from their dorms to the classrooms.

Just like every other night, the students weren’t listening to that. Tyler reached the gates right at six thirty, where a group of mostly girls were clustered, waiting. He spotted Jordie, lingering off to the side of the gaggle, and headed over.

“Hey!” Tyler said, grinned at him. “It’ll be so cool not to do all this by myself for once!”

“What do you do?” Jordie asked, understandably confused. The committee was Tyler’s dad’s idea – it was to protect the Day Class, but framed as a committee for making the transition organized and efficient.

               “Um, well. Mostly keep people from throwing themselves at the Night Class,” Tyler shrugged, and beckoned Jordie up to the ornate iron gate. “C’mon, everyone!” Tyler called, waving them back, mostly uselessly, “back up, you gotta go back to the dorms.”

               Jordie wasn’t really much help, honestly; he hung back, unsure, but Tyler didn’t mind. When the gate opened and the Night Class students came into the forest clearing between the buildings, several girls shrieked the names of the most attractive ones. That was the real problem: vampires were beautiful. It hadn’t escaped the Day Class’s notice.

               The transition went relatively quickly; Tyler had to hustle along a few Night guys who lingered too long among their adoring fans, but by six forty five, the classes building’s gate was shut, and the noise had quieted down.

               “So now what?” Jordie asked, wandering after Tyler.

               “We just walk around for a bit, make sure no one’s outside the dorms or classes,” Tyler said, and Jordie nodded along. “So,” Tyler ventured, after a few more minutes of walking beside the high walls of the classrooms building, “how do you like it so far?”

               “Um, it’s nice,” Jordie shrugged a shoulder. He seemed pretty quiet, and maybe sad, too. There was something about the way he looked at Tyler, like Jordie was a little scared of him. Probably not because Tyler was scary; Tyler actually thought he might know why. Maybe his dad was right about this orphan connection after all, because Tyler thought maybe he’s just scared cos he knows people can go away, and he thought he might actually be right.

               “It’s a cool place,” Tyler agreed. He led Jordie further, towards the Night dorms. He didn’t really need to patrol this way, but it was nice out even in the dark, the wind still warm. “I’ve been here since I was like, four.”

               “Is that when your Dad started working here?”

               “No, he’s been here a lot longer than that,” Tyler said, “that’s just when he like, adopted me, I guess. Someone found me after my mom was killed, and gave me to him.”

               “Wow,” Jordie blinked at him; his eyes were amber, like liquid honey. “That’s lucky. I mean, also not lucky, but…” he trailed off, looked away again like he was embarrassed it sounded like he was saying Tyler’s orphaning was a stroke of luck.

               “It was,” Tyler said, “and yeah, the other part wasn’t. I don’t remember a lot of it.” Maybe if he talked about himself really candidly, Jordie would feel safe with him? It was Tyler’s instinct, to open up to people freely; maybe that was why people felt safe with him, like Ty had said. It was such an interesting thought, made Tyler glow with pride. He liked feeling safe; he wanted other people to feel that way, too. “I know I was there when she died, but I don’t remember her much. Which sucks, I guess, I wish I remembered something about her that wasn’t her dying, but, well. Maybe it’d be harder if I did remember her, so I’m not meant to.”

               “You think your fate was to be an orphan?” Jordie asked; it was a weird question, honestly, not entirely relevant. Maybe it was something he thought about a lot, and as darkness fell around them, wasn’t so hard to ask.

               “Not really,” Tyler said thoughtfully. They’d reached the tree line, and Tyler led them through the trees in the direction of the Day Class dorms. “I think that part was an accident. I don’t think bad things are fate. I think they just happen, and your fate is what happens next because of it? I dunno if that makes sense, but I like thinking that it didn’t have to happen? Like, I wasn’t born doomed, a bad thing just happened.”

               “Huh,” Jordie murmured. He followed Tyler in silence for a while, as they circled the Day dorms, shooed a couple people back inside the gates, turned towards the rest of the school buildings. Jordie was quiet for a long time, and Tyler let him be. It was as they were cutting through the forest when Jordie spoke again. “I always thought that what happened – what I did, it was inevitable, but – I like your way of thinking about it better.”

               Tyler wanted to ask what he meant by that, what happened, but managed to hold back. “Sometimes bad stuff just happens,” he said instead, “and fate just rolls with it.”

