#listen i know whenever the narrative said ''his eyes turned red'' its talking about the veins in his sclera

[pippuns]

yu chang first meeting

[demonologistfucker]

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable. 

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.”  just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark. 

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues. 

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket  with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug. 

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury. 

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet. 

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps. 

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms. 

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up. 

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly. 

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls. 

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched. 

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away. 

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free. 

“You know who I am,” 

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it. 

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun. 

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes. 

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps. 

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child. 

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.” 

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks. 

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel. 

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face. 

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.” 

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling. 

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear. 

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles. 

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks! 

---------------------------------

Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once,  MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.” 

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

                    ----------------------

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view. 

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles. 

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.” 

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten. 

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand. 

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in. 

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task. 

“Indeed.  MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away. 

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave. 

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem. 

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth. 

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom. 

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace. 

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.” 

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes. 

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin. 

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer. 

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look. 

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

[xiaoderys]

❝ Saturated Sunrise ❞ (l.dh, n.jm) I

DISCONTINUED

pairing: haechan x reader, jaemin x reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst, possible smut soulmate!au, college!au, social media!au mixed WITH narrative

warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive with possible smut in future chapters

word count: 2.5K

parts: prologue , character-profile, I

synopsis: you gradually lose your ability to see colors as you fall out of love with donghyuck

you were red and you liked me because I was blue. but you touched me and suddenly was a lilac sky. then you decided purple just wasn't for you.

You’ve always loved the rain, unlike your boyfriend who would squirm whenever a single drop touches his golden skin, but then again, who could blame him? he was like the sun; a ball of roaring fire that could never learn to love its polar opposite. But you on the other hand, could never hate it even if you tried, there was just something about it, maybe it’s the tranquility of it, the smell, the aesthetic or the fact that it brings you back to the very night you met Hyuck.

It’s quite funny really, you’d think these only happened in movies and tv shows yet there you were, soaking wet and walking side by side with a boy you barely knew under an umbrella that barely covered you both.

You sighed deeply while looking through the glass windows of the convenience store and up at the dark sky, the rain was pouring and you figured it won’t be stopping any time soon.

You didn’t have your umbrella with you but it was already past 10pm so after a few minutes of internally arguing with yourself, you got out of your seat, walked out and pulled your bag above your head to somehow shield yourself from the rain.

new instagram post from Donghyuck, 1 new text from mom, 6 new notifications from bible study

open? Yes / No

As you took your first few steps outside, you heard the bell ring from behind you, signaling that there was someone going in/out of the store.

You didn’t mind it at first but you heard someone yell “Hey, wait up!” no one else was around so you assumed the person was calling out for you and stopped in your tracks.

You turned around to look and just as you do, a car sped right in front of you which caused the rain water from the ground to be splashed all over you.

“Well, fuck” you exhale.

You lowered the bag covering your head as you were already soaking wet from head to toe and wiped your dripping face swearing to yourself that the universe hated you.

As soon as the car passed, the person on the other side of the road, jogged towards you and adjusted his umbrella over your head “What the hell were you thinking?”

You were quite confused as to why this person was suddenly scolding you so you just furrowed your brows at him.

“Walking home without an umbrella in this weather? Are you stupid?”

“Well what do you want me to do? spend the night at 7-eleven?” you didn’t mean to respond with sarcasm but you just got soaked with rain water and this guy who was nagging you while talking just called you stupid which did not help you and your anger issues.

“Better than ending up looking like a wet dog that just played in the mud but I think it’s a little too late for that” he said as he looked you up and down.

“Hey, it’s not my fault! that guy was driving like he’s in grand theft auto!”

“Well if you just stayed back in the store and waited for the storm to at least calm down a little bit then you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place and I wouldn’t have had to leave my delicious cup of ramen in there all alone” he raised his brow acting as if he made a point.

“No one asked you to do that”

“No one asked me to be so unbelievably hot either but here I am”, you scoffed at his sudden cockiness but you’d rather eat your own arm than feed a man’s ego so you looked at him with a distasteful expression “Just go back to your ramen, I can handle myself”

“Lies. You’ll freeze to death before you could even get half-way home. Here, take this” he took off his jacket and handed it to you.

The cold wind mixed with rain and your wet clothes hit you like a truck bigger than your ego but your stubbornness still got the better of you “I-I don’t need it”

“you’re literally shivering like a little puppy”, he was right but are you going to admit to that? No.

“I bite into my ice cream without feeling a thing and sleep right in front of the air conditioner, I think I’ll be fine”

He poked his tongue in his cheek, showing his annoyance “Why do you have to be so difficult? you’d rather walk home freezing than put your pride aside for a second?” the angrier he got while scolding you, the more he talked in a pout so instead of scaring you into listening, you actually found it a little cute—

“Hey, are you listening?!” thunder struck all of a sudden which made you flinch and Donghyuck swore right then and there that you were the most adorable thing in existence.

After seeing you jump from the thunder, his expression softened and suddenly the rain was pouring heavier than before and you were shivering like crazy. He sighed, and put his jacket over your shoulders himself.

You were gonna take it off and give it back to him but he stopped you “if you take that off, I’ll kiss you” normally, you would love to challenge a bluff but you couldn’t take it anymore, it was so cold and you had no other choice, so you mumbled a quick “fine” and although it didn’t help much, you did feel a lot warmer.

He smiled at you, satisfied with your decision “Great, so where are we headed?”

“We?” you looked up at him confused

“mhmm, were you just expecting me to give you my umbrella and let you go home with my adidas track top?” he said with a ridiculing expression

“pretty much, yeah”

“This is my only umbrella and that jacket costs over a $60, I’m not letting you walk away with it just like that and besides, there are loads of creeps out here”

“$60 for a jacket this thin?” you held up the sides of the jacket wondering how a jacket so thin could cost more than your weeks worth of allowance.

“Yeah, it’s a bit off a rip-off, but that’s not the point, dummy. I’m your only option of getting home safe wether you like it or not”

“You don’t even know me, why do you care so much if something happens?“

“My gentleman nature is truly my biggest flaw-“ you rolled your eyes and turned around, ready to walk away but he held your shoulders back “ah ah, hold on! My mom would never forgive me if she found out I left a girl all alone to walk home in the rain”

You sighed “Fine but no talking, I’ve already used up all my social juice for the day” he nodded cutely and snuggled beside you.

You didn’t get the chance to think about it but he looked around your age and appeared to be a student as well, considering the fact that he wore a tracksuit and was carrying a backpack.

You tried to catch a glimpse of his face every now and then and you weren’t gonna lie, he definitely wasn’t bad looking.

Being a little shorter than him, it gave you the opportunity to study his side-profile; his jaw was quite defined and his features were really soft and he had these insanely fluffy cheeks oh- and you also noticed his plump lips that made it look like he was always pouting.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” he said with a straight face, not even bothering to look in your direction.

“What?” you widened your eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks due to embarrassment.

“What? you think I haven’t noticed you staring at me for the past five minutes? you’re practically undressing me with your eyes” he playfully rolled his eyes.

You slapped his arm “No, I wasn’t! what’s wrong with you!”

He let out a chuckle, finding your annoyance and the way you turn red when embarrassed very amusing but you on the other hand just stayed with a pout and furrowed brows.

Donghyuck soon realized that you haven’t caught each other’s name yet “so what’s your name?”

“I thought I said no talking”

“Come on, small talk won’t hurt you”

I guess it’s better than walking in awkward silence “I’m y/n”

“Cute. I’m Donghyuck“ he smiled.

Since you were making small talk, you decided to ask about him more “if you don’t mind me asking, are you still a student?”

“A high school junior, yes, you?”

“Oh my god! same!” Donghyuck noticed how you got a little too excited over something so little but little did he know, that your childlike nature was just a sample of your many unforgettable qualities.

“Really? your height is making me think otherwise”

“Hey! My height is average!” you stopped and started to get defensive.

“And it’s not like you could talk, you’re not even that much taller!” that was a lie, he stood a good 7 inches taller than you making him the perfect height to give you forehead kisses.

“Okay mike wazowski, let’s keep it moving”

“Are you really trying to get me mad?!”

You looked so cute with your brows knit together and mouth forming a thin line that Donghyuck just couldn’t help but laugh “No offense but I literally feel like I’m being threatened by a cupcake”

“Do you want to fight?!” and just like that, Donghyuck found his new favorite hobby: annoying the living hell out of you.

“Pftt, what are you gonna do? eat my kneecaps?” he rolled his eyes.

“You know what, take your umbrella, I’m going home on my own!” You were ready to leave and he chuckled “Come onnnnn, I’m just kidding, it’s already-“ he checked his phone for the time “10:57 and I have to be home by midnight”

“Who are you? Cinderella?”

“Yeah but I’m much prettier and charming plus I have a mom who will eat me alive if I stay out too late so let’s get going”

“okay but you have to promise to stop teasing me”

“Alright. I’ll try” and with that you huffed continued with your walk home

You didn’t want to admit it but you really enjoyed Donghyuck’s company, there was just a natural sense of familiarity with him which made you feel at ease.

He would talk about the most random things but no matter what they were, he always found a way to put a smile on your face.

He even talked about his little puppy at home who probably misses him which made you feel bad because the puppy must be so sad right now and here you are, taking up too much of Donghyuck’s time.

You were both so into these conspiracy theories that you didn’t even notice that thirty minutes have passed and you were right in front of you house.

“Well, uhm, this is me” you smiled softly.

“Oh then I guess I’ll get going now” he responded, getting ready to go home.

“Wait uh- thanks for you know, walking me home and stuff.. I’m really sorry for being rude earlier” you looked at the ground, feeling ashamed of how you acted earlier when he was only trying to help.

He chuckled, ruffling your hair “It’s fine, I won’t exactly be very happy either if I got ground water splashed all over me while it’s 10 degrees outside, but you do owe me a cup of ramen”

“Oh come on, that probably only costed like a dollar or something” you whined

“3$ actually and it was a really delicious cup of ramen so I’m gonna have to get your number because I’m not letting this one slide” if Donghyuck was being honest, he couldn’t give two fucks about the ramen; normally, he’d be really mad about it but the fact that he can use it as an excuse to get your number, made up for it.

“fine” and that was how it all started.

Now, you could’ve called a cab that night or asked someone to come pick you up but you didn’t. Call it fate or your brain just wasn’t working at the time but you sure as hell know it happened for a reason because that’s what brought Hyuck to you.

There are forces in the universe that we don’t understand, measurable forces that can’t be explained but also can’t be denied and nobody gets it but maybe that’s what it was because right here, right now you’re with a distressed Donghyuck because you both forgot your umbrellas and have to take shade under an oak tree.

He hated the rain, he would squirm every time it hit his skin yet he still gave up his jacket to cover you. He continued to scold you because quite frankly, you stopping to pet every single stray animal you saw was the reason why you got caught in the middle of the rain anyway.

“You know, one of these days, one of those strays will bite or scratch you and you’re gonna get rabies” there he was again with his lips in a pout, annoyed by the continuous droplets of rain meeting his golden skin.

“Hmm maybe, but until then, I’m gonna stop to pet every single one I see because all of them deserve love and attention. You know, if it were up to me-“ he cut you off “You’re gonna adopt all the stray animals in the world and take care of them, I know. You literally never fail to mention that” you smiled at how he always seems to never listen to you yet he remembers the little things. But then you noticed that he was shivering “are you cold? do you want your jacket back?”

