#i feel lonely and bleak and like theres too much going on at all times and also nothing at all

[bbael]

I want to explode into a tiny billion pieces lol

[behind-the-lyrics-with-bree]

Behind "don't wake me up (i like this dream)"

If you haven't listened to "don't wake me up (i like this dream) (feat. Saturday Solution)" yet... listen here!

Behind the Lyrics:

A brief summary as to what the song is about: essentially, I wrote this song while talking to a guy that barely acknowledged my existence (like a lot of my other songs). Being as delusional as I am, I figured "hey, if I just keep starting conversations over text and never talk to him in person he'd be sure to make a move in person, right?" wrong. I ended up at a point where I started thinking to myself "maybe if I acted and seemed more like the other girls he's talked to, then he'd make a move... right?" (turns out this as wrong as well... but that was a future me problem). So basically the version of me he knew was a lot more confident than the real me. Come to think if it now, I really don't think we knew much about each other at all.

Verse 1:

Speak now or forever hold your peace // I'm there with you wherever you are

whether or not he would admit anything to me or actually hold a decent conversation, I'd still be there waiting until one of us finally cracks.

it's bleak now but there's room for us to breathe // tonight just you and I under the stars

there may not be anything yet, but there's still plenty of time and room for us to kick this off. Either we're together or apart, we're still on our own under the same sky of stars.

trying to move but I'm not going // gotta find the perfect moment now that my hearts been stolen

The entire pre-chorus was actually recycled from an older demo i had written almost a year before this song became a thing. However, I felt like these lyrics were still applicable. Thank god I saved this pre-chorus from the big bank of Bree lyrics because this is one of my favourite set of lyrics i've ever written.

the first half of this line represents the feeling of being stuck in the same old loop hole. I've been through this same situation with other guys before, I know i should move past it, but my "what if" mindset has me stuck in the situation. I'm staying in the same shoes I've always filled, waiting on some perfect Hallmark moment to happen.

Moving on but I'm not healing // watching stars dance on the ceiling // heartache has lost its meaning

Yes, I managed to move on from the last time this happened, but deep down I knew I still had this unhealthy mindset associated with starting new relationships. But ignoring that, I'll keep laying here staring at my ceiling imagining everything that could be, therefore satisfying my lonely, aching heart. (dramatic, I know).

Chorus time !!

Unopened mail and old receipts crammed in the glove box next to me // my consciousness has lost its stream

Unopened mail is my fancy way of saying "I was left on delivered". Old receipts are all the times I've tried this (starting up a talking stage with someone who doesn't know shit about me) before. The glovebox in question is represented by numerous things; my other songs, texts, memories. I'm ignoring all the reasons this will not work.

There's nothing wrong with a white lie // so take my hand lets go tonight // don't wake me up i like this dream

A lyric dedicated to all the times I've heard that "theres nothing wrong with a little lie here and there". Take my hand, mr. delusional crush of the month, let's go kick something off. I'll just ignore everyone telling me it's unrealistic, it's a good dream, so don't wake me up.

Verse 2:

it's no fair this game of love we play // let's bend the rules // all truths and no dares

Why does it have to feel like I'm daring myself to text you? Why can't we just let the games go and jump into the deep end. Tell me who you really are and I will too.

You weren't there when I needed you // the truth is I don't have the time to spare

But yet, you don't respond when I want to talk to you most. When I heard that notification, it wasn't you... disappointing. In the theme of "truth or dare", I'll admit that I don't have time to spare. Just be honest, whether that's you telling me you wanna try this or telling me to get lost.

then we repeat from there.

NOW

The biggest thanks goes out to my amazing brother Liam and his incredible bandmates Alex and Noah, otherwise known as Saturday Solution. This song was entirely recorded and produced in my basement with their help. Saturday Solution has music on every platform PLEASE PLEASE check them out!!

This concludes our second edition of Behind the Lyrics w/ Bree!!

[merrysithmas]

you may have talked about this before but do you believe boris already knew he was queer and first approached theo bc he liked him or that he started crushing after they developed a close friendship and theo was what made him question his sexuality? i think theres reasons to believe either side- boris being bold enough to cuddle him in bed seems like he was making a move but him suddenly “loving” kotku seems like an impulsive move out of fear bc he realized he might like a boy. oof idk

I think Boris knew he was attracted to boys — which is evident by his playful, charming, almost teenaged-desperate pursuit of Theo. I think he probably inherently knew this about himself for a long time. I think Boris has always been physically attracted to boys since he’s entered puberty and since he’s still a young teen it is kind of a fun, funny, interesting, enlivening thing for him.

