#refinement may be necessary if my thoughts on this change

[pocket-sized-person]

Since I can’t seem to stop thinking about that scene..

New Moon eh?

That was …something alright

The cherubs were fun I guess, execution could’ve been better but it was fun seeing them again

With that said, Stolitz falling apart the way it did is so good, like yes it hurt to watch, but the way it all came together, Stolas finally deciding to stop hoping Blitz would catch on, with Blitz immediately realizing Stolas wasn’t joking about how he felt, and taking it in the only way he knows how.

He got mad, and understandably so.

Both sides saw what they had from the opposite side, Stolas saw a potential opportunity for a genuine relationship (which I believe is still on the table, just not any time soon) and Blitz who saw it as Stolas using him to satisfy his “Perverted bird needs”, and in return IMP could use his book, a “transactional fucking”, as Blitz put it in Harvest Moon.

Both sides were wrong about what the other wanted, which of course was a pile of powder kegs in a ring of fire and every bit of that was in character for them and it hurts, especially if you’ve seen the trailer with Blitz saying “I don’t want to be like this, not forever”

He WANTS to be loved, to love someone truly, but he can’t. Not yet.

Stolas, loves Blitz in a way Blitz isn’t capable of yet, but seemingly only in the new episode does he realize this, although he doesn’t see that Blitz WANTS to love, he just sees that Blitz can’t.

[solarstranger]

CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[gogandmagog]

As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead.

— L.M. Montgomery, 1923, from Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction

Below the cut, I’ve included L.M. Montgomery’s submissions to ‘Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction,’ which may be (obviously) best summed up as… Maud’s writing advise for beginners. Mind, it is still a thoroughly enjoyable read, even if you don’t write, and would really simply just like to hear more about her process!

QUESTION; What is the genesis of a story with you—does it grow from an incident, a character, a trait of character, a situation, setting, a title, or what? That is, what do you mean by an idea for a story? L. M. Montgomery: The genesis of my stories is very varied. Sometimes the character suggests the story. For instance, in my first book, Anne of Green Gables, the whole story was modeled around the character of "Anne" and arranged to suit her. Most of my books are similar in origin. The characters seem to grow in my mind, much after the oft-quoted "Topsy" manner, and when they are fully incubated I arrange a setting for them, choosing incidents and surroundings which will harmonize with and develop them.

With short stories it is different. There I generally start with an idea—some incident which I elaborate and invent characters to suit, thus reversing the process I employ in book-writing. A very small germ will sometimes blossom out quite amazingly. One of my most successful short stories owed its origin to the fact that one day I heard a lady—a refined person usually of irreproachable language—use a point-blank "cuss-word" in a moment of great provocation. Again, the fact that I heard of a man forbidding his son to play the violin because he thought it was wicked furnished the idea for the best short story I ever wrote. QUESTION; Do you map it out in advance, or do you start with, say, a character or situation, and let the story tell itself as you write? Do you write it in pieces to be joined together, or straightaway as a whole? Is the ending clearly in mind when you begin? To what extent do you revise? L. M. Montgomery: I map everything out in advance. When I have developed plot, characters and incidents in my mind I write out a "skeleton" of the story or book. In the case of a book, I divide it into so many "sections"—usually eight or nine—representing the outstanding periods in the story. In each section I write down what characters are necessary, what they do, what their setting is, and quite a bit of what they say. When the skeleton is complete I begin the actual writing, and so thoroughly have I become saturated with the story during the making of the skeleton that I feel as if I were merely describing and setting down something that I have actually seen happening, and the clothing of the dry bones with flesh goes on rapidly and easily. This does not, however, prevent changes taking place as I write. Sometimes an incident I had thought was going to be very minor assumes major proportions or vice versa. Sometimes, too, characters grow or dwindle contrary to my first intentions. But on the whole I follow my plan pretty closely and the ending is very often written out quite fully in the last "section" before a single word of the first chapter is written. I revise very extensively and the "notes" with which my completed manuscript is peppered are surely and swiftly bringing down my typist's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. But these revisions deal only with descriptions and conversation. Characters, plot and incidents are never changed.

QUESTION; 1. When you read a story to what extent does your imagination reproduce the story-world of the author—do you actually see in your imagination all the characters, action and setting just as if you were looking at an actual scene? Do you actually hear all sounds described, mentioned and inferred, just as if they were real sounds? Do you taste the flavors in a story, so really that your mouth literally waters to a pleasant one? How real does your imagination make the smells in a story you read? Does your imagination reproduce the sense of touch—of rough or smooth contact, hard or gentle impact or pressure, etc.? Does your imagination make you feel actual physical pain corresponding, though in a slighter degree, to pain presented in a story? Of course you get an intelligent idea from any such mention, but in which of the above cases does your imagination produce the same results on your senses as do the actual stimuli themselves?

2. If you can really "see things with your eyes shut," what limitations? Are the pictures you see colored or more in black and white? Are details distinct or blurred?