“no, I’m fine” he exhales.

You furrowed your brows and looked at him with worry and of course he noticed.

“Baby, I’m fine, I swear, all this sexual tension between us from being so close together is enough to keep me warm”

You playfully hit his arm and he chuckled “No, seriously, keep it, you need it more than me” oh, he hated it, he hated it so so much. He wanted to be anywhere with you but there but he wasn’t gonna admit to that and he didn’t want you to worry.

Youu started to talk in a pout, a habit you unconsciously picked up from your boyfriend whenever you were worried “but you’re shivering, can we at least share it?”

Donghyuck knows the jacket would never fit the both of you but he also knows that you’re not one to give up easily, it’s one of his most favorite things about you, except when you’re arguing or playing games because you’re both egotistical assholes yet you’re the only one who can put him in his place and the only one he sets his pride aside for.

You looked at him snuggled right beside you, trying his best to not let the rain touch you and despite the situation being unfavorable, right at this exact moment, everything just felt right and you know you were supposed to be here.

[hollybourneauthor]

“How Teen Fiction Can Change The World”

The Patrick Hardy Lecture has been running annually since 1989. Guest speakers from the world of children’s books, including the likes of Jacqueline Wilson, Meg Rosoff, Juno Dawson, and Michael Morpurgo, have taken to the lectern, and this year I had the overwhelming privilege of speaking to those who work in the industry.

“How Teen Fiction Can Change The World” Holly Bourne, Patrick Hardy speech, 2020

 Before I get going, at the risk of sounding like a yoga teacher, I want to ground us all in this room. Right here. In this moment. It’s a Wednesday night in winter, you’re sitting in a library, and you’re about to listen to me give a lecture about stories. So, high chances are...you really like books. At some point in your life, you stumbled across a story that won you over. You became consumed by the magic of fiction, and could never go back. There are probably a few key books that you’ve read that you honestly believe changed you. Improved you. And reading those books may have led to you making a number of small decisions throughout your life that paved the way for bigger decisions, that, all collected together, led to this very point in your life. Right now. This room. The people sitting around you. Your passion. Maybe even your career. Reading is likely the part of your identity that you feel the proudest of, and the most nourished by. I know that’s true for me.

 So, I just want you to take a few moments to think about the books that led you here today. Directly, or indirectly. The books that you’ve no-doubt read and reread countless times. The books that you feel are etched onto your soul. That made you who you are. That helped you through life and steered you towards becoming someone you’re proud of… And I’m going to go out on a limb here and say, I’m guessing that those books – those life-changing books – are books that you read as a teenager.

 This is the topic of my speech today. How I believe teen fiction doesn’t only have the power to change a young person’s life. But how that magical transformation can start ripples that can actually change the world for the better. I truly believe that YA books – writing them, publishing them and distributing them – is an act of activism that can start huge, positive, social change.

 But how?

 Before I talk about teenagers, I want to explore the powerful nature of stories themselves. Our brains are wired for stories – they are how we learn to survive in the world. Human survival needs two things – the basics of how to keep yourself out of danger, and how to keep in favour with the social group around you. We are pack animals. We need the surrounding community to survive. And we constantly tell each other stories about how to live. Information is more palatable if it’s in the form of a story. Rather than saying to someone “Don’t eat those red berries”, we’re much more likely to engage with that life-saving information if someone says, “Did you hear about Ig, the caveman from next door? Oh my God, it was AWFUL. He ate those red berries on the bush outside, and his stomach exploded ALL OVER THE CAVE. It was so gnarly. They’re still cleaning it up…”

 The same is true with instructions on how to be socially accepted by others. Linguistic experts have found humans spend most of their conversation time gossiping about people who aren’t there. Telling stories on each other. Gossip is actually narrative that instructs humans on what is and isn’t acceptable in their social group. Again, we’d get bored of an information manual. But if someone comes over to you, wide-eyed, saying, “Have you heard that John left his wife for his twenty-two year old secretary? And now everyone has turned on him and he isn’t welcome at the Safari Supper any more,” you’d be lapping it up. But you’d also be learning important lessons about how to behave. Instructions are boring, but stories are riveting. Our brain rejects one, and embraces the other. And, through narrative, we learn how to survive – both emotionally and physically – in this world.

 I find the work of Sigmund Freud hugely influences how I write stories, and how to ensure they connect with my readers. Some of you in this room will, no doubt, have done English degrees and will be familiar with how Freud’s theories relate to narrative. So apologies if this is a recap, but it’s something I try to remind myself of whenever I’m writing.

 Freud believed all humans lived in a state of constant conflict between three parts of our psyche – our Id, our Superego and our Ego.

 Our Id is the totally subconscious, primitive and instinctual part of us. It’s our selfish desires. Our animal selves. And it’s always there.

I’m hungry.

I want that.

I want to have sex with that person. NOW.

A newborn baby is completely Id-driven – at the mercy of its desires. And that part of us never goes away. The Id is always with us, steering us to survive. Utterly reactive and animalistic.

 Whereas the Superego is there to tame the Id. The Superego is the cocktail of messages we marinate in throughout our lives, telling us what a person should or shouldn't do. The Superego is about consequences. It’s your values. Your moral compass. Don’t steal. Don’t snatch. Don’t dry-hump that person on the Tube even if you really fancy them. Essentially the Superego socializes us. The most powerful influence on your Superego comes from your parents and your early childhood experiences. But society has a part of play. Laws are part of the Superego – telling us what is and isn’t legally acceptable. And culture plays a huge part in shaping it too. What should a man be? What should a woman be? What is right, or wrong? And the Superego isn’t always a good thing. It provokes a lot of guilt in us, and, if taken too far, feelings of shame can make us unhappy.

 And, finally, the Ego is the navigator of these two conflicts. It’s the “weigher-upper” – listening to the Id and the Superego and making the best judgement it can. I like to believe that the Ego is essentially who we are as a person, based on the decisions we make as a result of this eternal internal conflict. Rather than beating ourselves up for having “bad thoughts”, we should judge one another, and ourselves, on our actions. It’s our actions that make us who we are. We are what we do, not what we think.

 We learn about Freud in creative writing because, to some degree, every successful story represents the struggle between the Id, the Superego and the Ego. We are drawn to these stories because they reflect the battle we fight in our heads every day. If you consider the huge, ongoing success of comic book films, you can see how Freud’s theory explains their popularity. Baddies in these stories are often very Id-driven – selfish, compulsive and uncaring of how their actions impact those around them. Whereas superheroes are disguised “Superegos” – representing goodness and morality.

 But what excites me most about Freud isn’t how I can use his work to shape my books, but the belief I have that reading powerful stories can actually contribute to a person’s Superego. How the act of reading a work of fiction can actually cause a psychological change in us that makes us better people in our non-fiction lives. And the nature of the adolescent brain makes the opportunities for this even richer.

 So why books? What makes fiction the most potent vessel for activism compared to, say, films, TV, video games or even an Instagram caption? It’s because the very nature of reading itself is an irreplicable act of immersive empathy. When I go into schools, I always tell teenagers that novels are like really safe, legal, hallucinogenic drugs. I once read a funny tweet that said that reading a book is crazy when you consider what’s actually taking place. Effectively, you are staring at symbols printed onto a dead tree and vividly hallucinating. That’s pretty magical when you truly consider it. Even with all our technological advances, even with virtual-reality goggles, nothing quite recreates reading. How a reader is effectively transplanted into the mind of someone who doesn’t exist – feeling their feelings as they’re feeling them, experiencing their experiences as they experience them. When written well, and used for good, stories can educate readers about all sorts of social issues by provoking an empathetic and emotional response. You can open a reader’s eyes to the truth of what life is like for people who aren’t like them – from being on the receiving end of racism, to experiencing mental illness, trauma or physical disabilities. In To Kill A Mockingbird, Atticus tells his children that, in order to understand a person, you have to try and crawl into their skin and walk around in it. That’s exactly what books do.

 It can also be truly revolutionary and reassuring for a reader to find a book where they see themselves in a main character. Especially if this main character’s hardship or thought processes are something you believed was unique only to you. Being seen, heard, understood – sometimes the first time someone feels like that is through the pages of a novel. Alan Bennett once spoke of the magic of this moment and how it’s like a hand has come out of the pages and is holding yours. And if you’re reading about a main character suffering how you suffer, and yet this character is able to stand up and be brave... Whether that's speaking up, fighting back, or simply just asking for help...well, this connection between writer and reader could well inspire the reader to be brave themselves.

 Now, let’s go back to those books you had in your head. Your favourite books that you read when you were younger. The ones that really lodged in. What’s going on there?

 There’s actually some neuroscience that can explain this. Scientists have found that during puberty, when a child’s brain is rewiring to become an adult brain, a side effect is that we make memories more strongly compared to any other time in our lives. You can recall and connect with your teen years more easily and potently compared to your twenties, thirties and onwards. I certainly know this to be true for myself. Ask me to close my eyes and remember being fifteen and, yeah, I’m there. Hell, I don’t even need to close my eyes. I can already smell the Lynx Africa, remember who kissed who at the school disco. I can remember the full names of all the popular people in my year group. And yet, if you ask me what I was doing at twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty-one, I’d have to think about it. Trying to recall what job I was doing, struggling to remember certain people’s names... It’s vaguer, and certainly less visceral.

 On top of this they’ve found that teenage brains are hyper-attuned to social stimuli. From an evolutionary perspective, adolescence is when you have to figure out how important you are to your social group and that impacts your chances of survival. This means teenagers are constantly asking themselves: Am I important? Do I matter? Does anyone care about me? Because of this, they’ve found that teenage memories particularly linked to identity and sense of self are even stronger. So if a teenager stumbles across a book that is holding their hand through its pages, just consider the POWER of that memory.

 And let’s not forget just how wonderfully malleable young people are. Teenagers are so much more open to change – both in society, and in themselves. They haven’t calcified yet. They haven’t had as many years of repeating unhealthy patterns and gathering biased evidence to prop up unhelpful theories – about the world and their sense of self. I saw a talk once by a psychologist who said we need to stop dismissing our younger years as being unimportant years of freedom that do not matter. Actually, your youth and what you do with it paves the way to the future, and tiny adjustments, over time, can see you end up in a totally different place. She used the analogy of aeroplanes, and I love to think of teenagers as aeroplanes taking off from Heathrow airport. The planes all soar up in the same direction, but with minor changes in angle, they land in New York or Brazil or the Arctic.

 I’ve started to see evidence of my books causing angle changes in the journeys of my readers’ lives. I’ve now written ten YA novels, and have built my career by being honest with teenagers about the hardship of their reality, as well as encouraging them to fight for a better future and a better world. I educated them about feminism through my Spinster Club series, asked the question Is mental illness preventable? in Are We All Lemmings And Snowflakes? and, most recently, wrote about an emotional and sexually abusive relationship in The Places I’ve Cried In Public. I’ve been touring the book with Women’s Aid and have become an ambassador for their Love Respect campaign that educates young people about healthy relationships. I’ve always believed that my stories were activism, and hoped they’d create positive changes in the Superegos of my readers. And I’ve now been in the game long enough to see my faith wasn’t misguided.