[zjarondinelli]

“7 Covers in 7 Days”: A Reflection

Yesterday, I concluded the “7 Covers in 7 Days” challenge that has been circulating around Twitter. I was nominated for this by Narda Robbins, a very dear friend and mentor from East Elgin Secondary School in Aylmer, ON. The challenge, in a nutshell, is to post 7 covers of books that you love without giving any explanations or reasoning beyond a simple image of the cover. I followed the rules exactly as prescribed during the challenge... but now, since it’s over, I figure I can bend them a little! So today, I’ve decided to write a reflection about my experience during this challenge!

When Narda originally nominated me, and I decided to embark on this challenge, I began by making a list of books that I thought had impacted me in some way throughout my life. This list quickly became far too long, which made me realize just how important books have meant to me in my life. [Side Note: The materiality of printed books is something that I am still incredibly fond of, likely stemming from my voracious reading as a child. I wonder whether my sons, growing up as they will in this Digital Age, will have the same affinity for physicality and paper as I do?] 

Another difficulty that I found was balancing the inclusion of comic books with traditional prose novels. Obviously, since my primary research is in comic books and their potential as sponsors of literacy, I wanted to include the ones that’d had the greatest impact on me, but I also wanted to reflect the importance of all literature (multi or monomodal in design). 

Below, I will explain each of my choices and provide a reflection about why I felt they were important.

DAY ONE:

For the first day of the challenge, I selected Alan Moore and David Lloyd’s V for Vendetta (1988). I have often said in the past that this book is my favourite comic of all time... There is something about that iconic Guy Fawkes mask that inspires... Just look at how it has been subsumed by popular culture recently (Anonymous, etc.). However, recently, I don’t know that I could even claim it to be my favourite Alan Moore comics anymore (my original hesitancy towards Watchmen and it’s intense popularity has begun to wane some, and I am recognizing it for the genre-defining achievement that it is...). All of that said, V was the first comic that I had the privilege of teaching. 

During my LTO at West Elgin SS in West Lorne, ON, I purchased (myself) 30 copies of the graphic novel in order to teach it in my ENG 3U class. I was young, and so I can say with 100% confidence that while I will never teach it the way I taught it then, it was still monumental for me and an achievement that I am proud of. I have dedicated my educational journey towards the support of comics in the classroom and, while my love of comics began long ago, I believe that my passion for the power of the sponsorship of comics in literacy began with the experience I had teaching V for Vendetta with those students.

DAY TWO:

For the second day, I chose George Orwell’s Dystopian classic, Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949). I read this novel in my ENG4U class with a teacher (Ms. Colleen Quinn) who, in collaboration with my History/Sociology teacher (Mr. John Zeaman) influenced my decision to become a teacher. I remember being completely enamoured by this novel... the nuance and sense of discovery that I had every time I can up with a new idea or thought associated with the book. I remember it was the first time that I bought the book myself for the class instead of using a school copy... I wanted to highlight and write in the margins and leave an archive of my experiences and learning as I consumed the then 50+ year old story. I will forever remember the experience of reading and learning about Winston and Julia’s journey to reclaim themselves (or attempt, anyway), but more importantly, I will remember how this novel played a role in sparking my love of literature!

DAY THREE:

The third day saw me select The Art of Racing in the Rain (2008) by Garth Stein. 

This novel is one of the most inspirational that I have ever had the pleasure of reading and it is a book that I think about the lessons that I learned from the canine protagonist, Enzo, very frequently. It is also a book that I select to read to my classes on #ReadAloudFridays whenever I have the opportunity!

More personally, I remember during my wife's pregnancies (for both my boys), I would read this novel aloud to my wife’s belly. The novel has been incredibly important to us, and so, when our second little boy was born, we decided to name him after story’s protagonist, Enzo. Lorenzo (Enzo for short) came racing into the world in a 30-minute labour and so it just seemed appropriate!

DAY FOUR:

Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics (1993) has impacted my theoretical understanding of comics more than any other. While there is much that I have grown to recognize as outdated within this book, and have found new, contemporary ideas to influence my own theories, this book will always be the cornerstone of my theoretical perspective. As a comics scholar and theorist, I know that all of my thinking derives from McCloud and I owe him and this book a great debt for putting me on the path towards becoming the person that I am today.

DAY FIVE:

House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Z. Danielewski is the first piece of Ergodic Literature that I ever read. I remember that I began reading it the summer after high school and I quickly became infatuated by the way that the book embraced and explored the unique affordances of the printed book. 