He’s never had a stable life and despite being all over the world he’s led an extremely sheltered existence in a certain way with only one terrible person as his constant (Vladimir). Boris lets it slip to Theo that everywhere the miners go they are hated — this includes Boris. Boris is hated by the public everywhere they go. So long as he is part of their unit, he is hated. That is mortifying to intelligent good-natured Boris. That is why he learns to slip out and around, to be so personable and friendly. His world travels have not been so glorious but probably rather extremely lonely and isolating (as with Judy in Canada), hurtful, and damaging. That is why Bami and Judy (and eventually, Theo) stand out to him so much — people who were kind to him in a childhood of isolated misery and directionlessness. Boris has no moral hang ups about his same-sex attraction - why should he? This directionlessness in his key developmental years is also a good thing: He never grew up around any sort of organized belief systems or stayed bound within an orthodox culture for too long for it to indoctrinate him as its own.

I think people really underestimate how incredibly remote and friendless Boris’ life must have been. Boris is a cheerful boy who Theo says is often plagued by black moods and sullen attitudes. He is an abused and secluded child dragged from location to location with literally no love or stability and constantly brutally beaten to the point where it does not even phase him. Boris actually equates love with that abuse — and nonchalantly claims his father loves him. That is painful to read, that amount of damage.

Living with a bunch of derelict miners whose leader was HIS FATHER (so surely then mostly assholes) and who are “hated everywhere they go” Boris has probably seen any NUMBER of things a conservative-minded person would (likely often erroneously) see as “morally unacceptable” — it’s like Boris is traveling the world with a crew of pirates. He’s probably seen drinking, all kinds of drugs commonly used in front of his face. He has esoteric knowledge about drug use that a child of his age should not — so he was taught by the miners: roll like this, dont include the stems, never mix this, tuck snuff like this, you can get this kind of drug here here and here, it isn’t safe if it doesn’t look like this. His young child’s mind eager to learn sucked up this black information from men who probably didn’t have a second thought to a child or what his developmental needs were. He’s probably first hand witnessed sex workers copulating with his father’s crew (how else would be have learned about the opportunity to lose his virginity in an Alaskan parking lot to a sex worker?), definitely thievery, and said he saw his father murder a man in the mine once and cover it up. Boris’ mind is full of a lifetime of this morally shadowed behavior being presented as normal, or at least secret but common.

I think he understands his attraction to boys in this same way. I think he feels it isn’t “appropriate” to share with Outsiders but it is something that Happens, something that is no one’s business but his own, and something that brings him pleasure and happiness and therefore something he will look for. However he knows it isn’t common or visible or “appropriate” to be showy about it in front of others — especially not people who could judge him (kids at school), kick him out (society), or hurt him (his father). Boris treats his attraction to Theo like his other vices and “bad” habits - barrels head first — but secret: deep dive into happy drug use (but don’t show his dad), steals everything he ever needs (but don’t let them see, put it in my coat), lies when it suits him (lies to Xandra and Larry and his father and Theo too), happily sleeps with Theo and has sex with him (but this is between you-and-me).

He knows other people might have a problem with his actions — but he does not. So that’s his hangup there. He is aware of and ever-vigilant of his surroundings. School: a safe place isolated from his father. He is free and happy to do what he wants at school — including crush on and go after Theo who he clearly likes. He thinks Theo is cute, flirts with him, tries to get him to notice him, talks to him after class, sits next to him on the bus, begs him to come over his house, tries to impress him with far-flung stories, gives him alcohol because it’s what he’s seen his father’s men do in pursuit of romantic partners or as a bonding ritual with one another.

Theo’s house is also a safe place. So safe in fact that Boris starts to leave behind some of the maladjusted development of his childhood and become more of a happy, clear-minded person. Boris and Theo suffer from arrested development and one of themes of the book is childhood lost. They are forced to mimic adults either knowingly or unknowingly, and act in ways that children should not have to in order to survive this Adult World alone. With one another they begin to heal from their traumas, their affection for one another the catalyst. Theo cooks for him, talks to a babbling eager-to-talk Boris (imagine how few people have listened to or understood the ideas of a smart boy like Boris, often surrounded by oafish alcoholics, his violent father where he is expected to keep quiet, or cultures where he does not speak the language), Theo sleeps next to him willingly, he likes Boris, a boy from New York (the top of the world!) he think Boris is funny and smart and worldly, shares his dog with him, hangs on his words, becomes his companion, cares for him if he drinks too much, tried to tend his wounds, welcomes him gratefully into his broken family, watches his favorite movies with him, celebrates holidays with him, inherently values him — and so starts to mend Boris’ broken heart.