3. If you studied solid geometry, did it give you more trouble than other mathematics?

4. Is your response limited to the exact degree to which the author describes and makes vivid, or will the mere concept set you to reproducing just as vividly?

5. Do you have stock pictures for, say, a village church or a cowboy, or does each case produce its individual vision?

6. Is there any difference in behavior of your imagination when you are reading stories and when writing them?

7. Have you ever considered these matters as "tools of your trade"? If so, to what extent and how do you use them? L. M. Montgomery: Yes, when I read a story I see everything, exactly as if I were looking at an actual scene. I hear the sounds and smell the odors. When I read Pickwick Papers I have to make many an extra sneak to the pantry, so hungry do I become through reading of the bacon and eggs and milk punch in which the characters so frequently revel. I never feel physical pain when I read a story, no matter how intense the suffering described may be. But I feel mental pain so keenly that sometimes I can hardly bear to continue reading. Yet I do not dislike this sensation. On the contrary I like it. If I can have a jolly good howl several times in a book I am its friend for life. Yet, in every-day existence, I am the reverse of a tearful or sentimental person. No book do I love as I love David Copperfield. Yet during my many re-readings I must have wept literal quarts over David's boyish tribulations. And ghost stories that make me grow actually cold with fear are such as my soul loveth.

I can "see things," with eyes shut or open, colors and all. Sometimes I see them mentally—that is, I realize that they are produced subjectively and are under the control of my will. But very often, when imagination has been specially stimulated, I seem really to see them objectively. In this case, however, I never see landscapes or anything but faces—and generally grotesque or comical faces. I never see a beautiful face. They crowd on my sight in a mob, flashing up for a second, then instantly filled by others. I always enjoy this "seeing things" immensely, but I can not do it at will.

The very name of geometry was a nightmare to me. I decline to discuss the horrible subject at all. Yet I loved algebra and had a mild affection for arithmetic. These things are predestinated.

I have no "stock pictures" as a reader. I generally see things pretty much as the writer describes them—though certainly not as the "movie" people seem to see them! This is especially true of places and things. But very few writers have the power to make me visualize their characters, even where they describe them minutely. Illustrations generally make matters worse. I detest illustrations in a story. It is only when there is some peculiarly striking and restrained bit of description attached to a character that I can see it. For example: when R. L. Stevenson in Dr. Jekyll says that there was something incredibly evil about "Hyde"—I am not quoting his exact words—I can see "Hyde" as clearly as I ever saw anything in my life. As a rule, I think the ability to describe characters so that readers may see them as clearly as they see their settings is a very rare gift among writers.

Yes, as a reader I do resent having too many images formed for me. I don't want too much description of anything or too many details in any description.

When I read a story, I see people doing things in a certain setting; when I write a story I am the people myself and live their experiences.

QUESTION; When you write do you center your mind on the story itself or do you constantly have your readers in mind? In revising? L. M. Montgomery: In writing a story I do not think of all these things—at least consciously. I never think of my readers at all. I think of myself. Does this story I am writing interest me as I write it—does it satisfy me? If so, there are enough people in the world who like what I like to find it interesting and satisfying too. As for the others, I couldn't please them anyhow, so it is of no use to try. I revise to satisfy myself also—not any imaginary literary critic. QUESTION; Have you had a classroom or correspondence course on writing fiction? Books on it? To what extent did this help in the elementary stages? Beyond the elementary stages? L. M. Montgomery: I never took any kind of a course in writing fiction. Such things may be helpful if the real root of the matter is in you, but I had to get along without them. I was born and brought up in a remote country settlement, twenty-four miles from a town and ten from a railway. There I wrote my first stories and my first four books. So no beginner need feel discouraged because of remote location or lack of literary “atmosphere.” QUESTION; How much of your craft have you learned from reading current authors? The classics? L. M. Montgomery: I think I owe considerable to my greedy reading and rereading of standard fiction—the old masters—Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Hawthorne. Occasionally, too, a well-written modern magazine story has been helpful and illuminating. But, as a rule, I think aspiring authors will not reap much benefit from current fiction—except perhaps from a purely commercial point of view in finding out what kind of stories certain magazines take! Most writers, except those of absolute genius, are prone to unconscious imitation of what they read and that is a bad thing. QUESTION; What is your general feeling on the value of technique? L. M. Montgomery: I feel that its value is great up to a certain point. But when you become conscious of a writer's technique that writer has reached the point of danger. When you find yourself getting more pleasure from the way a writer says a thing than from the thing itself, that writer has committed a grave error and one that lessens greatly the value of his story. Carried too far, technique becomes as annoying as mannerisms.

