#i submitted mine today because i was waiting on proofreaders

[kalorphic]

wait you’ve finished your first draft? i’m still in the proposal stages and i’m dying ;sob;

sorry i know this isn’t related to novaturient but do you have any tips for writing your diss?

Ahh the proposal stages, I remember thinking to myself at the time that I’d never manage to write 10K words lol.

My top tips are ones that I have no doubt your supervisor will try to hammer into you, but I promise you it’s for a reason:

Keep in contact with your supervisor and, if allowed, send them your draft chapters as you’re going so they can edit them and give feedback before you dump the full 10K on them.

Start writing your full dissertation draft asap!!! For the love of everything, don’t leave it until the last minute. I’ve born witness to the panic this causes and it’s not pretty…

Do your dissertation on something that you’re really passionate about (in your field). I did mine around wolves because they’re my favourite animals (I’m focusing my course on green criminology) and it made the researching stages so much more tolerable.

Do research early! Get together a list of resources/references before you start writing. It makes things a lot easier when it actually comes to the writing process.

If you get easily distracted by your phone, put it in another room. I know some people really struggle with not having their phone next to them, but trust me, you’ll notice a difference in your writing speed.

Signposting!! Make sure to signpost your paragraphs, your supervisor will eat that up.

Oh and multiple citations!! Ex. (Evans et al, 2023; Caine, 2020; and so on). My diss supervisor loved that.

Take breaks. Super obvious I know, but each chapter is like a 2.5K report, you need to take a step back sometimes so you don’t burn out.

That’s all that I can think of off the top of my head, but good luck!! You’ve got this and I promise you that as daunting as 10K words can seem, it’s totally doable <33

Obviously, everyone has different styles of working so don’t take this as gospel lol, but this is what worked for me personally.

[josiesullysblog]

Outcast p3

~Lo’ak x Metakaynia reader

~Angst, fluff

~Proofread?-no

~Summary-Two souls finally uniting

***

They say the mind may forget, but the body doesn't. As much as you liked to think you couldn't remember your mother, you could. The day she left you, she sang a hum as she swam. She was happy, peaceful and you let yourself fall asleep in it.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry.” She sang as she rocked you. You smiled at her, grabbing for her braids, “Baby mine, dry your eyes.’ Tears fell from her eyes though she smiled, “[Y/n], I know you may be confused but submit to the water,” she began going deeper, “you and I will meet daddy very soon if you do.”

You jolted up from your sleep, Lo’ak waking up as well, “are you alright?” Tears fell as you went into his embrace. “Same dream again,” Lo’ak held a tight grip on you as he whispered praises in your ear. “She can't hurt you, baby,” he told you as you finally calmed down. You knew it was just a dream, but it felt so real.

Lo’ak watched as your eyes closed and you fell asleep. He couldn't help himself but stare at you. You were by far, the most gorgeous thing he had ever looked at. These past few months, all he could do was think about you. How you were, asking if you missed Payakan, and just spending his every waking moment with you.

From the start, he knew he thought you were pretty. And as you become acquainted with the tribe, and met his family, pretty sooner changed to beautiful. He watched how you tried to become one of the people, your speech had become better over these last few months, and you even had a bond with Neytiri, beautiful changed to gorgeous.

All he wanted was for you to be happy. He saw you so happy, these last couple of months you were nothing short of a ray of sunshine. You missed Payakan of course, and you wanted to visit him. But a part of you knew, you didn't just wash up on the beach. Payakan wanted you to be happy, even if it meant letting you go.

You and Lo’ak were, “two peas in a pod,” as Jake called you both. You liked the name, often referring to Lo’ak as your “missing pea.” Lo’ak every day, took you on a walk near the ocean. Take your mind off everything new you are learning, so you felt like you had some stability in your life.

Today, you collected shells because you wanted Kiri to show you how to make a friendship bracelet. You loved Kiri and said would go on to say she was your closest friend, but you also knew you loved Lo’ak just not the same way. He made your heart beat, always making you smile, and you often felt a little ting in your heart when he spoke to other girls. When he spoke with Tsireya.