A lot of things and viewpoints Boris has are clearly repetitions of things he has heard his father or the miners say — “Christmas is for children” (of course they’d say that to a tiny Boris longing for the magic of Christmas as a child stuck in a mining camp watching the peripheral joy of children around him and coming back to bleak hunger and a dark home), or “god yes I loved having sex with her” (about his hooker in the parking lot — Boris then says he knew she didn’t enjoy it and never shows enjoyment but rather avoidance towards women and girls in any genuine way afterwards, yet covets Theo’s physical company).

Theo on the other hand, who for a short while and then so painfully ripped from him, grew up with love. His natural disposition in Vegas comes from a place of being so recently loved and cherished by his mother and he here, in this lonely place, turns the focus of this disposition onto the one person who is kind and protective towards him: Boris — his one light in a life that has turned very dark. This is like an alien world to Boris. Lonesome and neglected Boris is touched and startled and soon changed by this kindness. So much so that Theo, unknowingly, alters the rest of Boris’ life (Boris feels Theo saved his life).

So that is why I believe the Kotku Gay Panic came about. After their climactic Vegas pool scene where their abuse and trauma is opened to one another (their wounds from their fathers, from fire, literally pouring into the purifying chlorine of the watery womb - mother - pool as they try to drown one another, angry at their attraction to one another, but then cling to and save one another instead) Boris begins to not just have fun and have sex and have freedom with Theo (all okay things by Boris’ standards as long as it is secret) — after that scene and they sleep together and Boris satisfies that teenaged human sexual need... they continue to hookup and be at bliss for a very long, happy time where they both begin to psychologically heal— Boris doesn’t just have sex and fun with Theo, he realizes he starts to love Theo.

Love - an extremely foreign concept to Boris who literally freaks the fuck out because he has no baseline for it. It isn’t the type of “love” that his father gives him (violent, untrustworthy), it isn’t the type of “love” the men who grew up around valued (cheap parking lot sex), it isn’t the kind of “love” his idol Larry has with Xandra (Larry lies to Xandra all the time), it isn’t the kind of “love” Boris has seen in his favorite movies (men and women over and over). No, this love with Theo is very very scary to him. Very perhaps dangerous. He doesn’t know.

I think Boris accepts his physical attraction to men as nbd. I think he probably feels most people feel such attractions or some other harmless private desires that certain people may see as an aberrant from “normal” for whatever reason (either typical kinks and silly hush hush sex shop porno stuff - or other far more despicable things he’s witnessed his father’s men do) and so thinks nothing of his own innocent, consensual goodtime-centered desires. Boris, who likely grew up with little exposure to healthy LGBTQ representation and has a very isolated POV in some ways, likely to some degree at the Vegas point in his life (however casually self-accepting he is) equates same-sex attraction with hush hush taboo sex activities — nothing to be ashamed of, but you’re not going to tell your dad.

As long as it is a personal thing, for him only, Boris embraces it. But it is the emotionality, the healing, the care, the love that freaks Boris out and makes him make a run for it to Kotku — only to recede to what he knows and repeat the exact kind of fake “love” he was taught by his father: unbelievable exclamations of devotion (Boris’ dad sobbing and telling him he loves him + “I love her I love her! She’s beautiful and perfect!”) coupled with the black truth (Boris’ dad beating the shit out of him + Boris beating Kotku).

Boris knows he likes boys but when he starts to love one — that’s when he runs away. Because that means something totally different: societally and personally.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

posts about things with absolutely no introduction but it's because i was reminded of the topic the other day

this one's for those of us in the lifelong isolation no friends society, i know sometimes there's other people out there!! anyways i've been thinking about how like, personally, obviously, b/c idk how other ppl do it b/c we aren't friends with each other lol, its just a fuckin wild thing to deal with in part cuz its one of those answers to which there's not necessarily any Right Way to handle things or Answer or Solution or anything. isolation p much = more isolation and plus not having friends makes ppl less likely to socialize with you so that's rough; anyways yknow, the point is just oops you can't Choose to like, obtain a friend. u can try to get ppl interested but you can't control it beyond that, so, yknow

anyways what am i getting to? yeah so i've never had close friends in that i was never able to share personally honest things anyways for the longest time for a couple reasons, and also, people just didn't like me. the double whammy of "oh no its abuse" and "oh no you're lowkey socially ostracized by your peers from preschool on without end" is like, good luck to little me getting friends! i had sort-of friends in like a couple ppl who'd hang out with me regularly and on occasion we'd go to each others houses or smthing but it wasnt able to be like, the normal fun event it should. oh well. middle school was a little better and a little worse but i didnt keep up w ppl cuz i went to a different school later and its that situation where you're friends-ish Because you're at the same school right...smh...didnt thrive in college magically, but one essential thing was i was away from home more often than not so, that was real important ultimately. but anyways in the end i had like a handful of college friends-ish (accepted by other friends groups lol) and theres a couple of them i still talk to now and again

so like, yknow, friends, mostly friendly acquaintances, my siblings i'd classify as friendly acquaintances, i'm very glad about all of them really. just unfortunately i've only just started to have friendships that are like a decade old and the "longtime close" friendship is nonexistent b/c college is just four years and then you go other places, and i'm not at the heart of friend groups and not "good" at communication in other ways so its hard to keep in touch in ways. smh!!