QUESTION; What is most interesting and important to you in your writing—plot, structure, style, material, setting, character, color, etc.? L. M. Montgomery: In my own writing character is by far the most interesting thing to me—then setting. In the development of the one and the arrangement of the other I find my greatest pleasure and from their letters it is evident that my readers do, too. This, of course, is because my flair is for these things. In another writer something else—plot, structure or color would be the vital thing. Only the very great authors combine all these things. For the rank and file of the craft, I think a writer should find out where his strength lies and write his stories along these lines. In my own case I would never attempt to handle complicated plot or large masses of material. I know I should make a dismal failure of them. QUESTION; What are two or three of the most valuable suggestions you could give to a beginner? To a practised writer? L. M. Montgomery: As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead. Write—write—write. Revise—revise—revise. Prune—prune—prune. Study stories that are classed as masterpieces and find out why they are so classed. Leave your stories alone after they are written long enough to come to them as a stranger. Then read them over as a stranger; you'll see a score of faults and lacks you never noticed when they came hot from your pen. Rewrite them, cutting out the faults and supplying the lacks.

I would advise beginners to cultivate the note-book habit. Jot down every idea that comes to you as you go on living—ideas for plots, characters, descriptions, dialogue, etc. It is amazing how well these bits will fit into a story that wasn't born or thought of when you set them down. And they generally have a poignancy that is lacking in deliberate invention. For example, I was once washing the dinner dishes when a friend happened to quote to me the old saying: "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed." I retorted, "I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed." Then I dropped my dish cloth and rushed to "jot it down." It lay in my note-book unused for ten years and then it motivated one of the best chapters in my first book. This illustrates what I mean by the note-book habit.

Practised writers should try to avoid mannerisms and stereotyped style. They won't succeed, of course, but they should try. Also, they shouldn't presume on their success and think that anything goes because they write it. QUESTION; Do you prefer writing in the first person or the third? Why? L. M. Montgomery: Personally I prefer writing in the first person, because it then seems easier to live my story as I write it. Since editors seem to have a prejudice against this, I often write a story in the first person and then rewrite it, shifting it to the third. As a reader, I enjoy a story written in the first person far more than any other kind. It gives me more of a sense of reality—of actually knowing the people in it. The author does not seem to come between me and the characters as much as in the third-person stories. W. Collins's Woman in White is a fine example of the use of the first person. It could not have been half so effective had he told it in the third. And Jane Eyre simply couldn't have been written in any but the first.

QUESTION; Do you lose ideas because your imagination travels faster than your means of recording? Which affords least check—pencil, typewriter or stenographer? L. M. Montgomery: I don't think many ideas ever get away from me by reason of slowness of recording. My aforesaid note-book habit has been of tremendous value here. I write with a pen and couldn't write with anything else—at least, as far as prose is concerned. When I write verse I always write on an ordinary school slate, because of the facilities for easy erasure. But for prose I want a Waverly pen—this is not an advertisement—I just can't write with any other! a smooth unlined paper and a portfolio I can hold on my knee. Then I can sail straight ahead and keep up with any ideas that present themselves. But these are only personal idiosyncrasies and have nothing to do with a writer's success or non-success. So no aspiring beginner need despair because his or her stationer is not stocked up with Waverly pens!

[jalenay]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Publishing Update May 4 2024

So my work work is starting to relax - it'll be 'normal' working hours after May 15, but i'm manifesting some early additional free time (by ignoring some of the things i still have left to do) and i thought i'd give an update on my current NWWD plan to fill you guys in (if anyone wants to know) and to motivate myself to, you know, do it.

let me know what you think and if you have any questions! or if there's anything else you want to know!

So the overall plan is as follows:

First Rough Edit - this is basically just changing the POV from 2nd POV to 3rd POV. This is very tedious and currently what I'm doing right now. I'm also making a list as I go for high level updates/changes i want to make. Just thinking about the story as a whole and what tweaks i want to make now that the whole thing is finally done (primarily moving exposition around, if there's anything extra i can remove, timing of when certain things are discussed, and so on).

My Main Edit - this will be more time consuming but probably more fun as i do my main revise and edit of the story as a whole. i'll likely print the entire story out, make edits on hard copy, and then type up all the edits. I will also probably be sending the updated chapters to my main beta, for her opinion. (this would be the person i first texted about Dale in Dec 2021, she deserves first look lol)

Editor - After I'm happy with what I've done, i'll send the entire thing over to my editors, the main ones who worked on DSM. This will likely take a good amount of time (DSM took one month) but in many ways involves less effort from me lol. Just nerves.

Cover, Self-publishing Details - while my editors have the manuscript, I'll be narrowing down what I want the cover to look like and hiring a cover artist. (i've got a short list of artists right now, but i'll probably continue to refine that). I'm bad a visualizing covers and so this will be hard for me, although i have some basic ideas. i'll need to gather reference photos too and then work with the artist. I also want to publish more widely than just Amazon and will hopefully get DSM out to other places as well as a test run before NWWD. Look into more marketing? This is the most miscellaneous of the steps.

Process Edits - actually go through all the edits and notes given to me by my editor. This takes a lot of time (and is mentally taxing - no one likes to read pages of people telling you what you need to fix about what you wrote even if its overall extremely helpful and necessary)

Finalizing - I'll send the edited version to my first beta and another ARC reader/friend. I'll work on the formatting for the book. Coordinating where it will be published and when.