Experimental literature has always been something of particular fascination for me and it most certainly began here. I highly recommend this book! While I certainly love this book, the main reason it is impactful for me is the way that it lead me to the prose novel that has had the single most impactful influence on me....

DAY SIX:

James Joyce’s Ulysses (1922) is the book that I am the most proud of saying I’ve read... and that I’ve read multiple times!

Joyce’s experiment in Modern Literature was a novel that fascinated me long before I actually read it. I tried a few times in my early University days, but never got anywhere with it. However, my semi-obsession with Joyce (the man) and the book led me to focus in on 20th Century British and Irish Literature during my time at Western. 

At the time, I had been taking English courses during my Music degree. Joyce, a well-known singer (and tenor, even) had an obsession with music the way I had an obsession with literature. I felt a connection with Joyce as the other side of his coin... Where he worked primarily in literature and loved music, I was the reverse.

When I got the opportunity to take a Joyce seminar course in my fourth-year (and study this alongside Dubliners and Finnegan’s Wake) I couldn’t resist... I dedicated myself to the course like never before and found so much within the book that I am still, to this day. grateful for. It was a tremendous experience!

DAY SEVEN:

Asterios Polyp (2009) by David Mazzucchelli was one of the earliest “graphic novels” that I remember reading. It’s no wonder then why I disliked it so much. As a young comics reader, I didn’t yet have the background, understanding or ability to recognize the power latent within it’s pages... It took me a second reading (only three months ago) to really understand why it is so tremendous a book.

Intrigued by a discussion that I had heard on the YouTube channel, Strip Panel Naked, I decided to embark on reading this large comic again. What I found inside was a brilliant exploration of what the comics medium can do when used most effectively. It is a tour-de-force that utilizes colour, space, gesture, pictorial, and other modalities in such a meaningful and integrated way... I recommend it highly. But, that said, it may not be a great “first step” towards loving comics!

IN THE END:

I had a difficult time selecting these seven books. As I mentioned previously, the original list was long... But, I believe that these seven reflect important moments in my life, and the way that literature has impacted me.

Through this exercise, I really thought about the ways that books have impacted me... They’ve led me to moments of pleasure, they’ve led me to be challenged, they’ve led me to be inspired, they’ve led me to be affected... This is barely the tip of the iceberg for me and I think, if I’m challenged again (fingers crossed!), I could have a totally different experience considering the way that other books have impacted me and my life.

I’m an English Teacher. I’m a Literacy Researcher. I’m a Comics Scholar. Books (with a little help from the people who made and shared them with me) got me to where I am today.

Thanks for reading!

[fairylaughing]

Klance Fluff Week Day 5: F.I.N.E.

Summary: It's been fifteen years since they started fighting Zarkon, three since they defeated him and returned to Earth, and just over 16 months since Lance's first break down.

Klance Fluff Week Day 5: Feelings

Okay, but like, how to do this prompt without angst? I gave up, there’s both angst and fluff, so it’s maybe more h/c? Deal with it.

Established Klance, about 15 years after series. Very minor season 2 spoilers, but if you haven’t seen it you probably won’t even know. depressed!Lance, head-canoning Keith as lactose-intolerant

Sorry I'm late by a day, today's and tomorrow's will both be posted tomorrow!

Trigger warning for depression/suicide attempts (non graphic/specific).

F.I.N.E.

Fifteen years. That isn’t that long in a person’s lifetime on the large scale of things, but for the members of Voltron it felt like a lifetime ago since they’d started fighting Zarkon. It had taken them twelve years to defeat him and return to Earth. The first two years on Earth had gone by in a blur of parades and diplomatic tours and weddings, but now that it had all settled down, Lance and Keith were trying to settling down together as a couple. Keith was managing it fine, surprisingly, but Lance wasn’t handling it quite as well.

Keith was an instructor back at Galaxy Garrison, preparing young cadets for their explorations into space. At first Lance had been working with international diplomacy agencies, since he was bar far one of the best recognized paladins of the team among visiting aliens (he’d probably attempted to Captain Kirk at least half of them), but lately he’d let the others do more of those appearances, and the aliens visiting Earth were less concerned with meeting the paladins of Voltron and more concerned with meeting the leaders of Earth.