 I met my very first Spinster Club alumni only last week, at a Women’s Aid event I did at Bristol University. After my talk, a young woman came up to me, squealing, and revealed she’d read my Spinster Club books as a teenager and they’d made her a feminist. She then went on to say she’s now studying law, and has got a barrister traineeship and wants to use law to protect vulnerable women. I’m not going to lie – it was probably one of the happiest moments of my life.

 And the ability to tweak a person’s journey has never been more evident than in my latest book, The Places I’ve Cried In Public. Since it’s been published, it’s had more crossover appeal than I thought, and I now get several messages a week from women in their twenties, thirties, forties, fifties and even sixties, telling me their own harrowing abuse stories. They tell me about their PTSD, the university degrees they never got because their partner never let them go, their fights through family court, their lost years, lost self-worth, their therapies and their ongoing recoveries. Each tale is just as heart-wrenching as the last. And all of them write to me, I wish I’d read your book when I was younger, or I wish I could go back in time and give this to my 14-year-old self. They wish they’d known the red flags to look out for that could’ve prevented them from going down a path they’re still on.

 And when I talk to teenage readers about the same book…

 “Well, those sorts of relationships sound terrible. I’m never going to let myself get into something like that.”

 “I HATE Reese. I want to kick him in the eyeballs.”

 “The book made me cry so much. I never want that to happen to me.”

 I’m not saying preventing awful things is that simple, but, also, maybe it can be? When you combine everything I’ve spoken about, what’s to say we can’t use fiction to nudge teenagers into making healthier decisions that will benefit them? As well as hopefully entertaining them along the way.

 When we start reflecting on the power of teenage fiction, as people who work in the industry, we need to ask ourselves: how do we utilize this? Maximize this? And, to me, the most important thing is to remove as many barriers as possible between teenagers and the stories that can change their lives. I see the need to address this in three ways.

 Firstly, we need to ensure books are available to all teenagers, regardless of their means. Novels, and their life-changing magic, should never be allowed to become an elitist item. So we need to fight to keep libraries and school libraries open, and to keep trained librarians in position. Librarians are experts at matchmaking teenagers with the best books for them.

 Secondly, we need to fight for all teenagers to be able to see themselves in books by making the publishing industry more diverse, and therefore the stories it produces more diverse. The magic of fiction can only work if there’s an authentic connection between writer and reader, and diverse voices are an essential component for this to occur. If we think back to that reminiscence bump, and how memories about identity leave a particularly strong mark, just imagine how it must feel to be a marginalized teenager who finds a book that finally gets them.

 And thirdly, we can’t let our own maturity and “calcification” accidentally erect barriers by letting literary snobbery shame a teenager for what they are reading. There is no such thing as good or bad reading – there is only reading. We need to celebrate and reward the books that teenagers are connecting with. It’s the connection that changes a life, not the beauty of a sentence. Yes, perhaps ideally, we want them to read the classics, but they’re much more likely to get there if the world of reading seems like an open, non-judgemental, non-elitist place. Let’s also recognize how hard it is to write a book that’s “easy to read” – the craftsmanship that goes into creating a story that pulls a teenager away from the huge list of distractions fighting for their attention. Literary snobbery is an unhelpful stance that will only inform a teen’s Superego in a negative way, leading to shame and exclusion. In trying to crowbar a teenager into reading a certain type of book, you’re potentially putting them off all books for ever.

 I started by grounding us in this room. And now, after geeking out on you for half an hour about brain science and psychology, I want to bring it back to this room. I want us to take a moment to reflect on just how much power sits within these four walls. Collectively we have access to thousands upon thousands of young people, and a passion for the stories we want to give them. Just think of the ripples we can create by the simple, wonderful act of activism which is giving a book to a teenager. I honestly believe that giving the right book to the right teenager at the right time can change and possibly even save their lives. And I also believe that all those teenager aeroplanes, taking off from Heathrow airport, feeling empowered and understood, will go on to achieve remarkable things. Teen fiction really can change the world, and make it a better place.

 A long time ago, someone gave you a book that led to you sitting in this room today. Let’s go out and start that journey for others. Who knows who will be sitting listening to the Patrick Hardy lecture in twenty years’ time, and what they will have achieved. But every time I think of this, I feel nothing but hope.

 Thank you so much for listening.

[chiseler]

Unfunnymen

Sooner or later one has to face El Brendel, in the same way that sooner or later one has to face death.

But by way of working up to the grim task gently, let's start with Joe E. Brown. This vaudevillian, graced with an unnaturally wide mouth, which seemed on the verge of separating cranium from lower jaw, and giving him the flapping head of a South Park Canadian, spelled fortune to the exuberant, hearty, not particularly funny man who had been applied around this yawning abyss like lipstick.

We tend to remember Brown more fondly than his moderate talent deserves, because he delivers a classic closing line in a classic comedy. The line is "Well, nobody's perfect," and the film is Some Like It Hot (1959) and it's a good demonstration that great dialogue is often great because of context rather than because of the brilliant assembling of words. Here, the phrase is a commonplace one, but nobody can forget it when they've heard it used to cap the film's closing scene. Perhaps it was the prosaic nature of the line which caused its writers to doubt it: Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond wrote it the night before filming, and turned in saying "Maybe we'll think of something better in the morning.”

Joe E. Brown says the line the way he said about every line of his career, enthusiastically, with a goggly stare and an effort to draw the corners of his rubbery mouth as far apart as possible. Stretching his elastic features like a chest expander was basically all he did. He was blessed with a funny face, but what was under it? A perfectly ordinary skull. No funny bones here.

Brown starred - actually starred! - in a whole series of pre-code comedies which prove that not everything made at Warners in the thirties was forward-looking, funny and challenging. He played "lovable" losers who win in the end. Like Harold Lloyd only with his face gashed open. His leading ladies included Joan Bennett, Ginger Rogers, Olivia De Havilland, Ann Dvorak. To contemplate any of those films proceeding beyond the final clinch-and-fadeout is to consider bestiality. One feels Bette Davis was lucky to escape his all-consuming maw. Every other Warners contract starlet was engulfed.

It's safe to assume Wilder gave him his great late role because Brown brought with him associations of a bygone age. Brown would remind audiences of the kind of stuff people used to laugh at. He isn't precisely used as a butt, more as a threat. He seems so genderless, acceptable jokes can be made about him marrying a man. Now that dream is a reality, but Some Like it Hot still seems just a little transgressive, or at least a rare film from its period which manages to imply a questioning of gender roles. Maybe Brown's earlier work would have been improved if he hadn't been required to show interest in girls. He would make a perfect speculative fiction hypothesis of what the third sex might look like. And his best quality as a comic is his alienness: like Harry Langdon, he seems to have beamed down from another world, some kind of asexual clown planet.

Warners had plenty of unappealing comic actors, but they didn't tend to make them leading men. And in small doses, mugs like Guy Kibbee or Hugh Herbert could work. H.H. had one bit of schtick, to say "woo-woo" and giggle inanely while flapping his stubbing fingers in nervous benediction. He did that for about twenty-five years and was never fatally shot or bludgeoned to death. Those were, in many ways, more tolerant times.

Woo-woo Hugh and "the Clown Prince" Brown appear together in Warners all-star A Midsummer Night's Dream, as rude mechanicals, which is perfect casting. A crowd of unfunny funnymen, delivering Shakespeare's less clever material, as background to Jimmy Cagney. The world has acquired some kind of order. But one film later, Brown will be in the lead again, baffling us.

It's bizarre that Brown played leads, since his equipment seems to better suit second banana roles. But its not as mystifying as the career of dialect comedian El Brendel, which requires the aid of a conspiracy theory to make it in any way intelligible.

The story is told that when studio boss William Fox was in a car accident, Elmer Brendel was the only one around with the right blood group to save his life. In gratitude, Fox disfigured his studio's entire output by thrusting the smirking, talentless goof into film after film.

El Brendel was in some good films, like the Oscar-winning Wings. But he's always the worst things about every film he's in, whether it's a classic like Wings or a schlock snooze like The She Creature (1956) at the far end of his career. A farrago about sea monsters and hypnosis, it's hilarious except when El is doing his comedy relief.

El Brendel's schtick was to play a fake foreigner - the Synthetic Swede was his sobriquet. With his little quacking voice he would play naive malaprops, garbling the English language. But he couldn't help smiling in apparent self-satisfaction at each of his would-be funny lines. For a character who's not supposed to know he's funny, this was a terrible mistake, and may explain why I want to murder El Brendel whenever I see him. There's a special circle of hell for comedians who act like they think they're funny. At its centre lies Red Skelton, encased in ice. But I like to think El Brendel is nearby, forced to listen to Red Skelton laugh at how hilarious he thinks he is. For eternity.

Asides from his tight little quarter-moon smile and his twinkly little quarter moon eyes in his punchable face, El Brendel is the comedian without qualities. To see him in what passes for action is to be reminded how much more than a mock accent Chico Marx brought to the screen. Chico was an incredible actor - the Brando of atsa-no-good. El Brendel couldn't even gesture at being funny. In William Wellman's You Never Know Women (1926), the clown makes his debut, playing a clown. It's all there, or rather it isn't, from the start. He is born fully unformed. Wellman resorts to putting him on a wire to try and make him funny. He doesn't even make a decent puppet. The presence in the film of an angry knife-thrower has you praying for a severed artery, but it never comes. Brendel would hang on to his eight pints until William Fox needed one of them. He wasn't talented, but he could marshal his resources.

El Brendel is not an actor, he's not a comedian, he's a gimmick in a flesh suit.

If Joe E. Brown was popular because people with an undeveloped sense of humor require comedians who look like clowns even without facepaint, and El Brendel was successful because movie executives need blood like everyone else, Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry, who used the stage name Stepin Fetchit, is a different case.

Fetchit only appeared as a supporting player, but his effect was striking, slowing any scene he was in to the pace of coastal erosion. For that alone, he deserves acknowledgment, whether you welcome his derailment of fast-talking thirties movies or not.

The discomfort Fetchit produces today qualifies him as an honorary unfunnyman, since he was a black actor specializing in playing servant characters of awesome slow-wittedness. Sloping apelike into a scene, his lower lip hanging like the rear flap on a truck, as if the energy to raise it were missing, Stepin Fetchit seems to embody every negative stereotype of his day. Billed as "the laziest man alive," he melded lethargy with ignorance to create a perfect simulacrum of stupidity.

But Perry was very popular with black audiences, who understood something white viewers missed. How much fun it would be, to act like Fetchit in front of white authority! They can punish you for disobedience, but not for your failure to understand an order. Nobody was going to get any meaningful work out of this man, sunk as he seemed to be in the depths of psychomotor retardation. It seemed to be all he could manage to raise his head above chest level. His voice issued in a reedy rasp, painfully stringing words together like an infant assembling building blocks, with the sentences liable at any moment to falter, turn back on themselves, or fade out altogether. Will Rogers, embodiment of the benign white master, could demonstrate his saintliness by finding Fetchit's stream-of-unconsciousness monologues interesting, enlightening.

It is questionable whether even John Ford, who cast Fetchit regularly even after liberal embarrassment had rendered him largely unacceptable elsewhere, understood the subversive side of the comic's character. Probably he just found him funny, and a useful modifier of the generally rambunctious Ford comic scene. Fetchit had the legendary minus factor: entering a scene charged with high emotion, he could make it feel as if someone had left. Where other actors are praised for presence, he had absence. Looking around him in bewilderment, he forced the narrative to its knees, to proceed at the slothlike pace of his dull comprehension.