Publishing!

This is a loose list of steps that I mostly defined right now, but are similar to what i did with DSM. As i said, I'm in step one, currently just finished Chapter 25 of 36 of that rough edit.

I'll try to provide some updates on the process at it moves along, if people are interested in hearing about that. I'll most likely keep those updates on this blog, along with any other publishing specific commentary. if any one has any questions or thoughts on the whole thing, please feel free to send them to this blog or comment on this post.

I'm very excited to really dig into publishing NWWD and looking forward to sharing it with you!

Thanks to everyone for all their support - I wouldn't even be considering this (i probably wouldn't have even had a finished draft) with you!

[harleysawyerslegalwife]

I've been thinking of writing a fanfiction about myself and Harley Sawyer, focusing on a self-insert x canon storyline. I would greatly appreciate your criticism in my work, as I'm eager to improve and refine my writing skills. So please put your feedback! (Also, if you want, feel free to change me into your oc/self-insert.)

Tear You Apart. (Harley Saywer x Reader/OC)

Avielyn hated the thought of having to adjust to an entirely new environment. Everything had changed so suddenly—it all felt like a fever dream. She never thought she’d lose everything so quickly. The decision to abandon everything and assist in the emergency surgery of a so-called critical patient had left her emotionally shaken. And in the end, she failed.

Due to the hospital’s internal political instability, she was forced to terminate her contract and walk away.

After returning home, drained and worn out, she changed into something comfortable, settled onto the couch, and opened her laptop to unwind with a movie. But an odd feeling tugged at her—urging her to check her emails instead. As she scrolled through her inbox, one message stood out. Curious, she clicked on it.

It read:

——————————————————————————

Dr. Harley Sawyer

Playtime Co.’s Factory

XXth March 1989

Dear Dr. Avielyn,

I acknowledge the distress you may be experiencing following the recent termination of your contract. There are several matters I wish to address concerning your capabilities and potential contributions.

I personally hold your perspicaciousness, prudential, and unwavering dedication in high regard. I have identified a specific role that demands a high level of talent and believe you would be an excellent fit.

We would be grateful if you would consider our offer. Thank you for taking the time to review this offer. We look forward to your response and hope you will give our proposal due consideration.

Sincerely,

Doctor Harley Sawyer

——————————————————————————

Letting out a sigh, she quickly replied to Dr. Sawyer’s message.

Once she’d sent her response, she curled up on the couch, deciding to rest for a while. As she lay there, a wave of drowsiness washed over her, and she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, sunlight was pouring onto her face. Dazed, she stared blankly at the laptop beside her.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. She jolted up and looked at the screen again—this time fully registering what had startled her.

…

Dr. Sawyer had responded.

She was caught off guard by how quickly Dr. Harley Sawyer replied to her message. After reading his email, she stood up and checked the time—6:47. He had requested to meet her at the factory at 8. Letting out a sigh, she muttered, “Alright, 2 hours and 13 minutes to get ready…”

Determined to appear both professional and well-prepared, she slipped into her white coat, gathered all the necessary files, and glanced at the clock again. 7:12. That gave her 48 minutes—just enough to arrive right on time. The drive from her apartment to the Playtime Co. factory usually took between 25 and 30 minutes.

As she got into her car, she quietly wished she’d get the position—even if it was outside her usual field. What did being a doctor have to do with a toy company, anyway? Then again, they did run an orphanage. Maybe they believed she’d be a perfect fit to serve as a doctor for the children there.

Upon arriving at the factory, she stepped inside and was met by a tall, distinguished man dressed in a suit—somehow managing to look both neat and slightly cluttered at once. He introduced himself as “Leith Pierre” as the head of innovation and informed her that he’d be the one escorting her to Dr. Harley Sawyer.

With each step she took, her eyes analyzed everything in the bustling scene around her. She noticed children tugging at their parents' hands, pleading for new toys, while workers hurried along, their faces a blur of determination. Things that you’d see in a toy store, igniting a wave of nostalgia as memories of carefree days filled with laughter and delight rushed back.

Continuing her journey, Mr. Pierre guided her to a place known as “The Game Station”. Here, laughter and excitement echoed off the walls as children immersed themselves in play, their imaginations running wild. Meanwhile, scientists, armed with notepads, intently monitored the children's interactions, eager to learn about their cognitive growth through the joyful chaos of playfulness.

Then, she was led into a room that resembled a lab and quickly spotted a man she assumed to be Dr. Sawyer. He had dark, slicked-back hair and tanned skin, with noticeable bags under his eyes that matched his deep-set gaze. His posture was very rigid, and every movement he made was deliberate and calculated. He exuded an intense confidence that gave off a somewhat menacing vibe.

As she settled into the chair across from Dr. Sawyer, a mix of curiosity and nervousness washed over her. Mr. Pierre had taken her file and handed it to Dr. Sawyer, who now studied her intently, his gaze piercing yet thoughtful. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt a jolt of discomfort at being scrutinized so thoroughly, though she fought to maintain her composure, refusing to let him see her unease. The room was charged with an unspoken tension, and she braced herself for what was to come.