You liked the girl, but you felt possessive of Lo’ak. You wanted the boy's attention on you, and he found it cute how you held a pout every time Tsireya spoke with him. You would pretend to be sleepy, or grab his hand and give a sly smile to Tsireya. The poor girl just assumed you were being nice, but anyone else could see you were claiming the boy.

“I make bracelet with Kiri for you,” you said as you both neared the end of the walk. Lo’ak smiled, he so wanted to complete the bond with you. But you weren't ready for that yet, so he’d wait. In full honesty, he’d wait till he was old if it meant being with you.

You walked up to Kiri with all the supplies and a big smile, “I’m ready!” She smiled as she began picking out the smaller shells, “you really love Lo’ak right?” You nodded your head as you threaded the beads on the bracelet, “he was telling me how much you like the mixed berries,” Lo’ak often would sit and talk about you for hours. In the rare moment, you weren't with him, he’d speak about the random things you liked, hated, activities you learned that day.

A smile appeared on your face, “Lo’ak likes you a lot [Y/n],” you stopped beading altogether. “Why wouldn't he?” Her words confused you, “he likes you, the same way you love the ocean. He can't live without you.” A blush appeared on your face, but before Kiri could speak more, Tsireya walked in. “Have you seen Lo’ak?” your demeanor changed, not because you didn't like the girl, but because what could she possibly need from Lo’ak? “Why?” you question her quickly to which she gives you a soft smile. “His father is looking for him,” Kiri handed you the finished bracelet with a smirk. “It's good, I do it!” you said smiling and heading toward Lo’ak.

“Lo’ak! I'm done,” you said hugging him. You didn't even notice you ruined his conversation with Neteyam. “I better go check on Tuk,” he said giving Lo’ak a look before leaving. “Here!” you grabbed his wrist and put the bracelet on him, “stays on forever.” Lo’ak looked into your eyes, “forever,” at that moment he understood what it meant to love someone so much you can't live without them. You can't sleep without them, eat, walk, jog, anything and everything. At that moment he just wanted to confess, but he knew it would be wiser to wait.

Right before you came, he and Neteyam spoke. Lo’ak confessed his feelings about you, causing Neteyam to laugh, “everyone can tell!” Lo’ak groaned in his hands, “everyone?” Neteyam put a hand around his shoulders, “including Tuk.” Lo’ak explained fully how you both met. Explained how you were out at sea with Payakan. He hadn't said anything to an adult because it wasn't his story to tell. “You two will work out,” Neteyam said smiling. “How do you know?” before he could get a proper response, you were in his arms.

He thought of the previous conversation and decided he’d make a move. “Your dad needs you,” you said as he looped a hand around you, “Tsireya said so,” a little venom left your mouth at the mention of the girl. Lo’ak laughed, “why do you hate her so much?” you immediately shook your head, “I don't hate her!” you had a hard time getting the right words out so you adverted to something you did when you first met Lo’ak. You patted his chest, “outcast,” you brought your hand to your own chest, “outcast.”

Lo’ak understood what you were conveying. You both were the same. placing his forehead to yours, “I’m in love with you,” he then swooped your face to look at him, “I love you.” You smiled big connecting your lips with his, “Lo’ak and I mate?” you were excited jumping from foot to foot. “Yes, tonight me and you,” You let a squeal before clapping, “I tell everyone!” In the corner stood Jake, who came looking for the boy. A smile crept on his face.

Jake saw your relationship as history repeating itself. He remembers how Neytiri would do the same gestures or would hiss at any person who came too close.

You sat by the ocean looking at it. You wanted to tell Payakan, how you and Lo’ak were to be mated. You knew how excited he’d be for you both. Your heart broke knowing how much he’s missed already. You were so taken away by your thoughts you hadn't noticed Ronal.

“It's beautiful isn't it?” the older woman questioned as your eyes went to her. She had come to terms with you being Seba’s child. You smiled at her, “pretty like Lo’ak,” you always found a way to rope him into your conversation. This trait reminded her of your mother, and how much she loved your father. A tear rolled down her cheek looking at you.