funnily enough i'm also not good at internet stuff though it's been absolutely essential, god knows. that's why i'm able to talk to anyone rn!! but i can't do group chats and i only like approaching things "one on one" aka i don't like feeling like im in the midst of a group even outside group chats. if you get what i'm saying. like even back being in the small early mh fandom of like, three dozen ppl, in retrospect i didnt like having to be in the entire Group yknow. lemme just be over here. which is what i do now.

anyways for additional reasonsl, communicating has been trickier these past few years and for the most part its been kind of a situation where i wasn't necessarily going to get to talk to someone every day, though usually it'd maybe only be like, a gap of a day or two. and anyways, the thing is that, over the past ten years especially its started to be Distressing like wanting friends, not as much having them, and also having it be more obvious that there was some kind of deficiency keeping me from having (and having had) friends like other people did. not fun! but what i'm getting around to here, whats been wild, is just this like, decade-ish (or two decade-ish if you want) Personal Effort to just figure out how the fuck to stop having to feel like shit about it all the time right? then you're lonely AND stressed and probably self loathing also

so like yeah, the thing is that the other day something was going on about like, yknow, the idea of the longtime close friend with a steadfast presence in your life, and that's just always like, lfjdglmao what!!! sounds nice. i had a friend for a week in second grade and im not sure we ever spoke and then the teacher made us sit on opposite sides of the classroom and it was too embarrassing to be friends anymore. that's kinda close but lol for real......it's not only the lack of friends to tackle but also like, i don't assume to have friends in the future. it's something that like, i would obviously theoretically want, and be happy if it happened, but i can't say i hope for it, because that implies too much being expectant or whatever. and it's weird!! its a weird time just kind of presuming friendlessness until otherwise occurs. and it's not great, i'm definitely still unhappy about all this shit. its just that i've also like, been able to shave off how distressing the issue mightve been in earlier years yknow

like it sounds all depressing to say like, i've just had to be less emotionally invested in the whole thing, but it's kind of true. not by ignoring it or ignoring the feelings so much as like...just acknowledging that this is how it is and there's only so much i can do but not hating myself about it is a start. and yeah it's like "oh, feeling less, depressing" but also frankly when i decided also that its less horrible to be friendless than to feel stuck w crap ppl / ppl who you aren't too important to / etc, i figured that i'd also rather be friendless and just enjoy being myself than try to make myself easier to talk to. i'm not like intimidating or anything, i just can't hold a conversation. but i'm not very interested anymore in trying to convince ppl to like me, yknow, i'm out here, and if i'm ever going to have friends i'd like them to be people to like me For Who I Am, wipe tear. what i'm just saying is "a weird dumbass" b/c its just vague social weirdness that ppl don't necessarily like, loathe, but probably they'd rather talk to someone else. i'm not great at socializing stuff, like i said, hence social rejection since age 4

oh and i meant to say!! i've been able to turn up my emotions by turning down my investment in the idea of Needing To Always Be Trying To Make Friends b/c, as anyone might know, all i like to do is talk at great length about whatever weird, niche shit i'm into at any given point. and that's pretty much it. i'm not pretending to be deep by not really knowing how to do small talk. lmao you guys know what i'm talking about. and obviously not everybody is into Getting Enthusiastic or super focused on whatever weird thing at any point, and i'm not Into getting my passion all fired up and being brushed off or anything, so we can all avoid each other, and i get to continue entertaining myself

so that's a way i've been able to turn my feelings up actually lol.....dunno how to segue into it so i won't but it's also just like, not saying that i Truly Don't Care about not having friends, or that it doesn't hurt that i've had this relative friendless past and the futures looking bleak, b/c it does!! it's still distressing. but like, its turned down. the whole general issue can be a very Bitter one for sure!!!! and it has been in the past sometimes and like.....it's still there basically, i've just been able to turn down the volume a lot on a bunch of these shit feelings like "that's upsetting" or "i'm bitter about that" and just kind of calmly let it simmer back down b/c i'm sort more familiarish with what sets it off and more familiar with Dealing With It Always overall