Of course, the joke cut both ways, since the Fetchit character made white audiences feel comfortably superior. But it's hard now to look upon his schtick without feeling racial shame, an inward cringe. The last laugh is Stepin Fetchit's: no one else is laughing.

by David Cairns

[wiccamoody]

Alright, under the cut is my ii review. It's very long and divided into sections because I'm like that.

The audience

I'm starting off with the easy bit. So something I didn't entirely expect (but kind of did at the same time? Usually I'm pleasantly surprised by these kinds of events) was how old I felt. I'm 19. I'm practically a baby. I shouldn't ever feel old unless I'm surrounded by kindergarteners. But besides people's parents and a few people who I could tell were my age or older, everyone was so young. I mean, duh, I'm pretty sure the average age in the phandom is like 16 or something, but it was wild to me, though maybe that's because I've curated the shit out of my fandom experience. And this wasn't a bad thing at all! The only bad thing about feeling 'old' was that people letting out ear splitting screams at literally nothing was giving me a headache and made me roll my eyes at multiple points (ahem, I think screaming when you see the empty stage that we've seen a million times before is a bit much, but maybe that's me being grumpy). Otherwise, it was really, really nice to see such a diverse and lovely group of people come together and just have fun. I wasn't dancing at any of the songs or whatever (but you bet your ass I sang my heart out when WTTBP was playing), however it was really cute to see people in such good moods. It's one of my favourite parts of fandom events. I was glad that this one wasn't like some events I've been to where people are dicks to everyone is they aren't friends with. Everyone just seemed so nice and happy, and I really felt a sense of community there too, which was lovely. Also, even though I've said this several times, it really was so lovely to meet @lesterchuu and @astudyinfondness. They were so lovely and it was great to meet people off the internet. 

Okay, now that we've got the fluff out of the way, let's get to the meat of this review: the show.

Dan

To put it plainly: Dan was acting. I'll get into why Phil was but also "wasn't" acting, but it was very clear that Dan was playing ~Daniel Howell. He had a few character breaks, like when he smacked his leg into the stage twice and almost said fuck both times. He also fiddled with his mic a lot, and I don't know if that's giving his hands something to do while Phil's talking, or if it was actually bothering him, but it was something I noticed.

Speaking of mannerisms, I was surprised to see how, for lack of a better term, 'campy' Dan's body language can be. He also walked very awkwardly across the stage a few times, which made me laugh.

Anyway, Dan was really interesting for me to watch because he was so in character the whole time. His 'Dan' voice is something that kind of bothers me after a while (which is why I like his liveshows the best out of his solo content), and while I didn't get bothered by it during the show, I was extremely hyper aware of its presence, which was the main thing that made me go "Oh Dan's really acting right now". Maybe that should be super obvious since I've listened to audio clips of the show before and know that it's 90% scripted, but I suppose I wasn't expecting it to be so obvious to me when I was watching it. Also, it was incredibly jarring (but also pleasant, in a way) to hear Dan's cackle irl. Along with that, Dan's facial expressions were always 'turned on'. Besides when he fixed his mic, whenever Phil was talking he looked full of energy and rearing to go.  Dan's dedication to his character kind of took me out of the loose narrative of the show because of how obvious I found it to be, but I know that's just me over analyzing things since I generally find Dan's mannerisms so interesting to watch. He did a really great job though.

Phil

I found Phil so much more interesting to watch through the whole show. Phil was definitely acting, but it was different from the way Dan was acting. Dan had the pacing and energy of someone who has to stay in a relatively emotionally stagnant character, while Phil came across very similarly to how he does in his videos. It was definitely played up a bit more because he's still acting in a stage show (side note: they must have decided to get some training before this one because they were a lot less stiff than in tatinof. I've only seen the youtube red version of it, but even then their acting was Not Great in it compared to this time around), but he felt more true to the Phil we see on the gaming channel and in liveshows than Dan did.

I think a lot of Phil's behaviour in this particular show was influenced by how exhausted he seemed to be that day. He looked tired in his instagram story, and on stage he definitely had a more neutral face than Dan did when Dan was talking. There were a few moments where I could see Phil falter and watch his expression shift to his 'Done' face, but it was only for a split second every time (yeah, I barely looked at them when they were talking. I was mostly trying to see what they looked like when the other was talking because for some reason I feel like that's more telling. Maybe I'm weird idk).

I'm not sure if he always sits for the simulation bit, but the fact that Dan didn't made me think that they usually stand so I think the tour was really starting to take a toll on him near the end there. He also popped a few squats and swayed his hips a lot which was amusing to me. Oh, and a bit that I found hilarious was after he got off the wheel and was undressing, he bent over so his ass was facing the audience while Dan was talking and everyone cheered which cut Dan off. Phil was struggling to get the suit over his shoes too so he kind of waddled into one of the wings but the spotlight kept following him. Eventually he just sat down on the stage and pulled it off, but I thought it was a funny moment (even if it's something that happens at every show where Phil's on the wheel).

Something else about Phil that really shone through here, similar to how it is in videos but not to the same extent, is how naturally funny he is. Again, it wasn't to the same extent that it is in videos since he's acting, but some of their little ad libbed moments were so much better because of Phil's quick humour.

Dan & Phil

Something I noticed right away was that their dynamic was far from the flirty and silly one we get on dapg, or even in joint videos/liveshows. I expected this since the show is mostly scripted, so that's fine, but it was still  very obvious to me the entire time. They didn't bounce off of each other in the same way they do in videos of course, but god they work so well together. The show didn't change my perception of them in the slightest, but it did make me see how much of a unit they really are. This was something I was very aware of before obviously, but seeing it irl made it a little more concrete, which was interesting. They really are the perfect package deal together and for each other. Their dynamic made me crave more from them though. The inner workings of their relationship are so interesting to me, and while it's far more likely than not that we'll ever get even the smallest glimpse into that part of their lives, it has me intrigued. But more on that later.

Moving onto the extremely superficial portion of this section, I was surprised to see how...similar they look to how they appear in videos. I was close enough to be able to see their sweat and whatnot, and I found it odd how they actually do look like they do online. I realise how ridiculous that sounds, but it was something that was running through my mind. The way they move their bodies was really quite awkward at times, but honestly I relate and I had a feeling they would be a little awkward in some bits. There was a moment when Dan looked right at the spot where I was sitting for a long time (obviously not directly at me, but in a spot either right in front or behind me--maybe he zoned out) while he was talking about something. I think it was during the real conversation section because he was sitting down, but I really didn't hear anything either of them were saying because my mind was like "wow his eyes are a really nice shade of brown" haha. In short, they're both pretty. Oh, and I could definitely see Dan's nipples the entire time.

The show & what I took away from it

To sum up my feelings in a few words: I really enjoyed myself! I had a lot of fun, but all it really did was make me crave a real conversation with them. This show was not nearly as enjoyable to me as a video or a liveshow, and I didn't expect it to be. I knew that it was going to be formulaic and that there would be a few moments that I would genuinely adore, but otherwise it was just going to be a fun time where I spend way too much money and get to see them 25 feet away. That's not a bad thing, either. I'm okay with that. I went in knowing that nothing revolutionary is going to happen because this show really isn't about me as a fan, or my fabricated one-way friendly connection to them, or what I want from them. I'm simply there to enjoy myself and explicitly support them monetarily, which is expected and fine. And I also never anticipated this show to be mind blowingly spectacular or anything, concept and script-wise. I don't expect that from Dan and Phil ever, and that's really not why I watch them. I'm definitely here because their chemistry is like nothing else and I find their relationship so fascinating. I think overall as someone who wasn't anticipating much and who had spoiled themselves as much as possible, seeing it actually exceeded my expectations. And it's a big plus in my book that it actually was a lot better than tatinof (but that's a whole other post tbh). The only thing that really annoyed me was the way fic is treated, but this happens in every show so I was expecting it, though it didn't stop me from being unimpressed. Oh, and I didn't appreciate being constantly shamed for voting for the craft videos. We all know that's where their content peaked.

I'm a little frustrated by how much it made me actually want to get to know them though, like I said earlier about being intrigued by the inner bits of their dynamic. I've said this for years, but I'd really love to have a long chat with them over coffee or drinks. I think it would be interesting. But that's a pipe dream and a half so this will definitely suffice.

I adore how queer the show was too. The fact that they're comfortable enough now to travel around the world with so many queer references in the scripted parts of their show makes me really happy for them.

Overall, I left the show in a good mood and feeling really fond of them. It was a nice time.

[vectorgallery]

3am magazine 

niconomicon: a conversation with lutz graf-ulbrich

Interview by JJ Brine and Cat Marnell.

Lutz Graf-Ulbrich is a prolific German musician with a varied discography spanning several decades. He’s been a member of many groups, from the 70s art rock band Ash Ra Tempel to his current folk ensemble, 17 Hippies. What might be most intriguing to rock historians, though, is his long relationship with Nico, which he recently documented in his book, In The Shadow Of The Moon Goddess.

If The Velvet Underground was the first “alternative” rock band, Nico—the Andy Warhol Superstar and original art house chanteuse most famous for her contributions to 1967’s The Velvet Underground & Nico, the band’s debut—was the first alternative to alternative music. Warhol essentially imposed the German supermodel on the band, as though she were an art installation. The result, arguably, was the advent of contemporary pop culture.

The solo careers of Lou Reed and John Cale bore traces of their roots in the avant garde, whereas Nico’s musical sensibility seemed to have no roots at all. Rather, it was the zeitgeist that had its roots in her, ones that are still growing. She was not simply the first goth girl, but the first goth (the first use of the term “gothic” in the rock press as a musical descriptive came from Rolling Stone in 1971, in reference to Nico). She was “the most beautiful woman in the world,” whom the Ibizan authorities would not allow out of her home unveiled, for fear that her beauty would cause civil unrest. She was a tabloid fixture who had given birth out of wedlock to the son of the most famous man in France, actor Alain Delon; the model turned actress turned singer who, by Andy Warhol’s reckoning, seemed to change careers whenever something was beginning to really go well for her; the woman whose only regret was to have been born a woman instead of a man; the interdimensional songwriter who taught herself how to play the harmonium and channeled a mystical operatic alien civilization that peaked in its apparent nuclear winter; and the junkie with the lowest female voice this side of everyone.

This past summer, I met Lutz and his wife Daniela at a cafe in Berlin, along with my friend Cat Marnell, a former beauty editor and the author, earlier this year, of the amphetamine-addled memoir, How To Murder Your Life. Considering Nico’s unapologetic, perennial drug use, and the media’s determination to cast her persona in a Warholian mold—something critics have tried to do to my own work as an artist—Cat and I were perfectly placed for this assignment.

—JJ Brine

*

JJ BRINE: How did you meet Nico?