“Dr. Avielyn Claire, if I recall correctly? I’ll be upfront and unreserved. Can you truly assume the responsibilities tied to this position? If you have any uncertainties regarding your position, I encourage you to inquire without hesitation. Just keep in mind that there may be moments of… disturbing contents ahead.” He glanced down, meticulously reviewing the details in my files.

She scrunched her brows, feeling concerned for his choice of words. Disturbing? What did he mean by that? “I would like to clarify my role in this position. Will I attend the children in your orphanage?” He laughed, no, chuckled—a menacing chuckle that hinted at the thrill of what was to come. It was the kind of chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine, teasing at the danger lurking just around the corner. “Your excellence in the field of neurosurgery is truly commendable—especially at a young age. You have consistently exceeded expectations. This opportunity requires a surgeon with your exceptional talents, and we believe you would be an ideal fit. Upon accepting this offer, we will provide you with comprehensive guidance regarding your responsibilities. You will be appointed as my assistant.”

With a sense of desperation, she sighed and nodded thoughtfully. “I will accept the offer,” she stated, unaware of what she was falling into.

Dr. Sawyer's lips curled into a sly smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Excellent,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “You will begin tomorrow. Make sure to arrive punctually.”

Word Count: 1074 words

[charitysflame]

Dual Perspective - The Concept of Shame

As they sit in the momentary stillness on the hotel rooftop, Charity’s mind wandered. A question refined quietly in her thoughts before she dared to speak it aloud. She shifted slightly, tilting her head to meet Alastor’s gaze.  

“I’m curious… ,” she began, her voice soft, almost tentative, “You don’t really seem to carry shame. Not in the way most do.” She hesitated, concerned her inquiry may cause unease, “That’s not intended to be a criticism, just an observation. Genuinely, I'm curious as to how you perceive it, or perhaps, endured it?”  

Alastor grin carrying a contemplative edge, “Shame,” he echoed, his tone musing. “A fascinating emotion, isn’t it? So human. So binding.” His eyes flickered, reflecting the lights of the hotel and city below as he considered her question more deeply. “I’ve always seen shame as a tether, a leash if you will. One that keeps people confined to expectations, rules, and the crushing weight of social judgment. And, well, you know how much I despise leashes.”  

Charity’s nodded lightly at his response, but remained silent, urging him to continue.  

“That’s not to say I lack the capacity to feel it,” he added, his smile thinning. “I’ve simply learned to redirect it. Shame, when unchecked, is nothing more than a parasite. It feeds on the mind, leaving one paralyzed. Why feel shame for being what I am, for doing what I must, in a world that thrives on hypocrisy?”  

Her curiosity deepened. “Are you completely adverse to it?”  

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” he replied, his voice dropping to a softer register. “There are times when shame isn’t merely a leash but a mirror. When one’s actions cause harm to something, or someone, that truly matters.” His eyes lingered on hers, and for a brief moment, the static hum that often accompanied him seemed to quiet. “In those moments, shame is not just applicable, it’s necessary. It’s a reckoning, a reminder of what must change… if one is willing.”  

Charity’s gaze softened as she studied him. She wondered if that was something he’d truly experienced, if there were moments in his existence where shame had found him and demanded acknowledgment.  

“You’re saying it’s only valid when it serves growth,” she smiled, seemingly having found common ground.  

“Precisely,” he replied, leaning closer. “But, my dear, growth requires an anchor. A reason. A purpose. Without that, shame is little more than a burden, a useless weight on the soul.”  

Her expression grew thoughtful as she considered his perspective, “You know what? That's an interesting stance. Thank you. I wasn’t sure if this was a topic you’d be open to discussing.”

“For you, my dear,” he said, his grin widening, “there are very few topics I wouldn’t entertain. Though I must warn you, such philosophical musings may very well lead me to turn the question back on you.”  

Charity closed her eyes for a moment, thinking deeply about what he had said. She opened them slowly, her expression thoughtful, her voice gentle yet steady.  

“In Heaven, shame is seen as a tool,” she began. “A reflection of our divine connection. It’s taught that shame arises when we stray too far from the path of love, compassion, and righteousness. Surprising as it may seem, it not meant to punish but to guide, to pull us back to what is good and holy.”  

Her brow furrowed slightly. “It’s not supposed to be a weapon against ourselves or others." Her tone changing to something almost mournful, "I’ve seen how shame can twist people. It can turn into guilt so heavy it crushes the soul or into judgment so sharp it cuts the very people it’s meant to help.”  

She looked up at him, her golden eyes glimmering with recollection. “I was taught that shame has its place, but it must be tempered by grace, by mercy. If we let it linger too long, if we allow it to fester, it stops being a guide and becomes a prison. That’s when it fails its purpose. That’s when it stops being divine.”  