That was alright by him. It was alright by Keith too. Lance was in no shape to deal with people day-in and day-out. He’d had a couple of melt-downs, and a scary spell where he wasn’t eating or sleeping and ended up fainting during a celebratory anniversary gala, and overall he was sick. Lance was sick not in body, but in mind. This was something they didn’t know how to fight, they hadn’t had time to deal with this sort of thing in space, so it built up, trauma layered upon trauma, but now it followed him everywhere. There was a black dog haunting the shadows wherever he went. It was so strange for someone as upbeat as Lance to have succumbed to this, but perhaps it was just because it was his fake-it-until-you-make-it attitude that had caused his psyche to crumble. They had all been through terrible things that no young person should have had to endure, but while Keith, Pidge and Hunk had weathered the storms, Lance had let the rain in until he was a sinking ship.

They were taken care of. They were heroes and so they were taken well care of financially, Keith and Lance had come together during their time as Voltron and they had remained so on Earth, purchasing a comfortable house for themselves with a large yard. Lance’s family had loved Keith right off the bat, and, although Keith’s dad was a little more reluctant to accept Keith’s sexuality, they had worked it out and he had come to really like Lance. In fact, Keith swore that his dad liked Lance better than he liked him.

Nowadays though? Nowadays all Lance felt like was a burden.

“I’m just getting groceries,” Keith said, pulling up their car in front of Lance’s counsellor’s office, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

“I’m fine,” Lance said stiffly.

“If you don’t like this one we can find you another.”

“No, it’s okay,” Lance sighed. This was his third counsellor this year. No one on Earth seemed equipped to deal with him, but perhaps that was because no one else on Earth had ever spent twelve years, twelve very formative years, in space fighting a rebellion against an evil emperor. “Just come get me when you’re done?”

“Of course,” Keith said, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Lance didn’t believe him. Lance knew he was just doing it out of obligation, because Keith had married him before, when he was like he used to be. No one wanted to deal with him now, driving him to and from appointments, harassing him to take his meds, making sure he didn’t self-medicate, asking him how he was feeling, and listening to his senseless rambling while his eyes streamed. The counsellor was paid to do that. Of course, Ella was good about acting like she didn’t. Sometimes Lance could pretend that she actually cared.

Ella was only perhaps a decade older than Lance, in her mid-forties, but she carried herself with such dignity that she seemed older, a wealth of wisdom in her body. Her office was filled with bits of art work and quotations she liked, a zen writing board, yarn projects that she was working on, and a mess of houseplants across her desk and one long ivy-like vine that wrapped all the way around the room, awkwardly pinned up so that in enveloped the otherwise institutional space. Lance flopped onto the couch, immediately reaching for the soft crochet blanket on the top so that he could bring it between his fingers and ground him into the space.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?” she asked.

Lance gave her a bitter grin, “Yup.”

“Let’s get started then. We’ll do some breathing, get you settled, and then we’ll try to figure out how you’re really feeling.”

___

‘Grumpy’ the large cardboard square read with the appropriate yellow emoji. ‘Happy’, ‘Hip’, ‘Hurried’. Lance flipped through the cards, so many emotions streaming through his mind that he couldn’t pick just one, he didn’t know, he couldn’t choose. Eventually he settled on ‘Overwhelmed’ because it was the closest. He held it to show Ella.

“What’s overwhelming you?” she asked gently.

“I-I don’t know. Just… just… all of it.”

“That’s okay, just let yourself be overwhelmed then.”

___

Lance was overwhelmed, and then Ella walked him through some exercises, forced him back into his body, grounding him, but not going as deeply as she usually did, as if she sensed that today he was especially bad. Lance was especially bad today.

Keith was already waiting outside her office and while Lance booked his next time with the receptionist Ella took Keith aside. She handed him something, a book?

The ride home was quietly domestic. What was for dinner tonight, tomorrow’s agenda, when were Pidge and Hunk coming over to visit again… this weekend?

Lance couldn’t take it, “What did Ella give you?”

“Oh, it’s a mood book. Y’know, like a desk calendar, but with emojis. She wants you to pick one every morning when you wake up and every night before you go to bed and write it down.”

“This is useless,” Lance spat out.

“It’s easy though, you just have to pick a mood.”

“I mean all this counselling crap is pointless, it’s just covering up the problem, I’m barely coasting along, I’m a burden.” Lance’s words began to pour out, along with his tears, “I’m a stupid, useless waste of time, of space. I’m a waste of fucking air and oh God, I’ve fucked up everything and everyone I’ve ever laid my hands on. I’m so sorry I put you through all of this Keith, you deserve so, so much better. You should just let me go, leave me here. Pull over now and put me on the side of the road, in the ditch with the rest of the garbage!”