“Why?” you said as you noticed her sad facade. “I’m just so happy that your okay,” she said looking into your eyes. It was like Seba was there with her, “your mother what was her name?” you cringed at the mention of her, “bad,” you said before looking at the ocean. Ronal looked at you confused, “what do you mean?”

You felt your own tears pull into your eyes, “she loved you,” you looked at her confused. Did she know your mother? “No, hate in her heart. That's why she marked me,” there was no way Seba hated you. She noticed how silent sobs left your mouth, she brought you into a hug. “How did she mark you?”

You embraced the hug she gave you, “marked for death. Till Payakan saved me, I miss him,” Ronal’s eyes widened in fear, “you met with Payakan? And your alive?” she stood up quickly still holding you tight.

She brought you to the Sully tent, “Lo’ak,” you said before running into his arms. “What's wrong, baby,” Ronal faced you both, “when you met her, who was she with?” Lo’ak looked confused sharing a look with his family, “a tulkun,” was all she needed to hear before she gasped loudly, “she was raised by a killer!” You became defensive immediately, “PAYAKAN NOT KILLER,” you faced the woman.

“You know nothing of what you speak of. Your mother thought you were dead!” you shook your head, “Payakan loves me, mom does not.” Ronal couldn't believe this, “of course Seba loved you,” Neytiri stepped forward before placing a hand on Ronal, “give her a break.”

Her words angered you, “She left me. Left me for death,” you said through choked sobs. Lo’ak pulled you closer to him, “it's okay, take your time,” you looked at the older woman, “I was found by Payakan, if not for him good as dead.”

You remembered feeling alone growing up, having no friends, and being out at sea, “Payakan feed me, and he played with me, taught me to swim,” Ronal watched you. She couldn't even fathom the thought of her friend, her best friend purposely leaving you out there. Marking you for dead.

“She would never do that,” you shook your head, “Payakan did everything.” Ronal walked out. “Why so much hate?” you said while Lo’ak kissed your forehead.

“Payakan loves me, and he loves you to no killer,” Lo’ak nodded, “you don't have to defend yourself to me, I believe you no matter what.”

You smiled before kissing him once more, “tonight,” he smiled, “tonight.”

***

I didn't think you guys actually liked this story! So glad you do because I LOVEE this concept! Hope you enjoy it! THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD! i didn’t want to keep you guys waiting so tomorrow, i’ll go back through and change all mistakes.

Taglist: @cherry-blossom24, @yourbobaeyestell, @erenjaegerwife, @mashiromochi, @nxptury, @eywaheardyou, @vviolaswrld, @stevesdick, @nana-luvsyu, @liyahsocorro

[krabmeat]

I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does. 

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone.��

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path. 

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions. 

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

[calpicowater]

Day 103/365: April 13th 2018 | Last Day of ... Undergrad ???

To be honest, I am always paranoid about announcing stuff like this just in case my academic advisor and I fucked up on calculating my degree requirements lmao...... Even though I got 2 official degree assessments (during 2016 and 2017) as well as an informal degree assessment at the beginning of this term. I double checked, triple checked, quadruple checked. I checked for courses and credits until I went crazy LLOLLLL. In other words, I did ****everything**** that I possibly could. If things go wrong, that really would be the worst luck ever and even Bad Luck Lily does not seem to have the ability to fuck That up. Because I know that my GPA standing will be enough to graduate for sure. I’ll be fine.... so... calm tf down @/me. ;_;

ANYWAY. About today! Today was ridiculously busy and eventful. Felt super long. I woke up at the ungodly hour of 9am and got ready. Before going to class, I went to SUB with Charmy to get free pancakes and sausages (+ orange juice 🍊)! One of the UASU volunteers asked me about compliments because they saw my shirt and I felt so recognized LMFAO. Anyway, a bunch of people were waiting on sausages and each person could take 2. But when it came to my turn, there were THREE left in the bin and there was another person reaching for sausages at the same time as me and the just TOOK the extra piece without negotiating with me!!! OR EVEN TRYING TO LET ME HAVE IT!!!!!! BUT!!! I waited for a bit longer for more sausages and even though I ended up freezing for 5 more minutes outside, I ended up getting 3 sausages in total so who’s the winner now!!!!!!!!!!! >: ( 