Alastor watched her closely, his gaze flickering with interest. “And have you ever felt this divine shame?” He asked, his tone calm but curious.  

Charity hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric on her lap, “Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “When I first fell… when I chose to come here, knowing I might never return to Heaven, I felt shame so profound it felt like my very essence was fracturing. I questioned if I’d failed my purpose, if I’d betrayed everything I was created to be.”  

She took a deep breath, her gaze turning towards the city. “But then I realized, gradually over time, and through tears, a lot of tears.., anguish, screaming… shame wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. It pushed me to question, to reflect, to grow. It led me to a deeper understanding of why I made the choices I did. And eventually, it faded to a mere whisper, almost complete replaced by something stronger: conviction.”  

Facing him now, steady and unwavering. “I believe shame has its place, but it isn’t meant to linger. It’s a moment of reckoning, not a life sentence - an ember to spark awareness, not an eternal flame of suffering. And for those who have strayed, like you, like me, it’s an opportunity. A chance to realign, to seek meaning, and, hopefully, to do better.”

She gave a small shrug, as if dismissing the weight of her own words. “That’s how I see it, anyway. A tool of the divine, not intended to be a punishment of the damned.”

Alastor’s usual playfulness tempered by a rare moment of quiet contemplation. For once, he didn’t quip or deflect. Instead, he murmured, almost in reverence, “A most heavenly perspective, my dove.” ((Making these little ramblings helps me cope with the bull-shittery of our current timeline.))

[therealslimshakespeare]

What got you into writing/how long have you been writing?

What’s your writing inspiration?

Do you write in silence or need background sounds? Like music?

Do you struggle more with dialogue or detail?

Any tips for someone who wants to write fanfiction?

How do you differ all your OC’s so you don’t rewrite the same characters over and over?

Do you do research?

— from someone who would love to write their own stories lol but yours are great!

My darling. So many apologies for how tardy I’ve been in replying to this, I really wanted to give it due thought because I’m quite touched you’d even ask.

1: I’ve been writing since I was little, my mama was always reading me classics and my greatest ambition was to be some kind of author every bit as colorful as their characters, a la Oscar Wilde. 🥳

2. Writing inspiration? Oh that’s a hard one only in that I could cite a million things and chat your poor ear off, but to be boring and also frank -I just love stories. I think they’re so inspiring and healing and necessary for making sense of things, or else resigning to things that can’t be explained. I love to study love and how very human and fallible and also indestructible it is in its many forms. I love to dig through tragedy and find the refining purpose of it, I love to take characters through hells I’ve been through so that I can imagine their triumphs, too, and my own through them. If this can happen to -name your hero- then I’m no smaller for it happening to me, if -name your hero- can get through it and be loved and admired by a whole fandom? -I deserve the same commendation from myself at the very least. Stories are essential and fun and I never ever imagined I’d have a little group one day liking my own where we could all scream about these things together. I’m legit so humbled each time I log on here and find y’all ready and waiting and interactive. The community of it, that’s the biggest drive right now, tbh. What a sweet season.

3. I usually write in silence, or else at any chance where I have a moment, so that could be public transport or lunch breaks or in the loo during family holidays, ha. However I do find music to be an inspiring mood setter for writing later that day. Especially as i juggle many ongoing projects at once, the genre im listening to before may very well influence what gets worked on.

4. Detail!! Dialogue can be challenging but I hear it so clearly in my head most of the time that it’s not hard. Details can devastate me.

5. Ooof, I still feel like I’m a baby at it, this is only my second fandom to dare for. I’d say for sure write what you find inspiring instead of what appears to be wanted, i firmly believe that’s the only sure way to keep up any inspiration and the niche will draw its own crowd, one’s who will like it all the better for its specially crafted world. Also, for dialogue -replay and replay dialogue from the character before you write. Are they terse or do they ramble? Are they sarcastic or earnest? Do they have a word they repeat often? -I noticed the other day how Rosenthal uses “you know?” often in the show. Also, sometimes switch up sentence structure from character to character, it helps feel like hopping brains without a fully jarring POV change. All these are things I’m currently working at myself, but that’s the best I’ve got for advice.

6. Oh boy I’m still figuring this out myself. Three things come to mind as little helps I use- first off, read real biographies, it helps tremendously with crafting fully dimensional fictional people. Two -have a maturing arc for your OC during the story, separate from whatever adventure or romance that occurs, this will make it feel less like a inserted person into the broader story. Three, choose a personality type or something similar to both keep them separate from the next but also to ensure their virtues have corresponding vices.

7. I do research a lot. But I find that it’s a fine line for myself of when that drains all creativity or bravery. Im massively indebted to so many mutuals who generously share their own with me.

[umass-digiturgy]

Émilie: La Marquise du Châtelet Defends Her Life Tonight... and she defends women and happiness too.

Emilie is now coming to be known for her scholarly excellence as a mind of math and physics, but did you know she also impacted the French Enlightenment with profound notions of happiness and gender equality? If you didn't, I thought it may be worth sharing some quotes below.