“I want nothing more than to pull over,” Keith said, “And to wrap you up in my arms and hold you forever.”

“You don’t mean that,” Lance screeched, “You’re just saying that because you feel like that’s what you’re supposed to say. You don’t need to.”

“I mean every word,” Keith gritted out, catching Lance’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I can’t pull over just yet, we’re on the freeway.”

Keith took the first available exit and, in a move that would make the stunt drivers of The Fast and the Furious jealous, he pulled off to the side of the road in a spot too short for most vehicles without his quick manoeuvring skills.

Lance burst out of the car onto his hands and knees and began to dry heave from stress. This was not unusual for him; stress went straight to his stomach.

Eventually Lance finished and Keith, picking up the metal water bottle from the cupholder, exited the driver’s side and joined him at the side of the road. He opened the bottle and offered it to Lance who took a large sip, swished it, and then spat it out. Then he took a real drink of water and shut the bottle before returning it to Keith. All this time he wouldn’t make eye contact, staring at some unspecified place just past the ditch. It was a pile of dead weeds trimmed with old, dirty, snow. They hadn't had any fresh snow in weeks and that crap at the side of the road, although not melted, was ice hard and blackened with car exhaust and grime. There was nothing pure about that snow, just as there was nothing pure about Lance.

“I really do mean it,” Keith said, coming up behind Lance.

Keith didn’t touch him. Lance knew he would react with anger, and that Keith knew this so he held back, but he still wanted to be touched. Badly.

Lance shook with uncontrolled emotion.

“Listen,” Keith sighed, crouching down, “I’m not going to lie. This has been hard for me. It’s just one problem after another and I start to wonder how long we’ll be doing this for.” He paused, “But I don’t mind doing it because I love you and I made a promise to be there for you.”

Lance sniffed, “Yeah, back before I fell apart. I’m a wreck now and you can’t want me still.”

“I do,” Keith gently set a hand on his shoulder, tense, as if he expected to be refused, “You’re still you, you’re still the Lance I fell in love with.”

Lance knew he wasn’t though, not anymore.

“How are you feeling?” Keith asked.

“Worthless.”

“You have worth to me,” said Keith.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” Lance replied, bitterly, pausing to look Keith in the face.

“Oh Lance,” Keith sighed, and then kissed him gently, fully, on the mouth. When he drew back he said, “I love you.”

“Okay,” said Lance, not quite willing to accept the love but willing to accept that Keith was stupid enough to love him.

“Can we go home now so I can make you some dinner?” Keith suggested, “I got the ingredients for that creamy shrimp pasta Hunk served us.”

“Can you eat that?” Lance asked, “Cause I’m not sleeping next to you if you get the same thing that happened after Hunk’s dinner party again. That was toxic.”

Keith blushed, and then laughed, “I think I’ve worked out a dairy-free version that’ll hopefully be just as good.”

“Mm, okay,” Lance said, letting Keith lift him from his knees to standing up. He was momentarily dizzy, not that he said anything, but Keith seemed to notice, or perhaps he just wanted to hug him, and took Lance into his arms, resting his head on his shoulder.

Keith whispered into his ear, “I love you, I don’t care if you believe it or not, I know it’s true, so don’t you ever forget.”

“I won’t,” Lance said, “You won’t let me.”

[davidpires578]