LUTZ GRAF-ULBRICH: We met in 1972 in Paris because we had the same manager. He promoted a concert in Paris and I was playing with a hard rock band called “Agitation Free” in Berlin. Nico was playing there too. That’s when I first saw her. Nobody knew who she really was. There was a strange aura, and lots of rumors, and nobody knew what to make of all that. Before we met she was already a mysterious thing. When she performed it was really strange, with her harmonium and the way she sang. The audience was very enthusiastic. I was stunned. And of course we talked. As we had the same manager, we met a few times. There was a party held by our manager and she took me aside. She saw my record cover and she said it was strange and frightening. Her aura and personality were just so strong that I felt like a little boy. I was 22 and she was 36.

JB: How did your love affair begin?

LG: In ’74 my band split up in June or July. I stayed in France because I loved the people and I wanted to live there as a solo musician. We met again at a musical festival we were both playing at. I was backstage with a band called “Creme Delirium” and I drank some tea, and I remembered that this band puts acid in their tea. It wasn’t normal, I felt intoxicated. I closed my eyes and played the guitar. When I opened my eyes Nico was there. I was on the acid level, and Nico was always sort of over the moon. It was a very good time. After our concerts Nico asked me where I was staying. I didn’t have a hotel and she invited me, she bought me a room. I went to her room and said bye and she said, “Oh no, you’re not getting away.” She was naked on the bed and she was very good looking. I was too shy, I went back to my own room. We sat together on the train to Paris and I played her all of my songs and the whole thing started.

CAT MARNELL: What were you guys wearing at this time?

LG: Nico was wearing a red cloak like a curtain. I was probably wearing a leather jacket.

JB: Were you a fan of hers before you two met?

LG: Of course I had known the Velvet Underground, but only some songs. I hadn’t really connected her history. I only knew a photo of her but I had forgotten about it. One day when we were together she showed me a German fashion magazine, Twen, and it all hit me. Maybe when I was sixteen I had seen this cover.

JB: How was it to be in a relationship with Nico?

LG: Nico generally liked philosophers and drug dealers and gangsters and anything like this. I was an exception to this. She didn’t hold hands in public. She called me her “German friend.” There was one time that she did give me a huge compliment. She did say in public that I was the best lover she ever had. But Nico had many lovers in her life. She could be jealous when provoked. One day she walked into “our” New York restaurant close to the Chelsea Hotel and saw me with the model Angeline, a friend of Nico’s whom she had introduced to me. Nico was very angry and she left.

JB: You and Nico remained close friends even after your love affair ended. But how did that breakup come to pass?

LG: One day we were both in her room and she wanted to be alone but I wouldn’t leave the room. So she threw an iron at me and I went for her and we fought. That was 1979.

JB: Was Nico proud of her body of work? Did she feel that she was a great artist—the greatest?

LG: Of course. I think she found herself underestimated, which was true. A lot of people say, oh yeah, she can’t sing and all that. Of course sometimes when you hear live recordings the tone was sort of off, but at the same time she was such a fantastic singer. When you listen to a song like Tananore, it’s really difficult to sing! She had such a powerful voice. Nico’s body of work was the greatest contribution to music. That’s what makes her so fascinating. The way she was composing and writing songs. There’s nobody who can really explain her music. So dark and poetic. And the combination with her voice. People talk about All Tomorrow’s Parties and Femme Fatale, but of course Nico was more than that. She thought she deserved a better audience, she should’ve sang in an opera hall and all that. But instead she was playing to this young punk audience.

JB: Do you think Nico was thinking of herself as a celebrity—as a star? Was she consistently aware of this?

LG: She was always aware and thinking of things in this way. Nico was a star and everybody knew it.

CM: What kind of scent did Nico have? What was her favorite perfume?

LG: Well, Nico did not like bathing much. She hated water, like a cat she didn’t like to get wet. But she wasn’t stinky, and I do remember her fragrance. It was Chanel. That was her favorite.

CM: Did Nico ever exercise?

LG: One time in Los Angeles, at a friend’s place, I saw her in a bathing suit and I said wow! That was the maximum.

JJ BRINE: What was her attitude toward Andy Warhol? Did she speak of him often? Did they keep in touch over the years?

LG: Andy Warhol I met for like 15 minutes in Paris, actually. Nico had her money stolen and we went to see Andy and she said, “Oh Andy, can you give me some money?” And he gave it to her. He was very generous.

[Warhol recalled this incident in a diary entry from 27 May 1977: “Nico was there with a young kid with a big bulge in his pants, she asked Bob to photograph him. Bob already had. Nico looked older and fatter and sadder. She was crying, she said, because of the beauty of the show. I wanted to give her some money but not directly so I signed a 500-franc note ($100) and handed it to her, and she got even more sentimental and said, “I must frame this, can you give me another one, unsigned, to spend?”]

JB: What do you think of the narrative presented in the documentary Nico Icon about Nico wanting to lose her good looks so as to be taken more seriously as an artist? Do you think this is in any way reductive or misleading?

LG: I don’t know what to say. I know that Paul Morrissey said that.

DANIELA GRAF-ULBRICH: I asked you the same question a few years ago and you told me she was always putting on makeup and that she was very concerned with her appearance. And that she used that as an excuse, like she didn’t want to be beautiful anymore so she gave it away.

LG: It’s true. She could be insecure. When we were living at The Chelsea at one point she had put on a lot of weight. And she didn’t like that.

JB: How do you think Nico wished to portray herself?

LG: More than anything, Nico wanted mystery. And to provide this air of mystery, Nico sometimes lied. Often, in fact. I mean, what happened to her father in WWII, or saying her grandfather was a Whirling Dervish or something, he wasn’t Turkish. Acting lessons with Marilyn Monroe, meetings with Ernest Hemingway, et cetera. She was also very self-absorbed, narcissistic. For instance, she was convinced that right before he died, Jim Morrison came back to Paris just for Nico. I’m not sure that it’s true.

JB: What do you think Nico was most proud of?

LG: Her artistry. She knew that there was nobody else like her, not anywhere. Also, she would always say in interviews that she was most proud to be the mother of her son, Ari [the result of an affair with Alain Delon, who refused to recognize his paternity].

CM: Were there some things about Nico that you came to understand as you got to know her, related to her addiction?

LG: It began when I met her. She was smoking heroin. I didn’t want to take it. But when you’re in love with a person, you want to get on their wavelength. And Nico was so hard to follow as a person, even though we were really close. I could never tell what she was thinking. When she was taking heroin she went even further away. After awhile I gave in to her. I only took it for about a year and a half, maybe in 74 and by 76 I was done. I think Nico thought she was productive! I remember she once said, “I wrote already three albums with a lot of songs. That’s enough, what more do people want?” I think she was lazy actually. She was not productive. She was sitting hallucinating. She wasn’t working on songs all the time. There were two concerts in a month or something. She would rehearse right before a concert or a few notes occasionally.

JB: Did Nico have any phobias?

LG: The sun. And that was what killed her in the end.

JB: I know that you arranged Nico’s last concert, Fata Morgana, where she performed a set of completely new material—hinting at what her next album would have been like, with her alone on her harmonium. Was that the last time you saw her before her death?

LG: Well, she slept at my place after the concert. The next day we talked and she was staying at my place, she was sick of hotels, and I took her to the airport. She was angry at the airport staff because they charged something for her harmonium and she had been told she wouldn’t have to pay but it turned out she did. I remember the woman telling me at customs, you should take care of this woman because she won’t last much longer like this. And then of course six weeks later she died.

JB: Can you tell us more about the circumstances leading up to her death?

LG: I remember she invited me to stay with her in Ibiza, telling me she was going with Ari for three months to write songs or write a book, and I wasn’t sure because she was smoking so much hash, and at that time I didn’t want to do that. But then I had this answering machine message from Ari that said, “It’s so nice, come to Ibiza with us!” And so I bought this ticket the next day. The same day I bought the ticket, I got the news she had died.

JB: If you could say one thing to Nico today, one last thing, what would it be?

LG: I would tell her how grateful I am to have had the luck and fortune to meet her, I still don’t know why she chose me to be with her. That was the great gift in my life.

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWERS

JJ Brine is the creator, owner, and artist behind the Vector Gallery installation project, which also encompasses its own religious movement, a governing body of Ministers for a self-proclaimed sovereign, Vectorian State, and even its own singular Vectorian time zone. Often called the founder of the PostHuman Art movement and the Andy Warhol of our time, you can follow “The Crown Prince of Hell” straight to heaven at jjbrine.com, or Twitter and Instagram (@jjbrine).

Cat Marnell is the author of How To Murder Your Life (2017), a memoir centered on her experiences with the revolving door of drug addiction and drug rehab by way of high fashion offices like Condé Nast, Nylon, and XOJane. Previously, she wrote a column for VICE Magazine titled “Amphetamine Logic.” You can keep up with Cat’s wizardly ways on Twitter and Instagram (@cat_marnell).

https://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/niconomicon-conversation-lutz-graf-ulbrich-nico/

[sogurikur]

POTA - Garrett & Ceryl, Round 2.

Here’s the other RP log from our PotA campaign. As before, Ceryl is mine, Garrett is @b-e-m-l-t‘s NPC.

This thread was more narrative and serious than the last one. 

To say that Ceryl felt tired would have been an understatement -- he had been tired before in his life, from a long day's journey or a hard day of work, but never like this. Their encounter with the medusa and whatever other entity had spoken to them in those depths, and their arduous flight back to Summit Hall under the darkened sky, had sapped him down to his soul, it felt like. The genasi knew he should take his rest while it was available -- their time was shorter now than it ever had been, and the world waited for no man -- but he couldn't. Not just yet. Instead, it was that shortness of time that weighed on Ceryl like an anvil, and pulled him towards the barracks the moment his words with Ashir had ended.

Bone-weary as he was, whatever energy he could spare as he weaved through paladins and priests in the halls went into presenting himself as at-ease, calm and collected as he always was. It was a ruse that could not hide the shadows gathering under his eyes and the sagging of his shoulders -- but a necessary ruse, all the same. Ceryl had come to realize, in recent days, that people expected him to always be the level-headed and cool one. With the world ending outside and everyone's hope resting on the shoulders of the three of them, they couldn't afford to see him break down or not have his shit together. So he gave a half-hearted smile as he made his way into the barracks, sparing a moment to check in with Seta before heading towards the man he sought.

His father wasn't exactly easy to miss, after all.

"Garrett," Ceryl said, by way of greeting. "Got your hands full here, it looks like, but can you spare a minute?" Or an hour, he thought, though he half expected the man to dodge him again.

Though he had made himself scarce whenever in a room with the lord commander, there was no Ushien Stormbanner ruling the barracks to make him shrink against a wall. He was indeed hard to miss. While clerics and initiates bustled around, tending to more than just their unconscious guest, serfs and townspeople still reeling from Beliard, Garrett stood stock still. He was not a healer, he couldn’t tend to the Feathergale Commander, but he could do something as well as any Paladin.

Behind a hastily put up sheet to shield Thurl from view, Garrett stood stock still a few paces from the end of the sleeping man’s cot. Healers had cleaned and closed wounds and left the Red Lance to stand vigil, and he did so. He hands were folded close to his chest, holding his longbow on end. Two arrows were clasped ready between his fingers. Garrett remembered what had been said of the man in the bed. He would take no chances, not after the last time Felsi, Ashir, and Ceryl had been at Summit Hall. A hundred pounds of force travelling all of eight feet quicker than a breath would end any trouble before it began.