1. “Let us choose for ourselves our path in life, and let us try to strew that path with flowers”

Emilie du Chatelet demonstrated her fearlessness through strength and courage, but she also expressed fearlessness as a spirit led by compulsive drive, persistent purposefulness, and radical honesty. Emilie already held the conviction to set her own course in life, yet she still prioritized permeating graciousness and generosity while setting that course. Having interest that intersect at science and philosophy, Emilie desired to discover the secrets of the universe. Rather than be unnerved with panic or immobilized with fear at this opportunity to change the world, Emilie’s fearlessness made her path immovable and inevitable. Beyond contributing to physics and mathematics in ways that advanced the fields, Emilie du Chatelet gave humanity a message revealing that when we walk the path that fulfills our hearts, we’ll always have enough love to leave a trail for others.

2. “If I were king, I would redress an abuse which cuts back, as it were, one half of human kind. I would have women participate in all human rights, especially those of the mind” 

Emilie challenged societal norms as a youth and was cognizant, even then, that gender is not a limitation. Emilie’s awareness made her mind strong and unsusceptible to long-told fables that woman are inferior to men. However, this same awareness granted Emilie the insight that even perception of gender can have damaging effects; Emilie avoided these effects by submitting her works under Voltaire’s name to encourage/solicit a fair judgement. It raises the question, how much more might Emilie have accomplished in science if her gender was not inherently a limitation to accessing public and financial support of academic pursuit? It is necessary to discern that Emilie did experience some unique privileges due to her access to wealth, and therefore, would not have been dissuaded from studying as heavily as a less fortunate woman. But it’s difficult to separate Emilie from the ghost of countless brilliant women who sharpened their minds amidst the muck of misled men; along with the other women who even after learning and refining, still had their merits credited to dishonest men.

3. “And the perpetual combat of this effort of fire and of the resistance bodies offer to it, produces almost all the phenomena of nature” 

Love or Philosophy? While an enjoyable question to consider, the reality is that Emilie excelled at both. She contributed to translating and advancing the world of physics through study. Yet, she also had a life that was fulfilled with love, passion, and romantic embraces. In this way, her novel approach to thinking of people and energy as a metaphysical system actually ties love and philosophy together, it doesn’t pit them against each other. Fire, in and of itself, will cause human bodies to repel and resist it. However, if that fire is within another person, the same temperature and energy can become a magnet that draws others in. Emilie may compliment and subdue the men in her life by referring to them as elements, but the truth is that her lifework embodied the elements of Earth the best - she was as graceful as water, as dangerous as fire, and unforgettably electric. 

4. “I have always thought that the most sacred duty of men was to give their children an education that would prevent them, when they were older, from regretting their youth, which is the only time when one can truly get an education; you, my dear son, have now arrived at this happy age when the mind begins to think, and when the heart isn't yet subject to those intense emotions that will later come to disturb it” 

Emilie understood that study is more complex than the raw consumption of new information because true learning requires the learner to be in a certain headspace conducive to receiving new information. Emilie navigated the intense emotions of life such as true love, grief, heartbreak, and betrayal while still pushing forward the envelope of scientific discovery. Emilie cautions us to take advantage of our youths, because for the more fortunate of us, adolescence will be absent of heavy disturbances that impede learning. In utilizing the privilege of learning freely in an peaceful environment, our minds will have a chance to receive and retain so much more. In short, most of us are not good for ourselves or anyone else when our hearts our disturbed; but the same lot of us can move mountains when it’s a peace. 

5. “As no two things in life are alike, it is almost always useless to see one’s errors, or at least to pause a long time to consider them and to reproach oneself with them. In so doing we cover ourselves with confusion in our own eyes for no gain.” 

Emilie deserves admiration and acknowledgment for advancing the philosophy of happiness and simultaneously expanding the world of physics, almost four-hundred years ago. She faced resistance from friends and family who encouraged her to consider the error of her ways and stay in a woman’s place; but Emilie stayed committed to her path instead. Emilie’s boundless ambition directed her to relentlessly seek progress, and in seeking progress Emilie realized that there isn’t room for guilt or ruminating in mistakes. With this message, Emilie reminds us to let go of guilt and shame, and rather to- “forgive ourselves; guilt may write us letters often, but we don’t have to write back” 

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

CHAPTER VI.

Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth:—

"My dearest Cousin,

"You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so long a journey; yet how often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sick bed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never guess your wishes, nor minister to them with the care and affection of your poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in your own handwriting.

"Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home, and friends who love you dearly. Your father's health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you,—but to be assured that you are well; and not a care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter into foreign service; but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder brother return to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country; but Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter;—his time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler, unless we yield the point, and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.

"Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake, and snow-clad mountains, they never change;—and I think our placid home, and our contented hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father; but, through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and, after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this; and, when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the duties of a servant; a condition which, in our fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance, and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

"Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an ill-humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any professions; I never heard one pass her lips; but you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay, and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence, and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.