Ate the free breakfast, went to the final earth science lecture (zzz) and went to quad for PositiviDay! I basically just made balloons with Vivian + Kevin for 1.5 hours LMAO. I have never made so many balloons in my life!!! Overwhelming but fun lololol. After making balloons, I ate Pearl’s leftover Donair poutine with Erica HAHAHA. After that, I went to the BeaverTails food truck and used the 5 free tickets that I was given *_* and got the cinnamon/sugar/lemon flavour. Nom nom. Spent the rest of the time sitting at the treats table with Cindy. Wheee. 

Went to my brain chem lecture aka my final lecture of undergrad........... WOAH... The lecture deadass ended within 30 minutes LMFAO. Went back to quad for club group pic and then went home and rested (cooked + ate noodles, proofread my research proposal + submitted it) before going to Kung Fu Tea with Erica and Jerry at 9pm lolololol. We went for their Buy 1 Get 1 Free event and tbh it wasn’t super worth it because they seem to be really cheap..... deadass filled mine + Erica’s cups with 50% ice like what the fuck........ this is especially wtf because we both asked for no ice smh fhkjsdgks anyway after being at KF tea for 30 minutes, we went to Coco because Jerry wanted more bubble tea??????? LOOOOO>LLLLFJSKF wild kids right here!!!! But today was a good way to celebrate the end of classes (5ever). I had fun ^_^ ~

[ecotone99]

[HM] Technically, she's right.

This is an original piece of work... due to the content, grammar has to be PERFECT (you'll understand after reading) so I welcome grammar Nazis with open arms. I'd like to make this longer, but I'm trying to keep it under 1750 words.

Now, I don’t know whether you’ve been in the situation where you’ve just about had enough of people and their woefully inadequate understanding of their intellectual shortcomings, but it was in precisely this situation I found myself about a month ago and it led the series of events I will recount to you now.

I sauntered into the office with a debonair resolve as the proverbial excrement had no doubt collided with the fan and I was damned if I was going to go out in anything other than the finest style. You see, I’d had it to the back teeth with this whole circus of an operation they called an educational institution and, I’ll admit, had not been as diplomatic as I perhaps could have been.

I’d started teaching in the golden days; when an educator was respected as being at the top of his or her field. I never intended to stay long, but it was a decent enough pay cheque to support me while I wrote my novel, and teaching English seemed a logical application of my literary skillset. However, as time moved on I let the comfort of a regular income and decent holidays grow upon me like moss on the inactive stone and the emotional drain I hadn’t quite anticipated seemed to suck the creative life from me. Jaded and cynical my wife called me. Well she would say that wouldn’t she? However, upon further consideration she might have been onto something because, whilst I have never suffered fools gladly, I found myself becoming increasingly short tempered with those unfortunate souls for whom the act of employing logical thought was a daily struggle. Especially those who should know better. I allowed some students to make mistakes as they were learning; their intellectual dwarfism was to be expected, but adults were increasingly beginning to earn my ire. Couple this with the school’s new policy of giving passing grades to students who didn’t earn them and I must admit I was about ready to pack the whole thing in.

The young girl behind the front desk smiled weakly at me. She was obviously in a conundrum over whether or not to feel sympathy. Bright and ferociously good at her job, I had always appreciated her competency; though at this moment she resembled an unwilling observer to an autopsy, as she was shifting uncomfortably in her chair, not knowing what to say or where to look.

“Is he in, Suzie?” I enquired, nonchalantly.

The girl shook her head disapprovingly at me, suddenly amused and baffled at my demeanour. She chuckled, once, then simply nodded and mouthed the words “Good luck.”