He didn’t look up at first as the genasi approached. He quirked a brow, then turned his head when the voice registered to a face in his memory and he tipped his chin up, lips pressed tight. “He’s not waking up any time soon. What do you need?” He angled his head towards a stool against the wall, occupied by a healer not long before.

For just a moment, Ceryl couldn't help but catch himself staring at the man before him, as he moved past the cleric into the space behind the makeshift curtain. It dawned on him that it was the first time he'd really seen Garrett in his element, or something akin to it. Not putting on an act of being bawdy and drunk, nor cowed underfoot of the lord commander, nor hunched behind a table and scrolls. No, here the man looked like the war cleric that Ceryl knew him to be -- straight backed and at attention, not unlike a chess piece himself. What else was his father really like, he wondered, ringing true to what he'd come there for.

Then his mind registered that yes, idiot, the man had asked him a question -- so he shook it off and ran a hand down his tired face.

"Oh," Ceryl said, started. "No, I don't need anything, it's not that. I just wanted to speak with you a bit."

Nearly the moment he was behind the sheet and out of sight from the rest of the barracks, whatever shreds of his ruse still remained melted away from him. It was just him and Garrett now, so there was no need -- well, and Thurl, but that one wasn't likely to notice. Still, though Ceryl looked like he sorely wanted to just fall upon the stool like a ragdoll, he stopped just before it -- and turned to look at Garrett as though asking for permission to stay.

"Look, I know we agreed to hold off on talking until all this is over, but--" But the sky is black, and the world is ending. But I just watched my friend cut off his own arm, and we aren't even finished yet. But this may be the last chance we get. Ceryl managed to push back those thoughts and wrest up something resembling his usual humor.    "-- ... Well, things have changed now, haven't they?"

Garrett had pointed out the stool that Ceryl took for just the one reason- so he could keep both the genasi and the dormant knight in his eyeline. And somehow that was easier, giving a place for his eyes to fall when looking at Ceryl somehow became difficult, and the moment words left his mouth, it did.

“Things have changed now.” Garrett agreed. His hands tightened on the tip of the bow, fingers unfurling and recurling on the arrows he grasped. The first time Ceryl had come to him like this, and indeed the second, he might have wished for someone to gift him with a hundred pounds of armour piercing bodkin point steel, if only for a quick exit. But that was childish. Time among other clerics and stoic paladins had reminded him that pretense was only so useful, and its use had run out that first day back in Red Larch.

“I thought I'd hired in three casual mercenaries who'd go into this Valley and find all those people camped out in bad weather.” His brow creased as he looked at some point in space between himself and the foot of Thurl’s cot. “They said I could hire myself an army if I wanted. That'll teach me to choose restraint I suppose.” He remembered himself and let out a laugh. “Of all the times I could have chosen to stick to the fucking doctrine.”

Garrett patted the emblazoned red steed on his tabbard by way of apology to the Knight, and finally glanced back to the genasi sagging in his seat. He looked tired. And Garrett couldn't decide if the man looked anything like him or not.

“Let's talk then.”

For his part, as Ceryl near collapsed onto the stool he'd been offered, Thurl may as well not even have been there at all. He spared a glance at the unconscious knight -- the clerics had certainly done a better job taking care of the man than he had -- before his eyes found their way back to Garrett and stayed there. The genasi didn't seem to have the same problem that his father did, instead paying rapt attention to Garrett, as though he was afraid he might miss something if he didn't. Somewhere dimly in the back of his mind, he knew he was probably making the man uncomfortable. Still, he watched.

And he listened. Ceryl had come there that night -- was it night? -- for honesty, and yet had expected it to be largely one-sided. Getting truth from Garrett over the course of the mission had felt like pulling teeth at times, so it was a surprise to hear the man being so frank now. The genasi wasn't sure if it made him feel better to hear Garrett speak of the mission that way, of the should haves and could have beens, and almost started to argue -- after all, if he'd thrown them unknowingly into the fire, so had everyone else. The Harpers had sent him in blind and dumb -- and here Ushien did have half an army, and yet allowed the three casual mercenaries to face horrors in the dark alone all the same. But the 'let's talk then' chased all that away in a heartbeat.

"All right, then," Ceryl said, shifting to sit more upright, but his whole brow creased and he seemed to flounder for a moment. "To be honest, I'm... not actually sure where to start. I don't know anything about you, or who you are, and--"

He stopped himself abruptly, suddenly realizing how childish he sounded and felt, voicing aloud these concerns he'd had for some time now. Still he didn't look away, but gave Garrett a sort of defeated shrug. "I'm sure that seems like the least important thing right now, with everything going on out there. But if not now, then when?"

Looking at the sleeping man was definitely easier than meeting Ceryl’s pleading eye. The longer he glanced at the genasi each time, the more Garrett was able to realise-- yes, he did look like his father.

“You don’t need to play it down, lad.” He tipped his head just slightly.  “I’ve no scrolls to write or people to run off and see.” And that was a truth. The infirmary was growing quieter as the minutes passed, the sag of more than just Ceryl’s shoulders giving away the late hour of the day. “Don’t worry about how a thing’s going to sound, just ask it anyway. The only ones we need explain ourselves to are the gods.”

He pointed a figure upwards, and at last looked over to the younger man. “I’m a Red Lance. Not the only Red Lance, but I’m not bad at the job.” His brow creased even as the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wage a good war and I shoot a fine arrow. Shame those weren’t what’s needed here.” He lifted his chin at Ceryl. “There. That’s a start, isn’t it?”

It's the comment about the gods that causes the first break in Ceryl's focus -- for the first time since arriving, he glances away from Garrett and an odd unsure look passes over his face.

Still, it was fleeting, and the genasi's eyes were back on the man once he began to explain himself -- he truly did not want to miss anything. And it wasn't long before Ceryl was arriving as the same conclusion that his father was. Before, when he'd stared, it was to judge reactions, but now that he was really looking, he too could see the resemblance. It’s the nose, he thought, but the moment Garrett's forehead wrinkled, the genasi had to stifle a smile. There really was no denying it.

The later comment is what gets a genuine reaction out of Ceryl though, a dry and incredulous laugh. "Are you kidding? Those are exactly what's needed here. I wish you'd been with us the last two times we've been down there." It's out of his mouth before he's really registered what he's said, but he pressed on all the same.

"But yes," he says. "It's a good start. The Lord's Alliance dwarf from the delegation, he said--... Well, he said they dread it when you show up because you're called in when things are serious. Is that true?" He paused, tapping his fingers together in thought. "And that can't be all, I assume you're not just a Red Lance." It was a statement laced with implications, but the genasi wasn't sure how to breach that topic just yet.

Garrett drummed his fingers around the well-worn end of the yew bow he held, filling the moments it took him to compose an answer and decide to abandon anything he constructed anyway. He frowned fully at the sleeping form of Thurl.

“A Red Lance isn’t a lot of things, lad.” He pressed his lips together. The three of them had witnessed well enough. Ushien, paladins, and now that damned dwarf, they’d all had few things to say about Garrett and most weren’t a shining review. “I’m a strategist more than a warrior. Asking you to go and flush out that earth cult, sending you into the valley as our back up plan. Hell, even the delegation to begin with was a strategy to make sure I never have to turn up at anyone’s door again.”

He abandoned the train of thought, unsure where it would lead, and finally glanced at Ceryl. “People don’t like me turning up because when I’m right it means they can’t do whatever they want, and when I’m wrong…” He looked to the window and muttered something fluid under his breath in Elvish, before speaking in Common again. “When I get it wrong, the stakes are very, very high. I have a lot of responsibilities to fulfill but Red Lances believe in following fair rules to do it, nothing more than that.”

The half-elf shook his head and looked back at the unmoving charge. “I don’t know if I could have saved that boy’s hand down there, Ceryl, but I’m starting to figure out what the Red Knight would tell me to do next, unyielding wench that she is.” He patted his tabbard again fondly. “Pray, and carry the fuck on.”

If there was any skill Ceryl had cultivated the most over the years, it was listening -- oh, how many nights he had spent sitting around fires, absorbing others' stories and committing them to memory. So, as Garrett spoke, the genasi listened to every word -- though he managed to look a bit chastened as the man went on. Ceryl had a feeling he might have hit on a poor subject, though in truth he'd only meant that Garrett seemed to have more importance in the world than even his son thought. Still, he listened, and did not argue until the man was done.

"You can't blame yourself for all of this going wrong -- it's on us just as much," Ceryl said, and it was spoken not a plea, or a play for pity. Only a fact. The genasi's eyes drifted to the window as well, at the blackened sky, and he shook his head. "We were close -- we could have stopped that medusa's ritual, I think, if we'd been a little faster. If we were any good at strategy. I guess-- " He cut himself off then, seeming to debate what he'd started to say, and a frown darkened his face -- looking so dour did not sit well upon a face so accustomed to smiling. "-- ... I guess it was meant to happen. But you're right, there's nothing to do but keep going."

At that, Ceryl tore his gaze away from the window, and if anything he seemed to deflate further where he sat as he looked back towards Garrett.

"You know, a week ago, saying that wouldn't have bothered me?" he asked the man, gave a wry grin that held absolutely no mirth. "You heard me last time -- things happen for a reason, things always have a way of working out, and so on. I've always thought that, and it's been true. Hell, I still don't think learning about you now was a coincidence. But this shit out there..." He lifted an arm to gesture at the window, before folding them both across his chest. A moment of silence passed before his brow furrowed again, and he looked at his father thoughtfully -- and near reverently. “How did you find your faith? Was it when this all happened before?”

The way the genasi spoke pulled Garrett’s eyes from the prisoner- ward, patient, whatever he was- and though he didn’t meet Ceryl’s eye he returned the courtesy and listened. But that look in the young man’s eye when he looked to the Red Lance made him turn away again.

“Just because you’ve seen some some shit doesn’t mean you’re suddenly wrong, if that’s what you believe.” Hell, at least the kid believed something. Anything. Garrett shook his head, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t have a sermon for you, kid. You’ll have to wander down the hall for that.”

He sighed though, and his shoulder shrugged with the gentle knock of plate armour.

“I had all kinds of faith as a kid, more than I probably should have. But this?” He knocked the hand holding arrows to his chest, to the red knight, and held it there. “There was no Lord’s Alliance back then, not like it all is now. People fought each other for the pettiest shit and I was a kid that thought if everyone was gonna fight, then they should at least fight fair.

“I yelled about it a lot, so some old Red Lance trains me up and it all kinda fits. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe I was just yelling loud enough for a god to hear. Maybe,” he pointed toward Ceryl. “Maybe it was meant to be or some shit like you said, I don’t know. But when this happened the last time, it happened fast. I had a god who could help me make my choices, that’s all they do. It’s different this time but there is still time. Different people are fighting now. Different choices.”

As though he’d realised how long he’d been speaking, quietly and looking at nothing in particular, he shook his head. “Shit, take this with a heap of salt, kid. One boot doesn’t fit ‘em all.” He almost scowled until he realised the expression wouldn’t do anyone any use.

“How about this. When shit gets bad, someone’s usually listening.I found faith when I yelled about. When I asked for it. When you need it most.”

The sermon comment succeed to summon up a quiet laugh from the genasi, but otherwise as Garrett spoke, he simply listened once again. That time, though, Ceryl's focus seemed more distant -- his gaze remained on the other man, and yet he seemed to be looking through the knight rather than at him. And that thoughtful and reverent look still hadn't left his face. Everything Garrett said rang true, and yet felt utterly foreign at the same time -- how alike and unalike they were.