no idea if i've made the point i was setting out for there. dealing with the No Friends Isolation Life society life is not fun but we're out here, sometimes. it continues to be not fun. "oh well," is an often relevant sentiment. c'est la vie. c'est ce que c'est? i think. and i think it's nice that after years and years of just like, struggling to figure this shit out myself, and probably feeling like shit most of the time, i've at least managed to go "shh" at some Bad Feelings. definitely still there. but this time it doesn't heap extra shittiness on top b/c of having to deal with the intensity of it and feel bad about that too etc etc. it's all weird! getting more familiar with dealing with some shit which is just, the way that it is in part because of bad luck and of course i'm jealous of everybody who does have friends. but oh well. b/c c'est la vie. im also glad for everybody who has friends, obv. it's all complicated!! which is just part of why this post exists. it has no real point, i'm just kinda going like, weird, huh? and kind of good, and kind of a bummer. oh well

also im aware this is a suddenly long, technically depressing post at like circa midnight for a lot of people, but basically this is just me in normal mood. sometimes it's depressing posts time out of nowhere, but i'm not especially depressed!! nighttime is just more of my Peak Hours. night owl 4 life. thanks

oh and ps. another thing i would think about (with more distress in the past, and like, no distress now) is that its also funny cuz, one thing i’ve generally had to do is be aware that it’s a bigger deal for you (me) to get a new Friend than it is for them to be getting you as a friend, b/c math says so. and so i’ve had to push myself to not be overly hopeful or invested in order to be both fair to them and myself. and nowadays that’s just kind of how i view the no-friends-ness of it all, like. i’m not mad that i’m not for some reason way closer to anybody i know. why would i be. and i don’t expect anybody to think like “oh my god we have to be Good Friends” because like. not in a self deprecating way but like, why would any random person want that. and i dont expect to be better friends with ppl im just casual friends with, which is great, cus like Friendly Acquaintances and other lite friendships are fantastic and im very grateful. but i am aware there’s plenty of reasons making it difficult to just like, pick up a Close Buddy and i’m not like “oh i demand one from somewhere, from some reason.” so what i am trying to say is that keeping my expectations honestly realistic is an effort to be fair to both other ppl and myself and i think it works. no friends!! we out here!!!!

[skaian-fiddler]

State of the Webcomic

Im not sure what I wanted this to be when I started writing it. I know that as of late, Homestuck, in terms of its fanbase and its surrounding politics, has been pretty bleak. And I know that it feels like there arent alot of us left that care anymore. So I guess this is going to be something of a chronicle of the comic, and its involvement in my own experience. If youre just here for classpecting memes, feel free to totally disregard this. Otherwise… strap the fuck in I guess? Theres a nonzero amount of words about to come at you. For this 4/13, this is my account of Homestuck.

On April 13th, 2009, some guy with a shitty url published the first page of an indie webcomic. As I have come to understand, this fact would eventually become something of a ‘big deal’. At the time, however, it was not. I wouldnt be aware of its existence for quite some time.

Some years passed, and people started learning that this weird thing existed. The webcomic had survived through its fledgeling stages, and had managed to gain enough momentum and a fanbase large enough to keep above the surface and on peoples radar. At this stage, the only thing I knew about the webcomic was a single word, whispered in hushed tones: “Homestuck.” A few more years passed and the fandom began to grow steadily in proportion to a roster of increasingly convoluted characters, as well as the hair-brained complexity of the comics plot.

And then, Cascade.

I heard rumor of a webcomic that went off so huge that it fucking broke Newgrounds. Suddenly the fandom was omnipresent, and potentially out of control. From what ive picked up, it was a pretty rad time to be a nerd. “Somewhere, a soused uncle deliberately shatters china on the floor. Muddy livestock is decorated, and then lost track of. The question ‘Who's mule is this?’ at times can be heard over the din. This is now your reality.”

But, as much as I was starting to learn exactly what Homestuck was, I was hearing equally as much in terms of negativity about its fandom. Of their overwhelming presence during conventions, their reputation for immaturity, the torrents of unsealed gray face paint flooding the lobbies of unsuspecting hotels. So, I stayed away. This was like, late middle school for me, and there was no way in hell I was going to risk putting my image-obsessed ass on the line for a bunch of rainbow blooded zodiac alien shitlords and their apocalyptic tendencies. So, I stayed away.

It really was the first time something pop culture had ever gotten this big. Openbound hit, and it got bigger? Somehow? More trolls? Jesus christ. The fandom kept growing at an exponential rate, faster than people could process it, and so much so that nobody else knew how to handle it.

And then it… stopped.

The Gigapause, I think it was called. At the height of their power, the fandom was left with nothing, no new content to grab hold of, no new development to fuel their fan works, no anything. The fandom starts to lose speed. A spot of hope happens, during act 6 and is subsequently dashed against the rocks below as the Omegapause kicks in. I wasnt paying attention. I was busy, there was work to be done trying to get into college.