I sauntered down the hall and knocked twice courteously on the door as I poked my head into the office. The incumbent at the desk was a middle-aged chap who invariably gave the impression he was one step away from collapsing into a nervous wreck. Robert was the principal of our little institute for the educationally depraved and today he appeared more remarkably harried than usual. He possessed the air of someone whom, upon waking, had discovered a rabid Tasmanian Devil in his sock drawer and that this revelation had somewhat set the tone for his entire morning.

“You wished to see me?” I enquired.

He furrowed his brow and responded in the affirmative, whilst doing his best to look stern. I asked after his general well-being, relating the analogy to the Tasmanian Devil I mentioned earlier but he didn’t seem to take this line of enquiry well, so I spared his delicate constitution and dropped the subject.

“What is this?” he snapped at me, shoving a piece of paper across the desk. I recognised the document of course. It was a standard, typed piece of work and covered almost entirely in red, corrective ink. At the bottom of the offending article was a large letter “F” in a circle with the inscription next to it: “This is a grammatical disaster. See me immediately.”

“It appears to be a corrected piece of literature.” I responded with fake curiosity. “A letter writing exercise if I have spied the original correctly, it is hard to tell under all that red marking.”

Robert snatched back the document and roughly held it up to display my signature in red at the bottom. “YOU did this! WHY did you do this?”

I sat down in a chair and reclined at ease, enjoying the obvious frustration of the besieged man before me.

“Well,” I began, “the piece is supposed to be a letter, however the formatting functions more like a magazine article written by a student in kindergarten. The spelling and grammar certainly matches that demographic only, the sentence structure and content reminds me of a communist manifesto promising the beheading of the bourgeoisie at the hands of the beautiful revolution. The past, present and future tenses are used interchangeably and without discretion. Oh, and in the fourth line she used the word “pacific” instead of “specific” which I, for one, believe should be punishable by death. It was overly long, it was confusing and…”

What else it was I wouldn’t be able to tell him for it was at that point he cut me off. “IT WAS WRITTEN BY A PARENT!” he erupted, throwing the page on his desk which collided with what, I imagine, would have been a most unsatisfying light swish sound rather than the large powerful thump that would have perfectly punctuated his point.

I volunteered that the adult age of the composer only made the errors worse, but it appeared he was more concerned with other issues.

“The fallout of this? It’s going to be huge!” he began, infuriatingly choosing to speak only in sentence fragments. “Already contacted head office. District Director furious. Wants to know what kind of school I’m running. She wants you fired! He wants answers and I want to know what possessed you to mark a piece of correspondence and RETURN IT TO THE PARENT???”

I raised my eyebrows in a non-verbal question as to whether he was through with his little tirade and, after he’d sat back down and picked up a mug of pens he’d knocked over, he took a breath and deflated. You see I’d long since come to the realisation that, after the initial bluster and fight, Robert was actually one to avoid confrontation. He simply didn’t have the stamina for it. The “no failing grades” policy of the school was yet another symptom of his confrontational impotence. The new teaching graduates would cower under that initial first assault of his, but those of us who had been around the traps a bit longer had learned to let him have his little fit and wait it out. Myself, I could foresee even keeping my job so long as I first kept my cool and feigned unshakable confidence.

Still, I decided to take pity on the poor man. I could, after all, see his side of things. I’d landed him squarely in it and he was under pressure from all sides. My acknowledgement of how I’d wronged him, if only indirectly, seemed to calm him further and after a moment of quiet reflection, I imagine he was dwelling upon how a rabid Tasmanian Devil would be preferable to his current situation, he spoke quietly;

“From the beginning.”

I recounted the tale of how a boy had handed me his abomination of a final paper for the semester with a deluge of excuses as to its tardiness and not a hope of any one of them being believable. I marked the paper anyway and gave it a passing grade as per the school policy, with a cutting remark at the bottom that left no question as to my thoughts on his literary style, or lack thereof.

Well it was shortly after I returned this insult to creative writing that I received a letter from the invertebrate’s mother insisting that I change his grade. She argued that I was being unduly harsh and that I should be ashamed of my teaching.

“She should proofread her work before criticising mine.” I concluded.