But Ceryl wasn't lost in thought enough to not be paying attention, and at the last bit, he nodded and managed to look genuinely grateful.

"So, just pray and hope for the best, then?" he asked, and accompanying it was the first genuine smile in some time. Tired, but genuine. "Here I thought you might have some secret wisdom for me. But no, I understand -- I think -- and I appreciate it. It hasn't been like any of that for me -- my parents were just simple folk, you know, not really the godly sort--" Ceryl stopped abruptly, once again realizing far too late what had come out of his mouth, and he cringed, and he closed his eyes, and he exhaled slowly. The genasi had adjusted to his newly discovered sire well, but somehow speaking of his... well, his real parents in front of his real father made his stomach turn into knots.

"Anyway," Ceryl continued a moment later, but it was his turn to avoid Garrett's eyes this time, staring at some point on the floor instead. "At most it was just... you say thanks to this god for the spring thaw, and you say thanks that one for a good haul, meaningless shit like that. For my part, I've always believed in fate -- sometimes I might even spare thanks to Istus. But that's not really the same as faith. How can I just... sit by and leave things up to fate with something like this? With all those people out there?"

It was the genasi's turn then, to realize how much he'd been rambling and going on about himself, and his eyes rose back to where Garrett was standing. "I guess it can't hurt to yell and see who's listening. Not for me, but for them."

Garrett made a face a little way through Ceryl’s words, at the name of a god, and when the genasi finished speaking he sighed and shook his head. “You know, those fucking fate gods. That’s a long wait for a horse that never shows up. People give them so much damn credit for the shit that just happens and--”

He took in a sharp breath and looked at Ceryl. Finally, properly looked at the genasi-- his son-- and met his eye. “You’ve got the right idea, Ceryl. Even the gods need people, they’ve got no one to meddle with or help or ignore if there are no people. Far as I’m concerned, you’re doing the right by keeping up with all this shit for people, not gods.”

The half-elf looked back at the sleeping man in the bed, and after a moment’s steadying breath he stepped back and sat heavily on a chair behind him. He set the arrows on the floor and propped the longbow between his knees and scrubbed a hand over his beard. When he spoke again, it was almost quiet, but a little of the brevity had returned.

“There’s always listening. That makes shit like this--” he gestured to the hall, to the paladins of Tyr, and the distinct lack of justice they had seemed to be dealing out in the valley. “--harder to see, because it’s not that their god’s not here. He’s just doing nothing. So fuck the gods, Ceryl. Believe in people.”

Shadowed and tired though they were, Ceryl's eyes widened at Garrett's initial outburst -- but it wasn't until the other man finally truly looked at him that the surprise bloomed across his expression. He'd gotten so used to looking at the side of his father's face, used to the man only glancing at him sidelong, that for the first few seconds, he wasn't even sure how to react. But he listened, and this -- moreso than anything else the man had said so far -- rang true to Ceryl, and hit close to home.

Even as the genasi watched Garrett finally stand down from his position and seat himself, Ceryl was quiet, mulling over that moment and committing it to memory. That sort of... validation from his father felt strange. Unexpected. He hadn't known he'd needed it until it had happened.

Ceryl was shaken from that when Garrett spoke again, and whatever mystified expression still remained on the genasi's face gave way to something far more warm. "I do believe in people," he answered immediately, and truthfully. "I really do. It's hard for me not to."

He hesitated, shifting on the stool to lean forward towards Garrett with his elbows upon his knees, seeming to weigh something in his mind before speaking again. "It feels... odd... talking about them here, but. When my parents found me abandoned, they had no reason to take me in. But they did -- everyone in that village did. Fuck, if I wasn't blue, I'd have never known I wasn't theirs, they cared for me so well." He folded his hands and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, thinking. "And I joined the Harpers because, aside from my family, my mentor is the kindest old bear I've know. Not a single person on this earth he doesn't receive like they're his brother."

For several moments, Ceryl didn't say anything else, only sat quietly and ran his thumbs over each other and kept gazing upwards, seemingly lost in memory. When he finally did speak again, he looked back to Garrett with an odd focus and a bittersweet look on his face. "There's a lot of shitty people in the world. But when there's people like that -- and like you -- that’s all that matters to me."

Garrett let his head rest back against the cold stone wall and for the first time watched Ceryl properly as the genasi spoke. Even when he was unsure, there was verve to his words. There was the occasional glance towards the unconscious bedridden Thurl, but for long moments Garrett didn’t tear his eyes away.

Until Ceryl had finished, and the half-elf lifted a gauntleted hand to point at the younger man. “There’s your faith, kid.” He closed his mouth and his brow creased as she looked at Ceryl a little longer. He gave himself no credit at all for the man sitting across from him, but something close to relief passed over Garrett’s face. “You’re gonna laugh and call me preachy but if you’ve got it, it’s always been there.”

He settled his hand back in his lap and smiled. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

The longer Garrett stared at him, the more it occurred to Ceryl that no, it didn't feel strange to suddenly have the man's attention. It was a dose of reality to think he'd only known this man for a few days -- a few hours, really in their snatches of conversations between missions. Like his parents stumbling onto him on the bank, Ceryl really had no reason even to give a shit about the father that sat across from him now, staring at him. It would have been easy to ignore him, or resent him. But this, making peace -- he loved his parents, but this felt better than he'd ever admit aloud.

So Ceryl smiled right back, and gave a quiet laugh, and looked far less tense than he had when he'd first slumped into the barracks. "It hasn't always been there, I promise. But-- sure, anything. Ask away."

Garrett glanced around at the otherwise empty room, even on the other side of the sheet, a paltry excuse for privacy, the infirmary had quieted down in the very late hour. “Alright, small lie, two favours.”

The half-elf leant a little closer, because even if it was quiet, there were more reasons for a hushed tone than just personal conversation. “The next time you see Bjorn, tell him he sent exactly right person for this.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell him he’s a shit because he sent someone who would remember exactly what I would forget about.” The people. The small picture. A human agenda, if all the races of the sword coast would pardon the phrase.

Garrett leant back to settle fully into his seat, and reached for the arrows again, balancing them across his lap. “Second thing, go the hell to bed, kid.” He smiled, the irony of sending Ceryl to his room not lost on him. “Get some sleep, you look like shit. We all do.”

Ceryl looked somewhat confused at the sudden need for secrecy, given the nature of the conversation they'd already been having at full volume. Even so, he leaned in close as Garrett did, his eyebrows creasing together -- and his smile turned into a full grin at what the other man said.

"Why am I not surprised you two know each other?" he asked, shaking his head. A whole conversation about shirking fate, and now this. Small world. "I won't tell him he's a shit, I love that man -- but I'll tell him the rest. I swear it."

It was the second request that the genasi hesitated on, making no move to stand and leave, even though he was weary to his core and knew very well that Garrett was right about him looking a mess. Not for the irony, which wasn't lost on him either -- but because, for all his fatigue, his mind was still filled with all the things he had meant to ask before the two of them had gotten carried away. It was a reminder that time was not on their side.

"As for the other one," he continued, still smiling but looking at Garrett somewhat more seriously. "I will, if you'll do me a favor too."

Garrett narrowed his eyes in a wholly feigned look of skepticism aimed at Ceryl. He drummed his fingers on his bow, and after a long moment of insincere hesitation, he smiled. He couldn’t wll deny Ceryl a request after the genasi had just agreed to two. And, also, the entire marching into a valley of death on his request.

“Alright, you’ve got me. Go ahead and ask.”

Not unaccustomed to putting on an act, Ceryl followed suit and mimicked Garrett by tipping up his chin and giving the man an overly exaggerated insistent look, with an unspoken 'you'd better do it' air to it. It broke the instant Garrett did, and he laughed quietly -- but then sat up straight again to look at his father in earnest.

"I don't know what's going to happen from here on," he said, his voice gone low. "Make sure this isn't the last conversation we have. And I'll do the same."

Though his smile was still there, a little of the mirth in Garrett’s eyes dulled at the words. “I can’t promise that one, and neither can you. But I’ll give it a go.” He was quiet a moment, before smirking. “Wait. we’ll both be around in the morning getting ordered around by Ushien. So I can promise that one. Now go on, go the fuck to sleep, Ceryl.” He lifted a gauntlet and beckoned the genasi out.

In truth, Ceryl had already known what the answer would be, even before he spoke the request -- Garrett hadn't filled his head with empty promises or platitudes through their conversation, and the genasi doubted he would have started just for that. But Ceryl still managed a laugh at the dig upon Ushien, and put on another act of bowing his head and looking scolded, like a child being sent to bed without dinner.

"Yes, father~" he crooned dryly, but when he finally went to stand, it all vanished -- he'd stopped paying attention to how exhausted he was until he had to haul his tired carcass upright again. With a terrible grimace, Ceryl swore colorfully under his breath. "Fuck me, I lied too, you can do me another favor and help me off this stupid stool."

With some effort though, he got to his feet and shuffled to leave, though he paused next to Garrett to reach out and clasp the man's armored shoulder. He said nothing else, and after a moment, he went on his way -- though he had one more stop to make before he could finally sleep.

[purrtlepuff]

Okay, I wanna write a thing. I have the base idea and an outline of where I kinda want it to go but I don't know how to translate it to paper or if people would even want to read it... Can you impart some of your wisdom O Great Author? I can offer virtual cookies..? 🍪🍪🍪🍪 - 💛 Anon

Forget about people wanting to read it? Do you want to write it? Yes? Okay, moving on~

1. Starting the journey is often the hardest, but not impossible.

The first sentence is always the hardest to write. It’s also the most important. I can usually tell if I want to continue a story just by reading the first paragraph (or sometimes the second depending on how long the first one is). Here’s a breakdown of a few opening paragraphs I’ve had in the Supernatural AU and why I picked them: 

Part 1: My Roomate is a Vampire: (the setting approach)

Jack chewed on another ice cube as he flopped down in his computer chair. The room AC rattled, too tired to pump cold air into the room anymore. Jack turned it off and sighed. Of course he moved to the United States the year they endured abnormally high temperatures. He knew California was hot, but he didn’t know he could literally fry an egg on the street.

From here, you learn Jack’s background, where he is now, and he is very out of his element. It gives you a sense of character without telling you his personality, and it draws a few people in to learn more about a character. 

Part 4: My Girlfriend is a Monster Hunter: (the personality approach)

Jack walked with an extra bounce in his step, used the stair railing to propel himself down the stairs, and jumped over the bottom two steps. The thump made Ken look up from his phone and smile.

Hmm, he seems excited, doesn’t he? Why? And having it draw Ken’s attention tells us it’s not a normal trait. It urges the reader to figure out what has Jack so riled up.

Part 7: I’m No Longer Human: (the dialogue approach)

“You lied to him.”

By far, the easiest way to start a story. Dialogue can make or break a story, and if used correctly, it can really pull the reader in. Who lied to who and why? People are usually thirsty for drama, and this is a rather dramatic sentence. 

2. Space your paragraphs correctly.

Remember, start a new paragraph whenever there is a change in: topic, setting, or who is speaking.

Topic Example:

The autumn air rustled the leaves along the ground. They swirled about sending the sky into a hue of orange, red, and yellow. The moon lit the pavement, and street lights flickered to aid its light. An owl hooted. Its wing flaps faded into the cricket’s lament. 