And just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. The webcomic concluded in a way that implied that not only the readers, but the fictional characters themselves were freed from the scope and size of their own work. Anyone still reading watched Collide, in what I can only imagine to be 20 minutes of pure catharsis. The fandom got hit with Act 7, and that was it.

This whole time, that entire span of that seven years, nobody had ever ‘told me about Homestuck.’  Until, about a year after it ended, a friend of mine told me that the way I talk reminded them of a character called Karkat (after what Im assuming was a fairly aggressive bitch fest about something or other). Upon my asking what in the fuck kind of name Karkat is, they nostalgically smiled, and asked me if I had ever read a certain webcomic.

We went back to my dorm and they pulled it up on my computer. We read for a couple hours. I didnt think too much of it, but it was amusing enough. I put it away, and forgot about it until one lazy day like month later. And then I think it was Rose dropping a bathtub in Johns hallway that sealed the deal. I dont think I have to tell anyone following a fucking classpect blog about how addicting reading Homestuck is. I got really into the classpect system, as you can see. Im damn near constantly nerding out about videogame-esque class systems and personality studies, and I thought Homestuck’s god tier system was so fucking creative and interesting. And the music, holy shit. A flash webcomic? With LEITMOTIFS?!?

I eventually figured out that thinking Homestuck is cool in 2018 was… lonely. The people that still were fans of the comic enjoyed it in hushed tones, and in shame. It was sad, in ways. A part of me wished that I had gotten to experience it at its peak. I am not one such member of this fandom that has existed when the work was in its primordial stages, and I do not for one second claim to have been at the apex of the movement.

So what does this shitty history lesson good for anyway, right? What does it all mean? It has been nine years to the day, this 4/13, and Hiveswap is the only thing from keeping what was once considered a monumental aspect of pop culture from fading into complete obscurity. I am hopeful of the future of Homestuck, but I cannot help but also feel that one day, in the near future, it will be lost to time. And so, here we are today. I walk amongst the bones of the sun-bleached empire that used to be Homestuck. Not many people live here anymore. One day, it might be empty. One day, it might be that nobody remembers it at all.

But not as long as you are here, reading horseshit like this rant. Not as long as someone is drawing shitty fan art of the Mayor, not as long as someone is shamelessly jamming out on the bus to Sburban Jungle, and not as long as someone out there who cant think of the word ‘Pisces’ without instinctively associating it with the color fuschia. Humanitys drive to build things, to create, is rooted in an effort to outlast their own lifespan. And the same is true for this thing that we have all come to love (hate?), and for all of the thousands of people that have found some connection with each other over a common bond. I know that this whole rant has had some serious cringe potential, but know this, you bunch of nerds: As long as you are out there, reading, enjoying, then the fandom is still alive and well. And better yet? You arent alone.

Happy 4/13, kids.

“I keep having these dreams. Great empty cities, silent roads stretching for miles. The Earth from space, all dark. Not a single light to guide me home. But if someone really came from another world, what would the Earth look like to them? A wilderness? A wasteland? I don't think so. Even after thousands of years they’d see a world shaped by our hand in every aspect of its being. They'd see the cities and the roads; the bridges, the harbors. And they would say: Here lived a race of giants.”

-Acclaimed Actor and Sleeping Prophet, Charles Dutton

-Alexandra Drennan, The Talos Principle

[writingguide003-blog]

Top writers choose their perfect crime

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/top-writers-choose-their-perfect-crime/

Top writers choose their perfect crime

Crime fiction is now the UKs bestselling genre. So which crime novels should everyone read? We asked the writers who know …

On Beulah Height by Reginald Hill Val McDermid

This is the perfect crime novel. Its beautifully written elegiac, emotionally intelligent, evocative of the landscape and history that holds its characters in thrall and its clever plotting delivers a genuine shock. Theres intellectual satisfaction in working out a plot involving disappearing children, whose counterpoint is Mahlers Kindertotenlieder. Theres darkness and light, fear and relief. And then theres the cross-grained pairing of Dalziel and Pascoe. Everything about this book is spot on.

Although Hills roots were firmly in the traditional English detective novel, he brought to it an ambivalence and ambiguity that allowed him to display the complexities of contemporary life. He created characters who changed and developed in response to their experiences. I urge you to read this with a glass of Andy Dalziels favourite Highland Park whisky.

Insidious Intent by Val McDermid is published by Sphere.

The Damned and the Destroyed by Kenneth Orvis Lee Child

My formative reading was before the internet, before fanzines, before also-boughts, so for me the best ever is inevitably influenced by the gloriously chanced-upon lucky finds, the greatest of which was a 60 cent Belmont US paperback, bought in an import record shop on a back street in Birmingham in 1969. It had a lurid purple cover, and an irresistible strapline: She was beautiful, young, blonde, and a junkie I had to help her! It turned out to be Canadian, set in Montreal. The hero was a solid stiff named Maxwell Dent. The villain was a dealer named The Back Man. The blonde had an older sister. Dents sidekicks were jazz pianists. The story was patient, suspenseful, educational and utterly superb. In many ways its the target I still aim at.