Robert looked at me with a mixture of horror and awe. We had all received letters like this over the years and it was cathartic to spot the errors in the correspondence when the content was questioning your professionalism. He must have, at some level, dreamed of doing what I had done.

“But why antagonise her like that?” he pleaded.

“Well…” I smiled, recollecting, “In the letter she insists, point blank, that I am wrong. I mean, please? That’s akin to a McDonald’s employee criticising the Sous Chef at ‘Le Jules Verne’. One is simply not in the same league as the other.”

Robert was clearly conflicted. He was infuriated by the arrogance and audacity I had displayed and yet he was still smiling in disbelief. But he wasn’t quite ready to let me off the hook.

“So you marked her letter to prove who was right?”

I chuckled.

“No. I marked her letter because she THEN went on to say her son’s English was no worse than hers.”

He stared at me, then grabbed at the letter and stared at it reading furiously. His eyes widened in complete disbelief alternating between me, then the letter, then back again.

“You know…” he smiled cautiously. “Technically she’s right.”

“Yes…” I affirmed, realising my job was safe once more.

“Apparently she is.”

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[fusch-ia-blog]

My 4th day in Jakarta today, and I’m so getting used to the pace of this city. And also the pace of my work as media monitoring staff.

On the first day I was being told to always submit my report before 11 am. I have approximately 3 hours (approximately, because, it really depends on what time I go to work earlier that day, hehe) to finish all the assignments. 3 hours is long, eh? Actually it’s not that long if you have to read bundles of news, both from national or international news portals, in Indonesian or English, compile it all and make a summary of it all. A very concise summary that contains every single information needed to be known by those who read it.

There are several criterion that must be followed: the news must be recent, the source must be reliable (even it’s not preferable to pick news from notoriously partial sources), etc etc. Basically I’m picking news and simplify them and translate them into English. Making it concise and clear is the hardest part in my opinion. Even I need to understand the most complicated ones in order to make it simple, right? So it’s like picking the most shining needles from a pile of worn ones.

So far, I haven’t found any significant obstacle yet, eh wait... I have one actually: I’m so dumb at Economics. I don’t understand economics. I hate it. I loathe it. And those news about inflation, money, or something related to economics is very torturing to my brain. Newsworthy economics issue is an agony I must endure, lol.

Let’s get back to the topic of Media Monitoring (MedMon). What is actually the purpose of media monitoring?

As an intern, I dunno for sure. But my fellow staff told me that all international organizations do this. Because all IOs want to be aware of what’s happening around them. For example, ICRC is based in Geneva, Switzerland, and it has regional delegations in (almost) every country. Every regional delegation of ICRC wants to know what’s happening around the country they are in. They also want to keep an eye on how they’re perceived by the local media.

According to my boss, all the summary I make every morning will be sent to ICRC headquarter in Geneva (after my boss done with some proofreading, of course) and also to all delegates who want to know important facts that might come in handy. Sounds very exciting to me. This is why I love my current job so much.

However, I still came to office 30 mins earlier just to make sure that I get the job done on time! One trait of mine is responsible for this particular habit: I’m so so so so long for perfection I can’t even submit my summary if I think it’s not perfect enough. So after finishing the summary, I usually reread and reread and reread until I’m satisfied.

Another habit that has helped me so much in keeping my job performance is THIS HABIT: every night before going to bed, I MUST read news, otherwise I can’t sleep. At first, I thought it was just a suggestion. Like an excuse to postpone my sleeping time and continue being awake to play my gadget and surf the internet. BUT I have conducted several experiments and it’s finally scientifically (lol) proven: I can’t sleep without reading news first. I’m so thirst of information sometimes I forced my eye to open at 2 am because I couldn’t stop scrolling on interesting news. I can’t count on how many times have I fallen asleep with my hand holding my phone. Or crawling pathetically to switch off the light because I’m too sleepy to walk on my feet. Oh dear.

My love for news has led me to this job, I guess.

For all of you who consider yourself as an information junkies (like me), you may apply for similar jobs. it’s fun. Promise.