Danny pulled their scarf tighter around their neck. They rubbed their hands together and blew into them. Oh, how they wished they brought gloves! Danny kept their head down and tried to shield their eyes with their brow.

Here we see two very different subjects. The first paragraph focuses on the setting: a chilly Autumn night. The second one focuses on Danny and how the setting is making them behave. To add Danny’s turmoil in the top part would feel too long, and your reader can get lost or bored.

Setting example:

Jessica turned on the lights and looked around her living room. The hair on her neck bristled. She felt like someone moved everything two inches to the left. Jessica tried to ease her nerves as she eased her coat off her shoulders.

Her hand fell onto the closet’s door handle, and the door opened with a low creak. The closet light flickered. Jessica cringed as a spider crawled in a cobweb in the corner. Note to self: buy a flamethrower. 

Our setting went from the living room to the closet. Like the topic example, talking about the closet in the same paragraph would give your reader whiplash. Weren’t we just talking about the living room? By starting a new paragraph, you let the reader have time that indeed, this is a separate setting.

Dialogue example:

The incorrect way:

“Did you feel like something was watching you last night?” Jessica asked. Danny scratched his neck. “It was cold, but I felt fine. Why?” “Well,” Jessica looked around. “I had… an encounter last night.”

The correct way:

“Did you feel like something was watching you last night?” Jessica asked.

Danny scratched his neck. “It was cold, but I felt fine. Why?”

“Well,” Jessica looked around. “I had… an encounter last night.”

You have no idea how many stories I’ve opened and closed because there’s a dump of dialogue in one paragraph. If someone doesn’t put a different person speaking in a new paragraph, I quit the story, no matter how good. This is a total deal breaker for me.

Not only is it confusing as the daylights for your reader, but there’s no real place to rest and absorb what’s going on. It’s like trying to listen to everyone’s conversation at a bar at once.

3. Vary your sentence lengths. 

I am explaining. You are reading. We are discussing writing. I am bored. There’s no excitement. There’s only rhythm. You leave. I leave. It’s over.

The only time I would use a bunch of short sentences together like that is if I was writing action. It’s rather boring, eh? I mean, it does get your point across, but you feel cheated reading it. Unless you want the reader to go quickly through a paragraph, it’s best not to cluster a whole bunch of short sentences together.

Likewise, the exact opposite can happen, and you can make your paragraphs really drag on with too many long sentences in a row and along with it delaying the pace of your story to add to the depth of your story. It’s almost like reading a school lecture or doing those really bad reading tests where they give you a subject no one really cares about and expect you to absorb all the information like a sponge, but there’s nowhere for the reader to pause and take a breath. Holding their head under the water and watching them slowly suffocate would probably be quicker and more kinder of a death for your reader trust me.

Wow, that was like listening to Friday by Rebecca Black, wasn’t it? Wait, are you old enough to catch that reference? Nevermind. Did you remember a word from that paragraph? Yeah, me neither, and I wrote it! 

Someone explained writing to me once. They said it’s like writing music, but with words. Sometimes it’s quick. Sometimes you want the reader to pause and reflect what they just read and let them catch a break. It’s important to remember sentence length. Shorten them. Make them so long an anaconda would be jealous. Just make sure they’re diverse as people’s opinions. Got it? 

4. Remember outlines are drafts.

Write something down you really don’t like anymore? Skip it. Don’t feel constricted to the points you wanted to hit but no longer help your narrative. If you want to go wrestle that plot bunny that jumped into your head a few minutes ago, do it! Experiment. Remember, your writing is part of your soul. If you’re not enjoying it, your reader will smell it all over your story. 

Heck, there were many points I scrapped in the Supernatural AU that are now getting their own chapters. I had a bunch of plot points to include Ken and Felix banter, Dan and Phil were supposed to make a bigger appearance, and Part 9 ended 100% differently than I intended. It happens! 

The most important part of writing is keeping the story going :)

5. Just have fun.

Write for you. Your audience is a bonus :) Enjoy the journey while it lasts, because all you’ll have to look back on is memories.

I hope that helps you a little bit! And thank you for the cookies

-Cat

[podcastcoach]

15 Things Podcasters Can Learn from Joel Osteen

I was in Houston for the Spark Christian Podcast Conference where I was speaking. It was a great event for the first time out of the gate and I met some really cool people. My buddy Sunny from the IPN asked me if I wanted to go see Joel Osteen who runs the largest church in America and is also an author and someone I refer to as "Happy Jesus Man." Jole is incredibly successful (his church is the building where the Houston Rockets professional basketball team played. It's a stadium that holds 16,800 people).  I have listened to Joel on and off over the years. I went to feed my spiritually, but I was also there to observe and look for the clues of his success. You don't get this big without doing something right.

Time Codes

01:08 Spark Christian Podcast Conference Review

02:38 What Podcasters Can Learn from Joel Osteen

30:52 How did you get over your self Doubt?

41:10 Free Webinar on Equipment

42:19 Have you surveyed your audience?

Joel Started As A Geek

Joel was the technical person in his church working with his father. He was the lighting tech and worked for his Dad.

Joel Did Something Different

There is a style of preaching in the church known as "Hellfire and brimstone." This is where you explain to your audience that if you don't accept Jesus you are going to Hell where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Instead of peaching about the horrors of Hell, Joel went to the bible and found all sorts of scriptures that point out how God wants you to prosper. Some have deemed this the prosperity Gospel, and because it's different than what people previously did, this has its critics. This has not swayed Joel from his message. He is covering the bible the way he wants to.

He Makes it Easy for First Time Visitors

Sunny and I had walked into what appeared to be a side door, and weren't exactly sure where to go. It was easy to identify who the staff was and we just walked up and said, "Hi this is our first time here." The worker knew exactly what to do and before I could blink I was given to a person who was giving me a tour of the building and explaining that there was a book store and if I wanted to buy anything Joel would sign it at the end of the night. He then escorted us to fourth-row center stage seats. I felt lucky. I felt special. The sanctuary was beautiful. They had cool lights in the ceiling and an amazing backdrop behind the band, and a choir made of people of every shape, size, and color.

He Honored The Heritage of the Church and What They Believed in

He played clips of his father who started the church and acknowledged those who came before him. Oh, I'm sorry this isn't for you...

It's for the academy of podcasters. Let's move on.

It Was a Well Oiled Machine

There were no lags in the presentation. You didn't see the praise band ask, "He should we move on to the missing thing" and then someone says "Yeah, let's do the missing thing. Let's roll the mission intro." When the song was over, the mission people came out, the spoke about a conference that had just wrapped up. They introduced the video about how they were helping with Ebola in Africa and the video clip came on. Everyone knows what was next.

They Through in a Curve Ball

Their band did two praise songs (very upbeat - very easy to sing along) that engaged the audience. Then one of the soloists on the stage snuck into the audience at the end of the song. She then launched into an old Christian classic "Nothing but the blood" from the back of the auditorium so the people in the back now get the same view as those in the front. Most music performers pull this trick in concerts. They went back to singing more songs from the front of the stage.

Pacing and Anticipation

This is a great tip for those narrative style storytellers. They kept the service moving with the music, but about five songs into their performance their backdrop which looked like the galaxy with millions of stars started to reveal the word JESUS in big bright letters as the band hit a crescendo. The place erupts into applause, the band plays louder, hands are raised into the air and as the final notes of the song fade out Joel Osteen takes the stage and opens his message with prayer.

Everybody Knows and Does Their Part

The band multiple guitar players, keyboardists, and hundreds of backup singers, they all worked together to deliver the song in the best way that connects with the audience. The security for Joel was extensive. They were very good and kept him safe while allowing people to meet and greet him after the service. If you have a show with a host and a co-host someone is driving the show and someone is color commentary.

Know Your Point and Back It Up

Joel's message could be boiled down to this. "When you're in a bad situation you should still help others who are having problems." All of these scripture references helped illustrate his point. This is similar to the book I recommend Secrets of Dynamic Communications: Prepare with Focus, Deliver with Clarity, Speak with Power by Ken Davis.

Explain Things with a Personal Story

After sharing some examples from the bible, Joel explained a story about hos his Dad was trying to raise money for a new auditorium but heard about a smaller Spanish church had run out of money for their church and this "Half a church" was just sitting there gathering dust. Even though Joel's Dad needed the money for his project he gave it to the smaller church. Anytime you can make your point with a personal story, I recommend you do it. This gives your audience a chance to get to know you.

Joel Was Vulnerable

At the end of the story about Joel's father, Joel explained how he is still benefiting by the step his father took. In the middle of the sentence, he paused, tried to say the sentence again, and again he had to stop. His emotions were deep in his thought. He put his hands over his eyes and turned his back to the audience. He said, "I'm sorry yall, I cry to easy, and I cry too much. Nobody booed. Nobody shouted, "HOW UNPROFESSIONAL" and instead they cheered him on. He turned back around with his red eyes, and grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes. I can't find another way to explain it besides saying this was a "real" moment, and instantly felt more connected with him.

Later in the service that I watched on Sunday (where he did the same service), he started one line and said, "Did I say that right? I'm going to say it again."

Joel Knows His Why and It Aligns with his Call To Action

Joel's goal is to get you to know Jesus and accept him. At the end of the service, he has a call to action to accept Jesus.

He Promotes Subscriptions and Makes it Easy

During the service and at the end, they put a link to their website on a giant screen with mentions of their podcast.

Joel is a Collaborator

I see on his website he is doing a service with Kanye West.

He SERVED His Audience

At the end of the night, he went through hundreds of people meeting them, signing books (or not) and treating each and every person like they were his favorite person in the whole world. He had his crew borrow their phone and snap pictures so they could share it on social media. So they could easily share what a great time they had a Lakewood church. By the time he had made it to me, there was talk he might shut down the line as it was long. He made it through. He was visibly tired. He had just performed a service and was probably feeling the dip as the adrenaline of preaching in front of thousands of people had left his body, but instead of instructing his team to send us home he waved us in knowing it would just add another 30 minutes or so to his evening. Whenever you have a chance to meet your audience to do it and say thank you.

How Did You Get Over Self- Doubt To Start Your Podcast?

12:56

Dan Kreiness of the Leader of Learning podcast uses himself as a target audience member. If it holds his attention, it probably holds someone else's attention as well. 

John DeRosa of the Classical Theism podcast likes the idea of having guests. If people didn't want to listen to you (they do) they might listen to your guests. 

Paul Cheall from Fighting through World War II change the question from nobody would listen to Would they? His downloads are getting a few downloads a day (it features memoirs from his Father). 

Holland Webb grom The Afterword podcasts didn't care about others opinions. They did it to have fun talking to each other and if other people want to listen - fine. 

Thomas from Novel Marketing had my favorite answer, "When you love your audience more than you care about your own pride you will take steps to publish your show."

Free Webinar: The Right Podcast Gear

Joing the free webinar on 2/26 at 7 PM to get all of your questions about gear answered. 

see http://www.schoolofpodcasting.com/webinar

Question of the Month for March 2020

42:25

If you surveyed your audience, what was the biggest thing you learned? If you didn't survey your audience (or a focus group) why not?

Answer at www.schoolofpodcasting.com/question

  Check out this episode!