The Midnight Line by Lee Child is published by Bantam.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens Ian Rankin

Does this count as a crime novel? I think so. Dickens presents us with a mazey mystery, a shocking murder, a charismatic police detective, a slippery lawyer and a plethora of other memorable characters many of whom are suspects. The story has pace and humour, is bitingly satirical about the English legal process, and also touches on large moral and political themes. As in all great crime novels, the central mystery is a driver for a broad and deep investigation of society and culture. And theres a vibrant sense of place, too in this case, London, a city built on secret connections, a location Dickens knows right down to its dark, beating heart.

Rather Be the Devil by Ian Rankin is published by Orion. Siege Mentality by Chris Brookmyre is published by Little, Brown.

The Hollow by Agatha Christie Sophie Hannah

This is my current favourite, in its own way just as good as Murder on the Orient Express. As well as being a perfectly constructed mystery, its a gripping, acutely observed story about a group of people, their ambitions, loves and regrets. The characters are vividly alive, even the more minor ones, and the pace is expertly handled. The outdoor swimming pool scene in which Poirot discovers the murder is, I think, the most memorable discovery-of-the-body scene in all of crime fiction. Interestingly, Christie is said to have believed that the novel would have been better without Poirot. His presence here is handled differently he feels at one remove from the action for much of the time but it works brilliantly, since he is the stranger who must decipher the baffling goings on in the Angkatell family. The murderers reaction to being confronted by Poirot is pure genius. It would have been so easy to give that character, once exposed, the most obvious motivation, but the contents of this killers mind turn out to be much more interesting

Did You See Melody by Sophie Hannah is published by Hodder.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier SJ Watson

SJ Watsno

I first came to Rebecca, published in 1938, with one of the most recognisable first lines in literature, not knowing exactly what to expect. That it was a classic I was in no doubt, but a classic what? I suspected a drama, possibly a romance, a book heavy on character but light on plot and one Id read and then forget. How wrong I was.

It is a dark, brooding psychological thriller, hauntingly beautiful, literature yes, but with a killer plot. I loved everything about it. The way Du Maurier slowly twists the screw until we have no idea who to trust, the fact that the title character never appears and exists only as an absence at the heart of the book, the fact that the narrator herself is unnamed throughout. But, more importantly, this thriller is an exploration of power, of the men who have it and the women who dont, and the secrets told to preserve it.

Second Life by SJ Watson is published by Black Swan.

Mystic River by Dennis Lehane James Lee Burke

To my mind this is the best crime novel written in the English language. Lehane describes horrible events with poetic lines that somehow heal the injury that his subject matter involves, not unlike Shakespeare or the creators of the King James Old Testament. Thats not a hyper-bolic statement. His use of metaphysical imagery is obviously influenced by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Mystic River is one for the ages.

Robicheaux by James Lee Burke is published by Orion.

The Expendable Man by Dorothy B Hughes Sara Paretsky

Author Sara Paretsky for Arts. Photo by Linda Nylind. 15/7/2015.

Today, Hughes is remembered for In a Lonely Place (1947) Bogart starred in the 1950 film version. My personal favourite is The Expendable Man (1963). Hughes lived in New Mexico and her love of its bleak landscape comes through in carefully painted details. She knows how to use the land sparingly, so it creates mood. The narrative shifts from the sandscape to the doctor, who reluctantly picks up a teen hitchhiker. When shes found dead a day later, hes the chief suspect, and the secrets we know hes harbouring from the first page are slowly revealed.

Hughess novels crackle with menace. Like a Bauhaus devotee, she understood that in creating suspense, less is more. Insinuation, not graphic detail, gives her books an edge of true terror. Shes the master we all could learn from.

Fallout by Sara Paretsky is published by Hodder.

Killing Floor by Lee Child Dreda Say Mitchell

What is it about any particular novel that means youre so engrossed that you miss your bus stop or stay up way past your bedtime? A spare, concise style that doesnt waste a word. A striking lead character who manages to be both traditional and original. A plot thats put together like a Swiss watch. Childs debut has all these things, but like all great crime novels it has the x-factor.

In the case of Killing Floor that factor is a righteous anger, rooted in personal experience, that makes the book shake in your hands. Its the story of a military policeman who loses his job and gets kicked to the kerb. Jack Reacher becomes a Clint Eastwood-style loner who rides into town and makes it his business to dish out justice and protect the underdog, but without the usual props of cynicism or alcohol. We can all identify with that anger and with that thirst for justice. We dont see much of the latter in real life. At least in Killing Floor we do.