My Journey As A Creative Designer - Woodworking and Beyond #1820: Evolving

We all work for certain goals in our lives. Be it personal or professional, there always seems to be something to strive for and give out lives purpose.  I began my own business many, many years ago. I was in my 20's then and looking for a way to earn some extra income for my young family while doing something that I enjoyed. I had always loved 'making things' and thought that would be somewhat of a utopia for me. Justifying doing something that I love and being paid for it as well. It would be the perfect answer.  Things didn't come easy. There were many times that I made decisions that cost more money than I earned. There were no clear-cut rules as to how to succeed. Only trial and error, which sometimes came at a great cost.  But eventually, I began to figure things out. One thing that I feel is the most important is the ability to be flexible. To change as things around us change. They do, you know. Whatever works for us one year or season comes with no set guarantee that it would be successful the next. That is because the world is also changing every single day. If I learned anything, it is that the quicker I allow myself to adapt to these changes, the more successful I will be. It keeps me on my toes and always in search of new ideas and products to offer our customers. It makes what I do exciting and fun and doesn't allow for me to become stagnant. To me, it is part of the joy.  With that said, I noticed that lately, our little business has taken on a somewhat different look. We are still offering scroll sawing and woodworking patterns (as a matter of fact, Keith has recently created some of his best designs to date!) but I have noticed that the painting and wood surface production portion has been taking up more and more of my own time.  It seems that my wood surfaces are catching on with decorative painters and I am just thrilled about that. It makes things rather fun.  This doesn't mean that I am not designing anymore. It only means that I am not able to focus solely on designing and need to allow myself time for production work. Since I really enjoy working in my shop, I think that is a good thing. It is nice that others appreciate the time and care I put into cutting the wood pieces I offer and I am happy to be able to do so. I remember back to when I began painting and finding good sources for wood was difficult. That was in part what introduced me to scroll sawing in the first place. So for most of my creative life, woodworking and painting have gone hand in hand. I am glad to see it continuing in that manner.  Not only does it allow me the chance to work directly with customers, but I have been able to get to know some of my favorite designers and meet new and upcoming designers in the craft industry. I like this personal contact with people and to me, it makes the end products so much more meaningful. It is a wonderful way to do business. I have really been enjoying myself lately.  I suppose the downside of that (if any) is that it will limit my own design time. But I think that as I settle into this new role in my company, I will be doing a bit better on that part. I have always been a believer of "quality over quantity" and I would rather put out fewer designs that are of a higher quality than more that are not. I believe that with a little dedication and some good time management, I will be able to make it work. In the meantime, Keith is always coming up with some of the nicest scroll saw designs on the market. I feel so fortunate to have such a talented partner. Without him, I am sure our business wouldn't be in the place it is. I am so grateful.  As always, I have several new ideas in the works. I have ideas in both the painting area and I am working on some new woodworking and scroll saw designs as well. I hope to be able to offer them soon and I will certainly keep blogging here when I have some new things to show you.  I mention this all because the frequency of my blogs may decline a bit while I get things settled into this role. For over six years now I had blogged nearly every day. But lately, I have found that it didn't seem appropriate to do so. If I spend a day working in the shop cutting out pieces, I don't feel that is of much interest to you, my readers. I used to show piles of wood pieces from time to time so you would all see what I was up to, but I feel that lately, one pile looks much like the next as far as blogging is concerned and I once again feel that I want my posts here to be "quality over quantity" and post only when I have something that I feel will truly interest you to talk about. I think you all will agree.  So things may be a bit spotty while I am settling in, but I hope when I do post, you all feel that the posts I offer are helpful and inspiring. I never want that to change.  I spent the last week doing lots in my shop. I had an unusually large amount of wood orders and instead of my usual one to two days per week up there, I spent probably five. The quantity of work that I accomplished was good though and it gave me a good sense of satisfaction. I was even able to get ahead a bit and cut some pieces to have in stock. That is pretty cool.  Keith was busy designing, as usual, and I have a couple of new things that will interest my scrolling readers. First off, he made this new plaque:

His SLDK706 Simplify Your Life plaque is a beautiful addition to Keith's word art plaques. I think it will be something that many of you will enjoy, as we all need to take some time to take a breath and enjoy just 'living.' Keith also created a great new offer for our customers:

This SPECIAL OFFER allows our customers to get all 20 of his Self-Framing, Leaf-Bordered wildlife patterns at half price. We hope that those of you who are looking to collect this handsome set of patterns will take advantage of it. It is a great opportunity to have the entire collection.  Today I am going to be writing a newsletter and we will be updating a few things on the site. I am also finishing up my new scroll saw pattern and I need to take the photos and finish writing out the pattern for it. I think it will be something that scrollers of any level can enjoy creating and will have lots of uses.  I appreciate you all who keep following us through our newsletters and my blog here. I realize that I have been spending a bit less time here and on social media than previously. However, as our business demands more of my time, I have had to adjust my schedule and do what is necessary to keep the business healthy and growing. I still enjoy hearing from you and seeing your projects. So many of you who began as customers or readers have become dear and valued friends.  I hope you keep coming back to read as well as commenting and sharing my posts. My goal of sharing creativity has not changed and if anything, has strengthened over these past years. Without you all, I wouldn't be able to achieve it. Thank you so much.  I wish you all a wonderful Monday! Have fun today and do something that makes your heart happy!