Blood Daughter by Dreda Say Mitchell is published by Hodder.

The Long Goodbye by Raymond Chandler Benjamin Black (John Banville)

The Long Goodbye is not the most polished, and certainly not the most convincingly plotted, of Chandlers novels, but it is the most heartfelt. This may seem an odd epithet to apply to one of the great practitioners of hard-boiled crime fiction. The fact is, Chandler was not hard-boiled at all, but a late romantic artist exquisitely attuned to the bittersweet melancholy of post-Depression America. His closest literary cousin is F Scott Fitzgerald.

Philip Marlowes love and surely it is nothing less than love for the disreputable Terry Lennox is the core of the book, the rhapsodic theme that transcends and redeems the creaky storyline and the somewhat cliched characterisation. And if Lennox is a variant of Jay Gatsby, and Marlowe a stand in for Nick Carraway, Fitzgeralds self-effacing but ever-present narrator, then Roger Wade, the drink-soaked churner-out of potboilers that he despises, is an all too recognisable portrait of Chandler himself, and a vengefully caricatured one at that. However, be assured that any pot The Long Goodbye might boil is fashioned from hammered bronze.

Prague Nights by Benjamin Black is published by Viking.

Love in Amsterdam by Nicolas Freeling Ann Cleeves

Although Nicolas Freeling wrote in English he was a European by choice an itinerant chef who roamed between postwar France, Belgium and Holland, and who instilled in me a passion for crime set in foreign places. He detested the rules of the traditional British detective novel: stories in which plot seemed to be paramount. Love in Amsterdam (1962) is Freelings first novel and it breaks those rules both in terms of structure and of theme.

It is a tale of sexual obsession and much of the book is a conversation between the suspect, Martin, whos been accused of killing his former lover, and the cop. Van der Valk, Freelings detective, is a rule-breaker too, curious and compassionate, and although we see his investigative skills in later books, here his interrogation is almost that of a psychologist, teasing the truth from Martin, forcing him to confront his destructive relationship with the victim.

The Seagullby Ann Cleeves is published by Pan.

Laidlaw by William McIlvanney Chris Brookmyre

I first read Laidlaw in 1990, shortly after moving to London, when I was aching for something with the flavour of home, and what a gamey, pungent flavour McIlvanneys novel served up. A sense of place is crucial to crime fiction, and Laidlaw brought Glasgow to life more viscerally than any book I had read before: the good and the bad, the language and the humour, the violence and the drinking.

Laidlaws turf is a male hierarchy ruled by unwritten codes of honour, a milieu of pubs and hard men rendered so convincingly by McIlvanneys taut prose. His face looked like an argument you couldnt win, he writes of one character, encapsulating not only the mans appearance but his entire biography in a mere nine words.

This book made me realise that pacey, streetwise thrillers didnt have to be American: we had mean streets enough of our own. It emboldened me to write about the places I knew and in my own accent.

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov Laura Lippman

Im going to claim Lolita for crime fiction, something I never used to do. But it has kidnapping, murder and its important to use this term rape. It also has multiple allusions to Edgar Allan Poe and even hides an important clue well, not exactly in plain sight, but in the text of, yes, a purloined letter. And now we know, thanks to the dogged scholarship of Sarah Weinman, that it was based on a real case in the United States. (Weinmans book, The Real Lolita, will be published later this year.)

Dorothy Parker meant well when she said Lolita was a book about love, but, no its about the rape of a child by a solipsistic paedophile who rationalises his actions, another crime that is too often hidden in plain sight. Some think that calling Lolita a crime novel cheapens it, but I think it elevates the book, reminds us of the pedestrian ugliness that is always there, thrumming beneath the beautiful language.

Sunburn by Laura Lippman is published by Faber.

The Moving Target by Ross Macdonald Donna Leon

Ross Macdonald, an American who wrote in the 60s and 70s, has enchanted me since then with the beauty of his writing and the decency of his protagonist, Lew Archer. I envy him his prose: easy, elegant, at times poetically beautiful. I also admire the absence of violence in the novels, for he usually follows Aristotles admonition that gore be kept out of the view of the audience. When Archer discovers the various wicked things one person has done to another, he does not linger in describing it but makes it clear how his protagonist mourns not only the loss of human life but also the loss of humanity that leads to it.

Macdonalds plotting is elegant: often, as Archer searches for the motive for todays crime, he unearths a past injustice that has returned to haunt the present and provoke its violence. His sympathy for the victims is endless, as is his empathy for some of the killers.

The Temptation of Forgiveness by Donna Leon is published by William Heinemann.

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins Nicci French

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