"When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reserved for her.

"One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a Roman catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl! she wept when she quitted our house; she was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother's house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her expressions continually remind me of my dear aunt.

"I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.

"Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a very lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with everybody.

"I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters: we are sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat you, write!

"Elizabeth Lavenza.

"Geneva, March 18th, 17—."

"Dear, dear Elizabeth!" I exclaimed, when I had read her letter, "I will write instantly, and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel." I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn. I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide to him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. "D—n the fellow!" cried he; "why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, ay," continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, "M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time."

M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.

Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He came to the university with the design of making himself complete master of the oriental languages, as thus he should open a field for the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanscrit languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long, from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.

The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in the rambles of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.

We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely did you love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own! A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible burden.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.

[tapmora]

Like a River: Why You’re Allowed to Change Your Mind and Your Life

One day, I was reading a straightforward sentence that stuck in my head: people are like rivers. It was abstract, even weird at first. How can a person be compared to a river? But the longer I meditated on it, the more sense it made. Like rivers, we're always flowing, evolving, and reforming ourselves according to the landscapes of our existence.

The Quiet Wisdom of a River

If you’ve ever stood by a river, you’ll notice something remarkable. It isn’t in a hurry. It doesn’t fight its path. When it meets a rock or a fallen branch, it simply flows around it. When the land dips or rises, it curves and adapts. It keeps moving, never clinging to one route or shape for too long. It doesn’t resist change; it embraces it. And in the process, it stays stable moving, always transforming into something else.

Why Do We Struggle With Change?

Unlike the river, we struggle to remain the same. We cling to past selves, out-of-date plans, and relationships that are no longer working. We grasp onto what others expect of us, and what we've set for ourselves. When the unexpected rock is hurled at us by life, we push back against it. We grieve the possibility of having to adapt, to release, to go differently than we had mapped out. But the reality is that the longer we struggle against what life is requiring of us, the more we end up shattering ourselves upon it.

The Freedom in Letting Yourself Become

Perhaps we're not supposed to remain the same. Perhaps our aim isn't to refine who we are, but to let ourselves become who we're supposed to be. Like the river cuts new channels through the ground, so too are we supposed to learn, unlearn, move, and grow. What was right yesterday may not be today. And that's alright. Growth is seldom tidy or predictable, but it's necessary.

The River Never Apologizes - And Neither Should You

Consider this: the river doesn't stop to apologize, "Sorry, I know I used to go this way, but now I need to go the other." It flows without apology or regret. It has faith that where it's headed, it's supposed to go. So why can't we give ourselves the same mercy? Why can't we let go of constant knowing and flow in new directions when life requires it?

It's Not About Giving Up - It's About Trusting the Flow

Giving up is different from letting go. Reversing your decision, closing the chapter, or refining your dreams is not failure. It is wisdom. It is realizing that some things are for a season, and when the season is over, it's time to let go. Like the river, you can pick new courses. You can outgrow people, places, and selves. You don't owe anyone a sorry for becoming.

Life Is a River, Not a Straight Line

Here's the real deal: life isn't a carefully sketched, straight line. It's a twisting river, untidy, unforeseeable, sometimes calm and others turbulent. You'll encounter turns you never saw coming, boulders that appear insurmountable, and stretches of calm you never anticipated. But in the process, you'll find scenery you never envisioned, courage you didn't know you possessed, and a you you couldn't have scripted.

Final Thoughts: Keep Flowing

So, grant yourself permission to flow. Have faith that you'll work it out as you go. You don't need to know everything right now. You simply need to keep going, keep developing, and permit yourself to become. The river doesn't excuse itself for changing, and neither should you.

[appraisemycar8]

appraisemycar8

Appraise My Car: What Every Vehicle Owner Should Know

Appraising a car is more than just checking a price tag or looking up a number online. It’s a comprehensive process that factors in a wide range of variables—from mileage and model year to local market conditions and vehicle history. If you’ve ever thought, “I need to appraise my car,” then understanding the ins and outs of this process is essential for ensuring you get the most accurate and fair value for your vehicle. Whether you're planning to sell, trade-in, refinance, or simply satisfy your curiosity, knowing how to properly approach a car appraisal can save you money, time, and headaches.

Why Appraising Your Car Matters

At first glance, it might seem like appraising a car is only necessary when you're looking to sell or trade it in. While that's certainly a common scenario, there are several other reasons why you might need to appraise your car. Insurance companies may require an appraisal to calculate premiums or settle claims. Banks and financial institutions use appraisals when processing loans or refinancing requests. Even in legal matters such as divorce settlements or estate planning, an accurate car appraisal can play a critical role. Understanding the value of your car allows you to make informed decisions and negotiate from a position of strength.

What Determines the Value of a Car?

When you're ready to appraise my car, it’s important to know what factors influence a vehicle’s worth. The process isn’t random—it’s grounded in data and observations. Here are the key elements that determine your car's appraised value:

Age and Mileage The older a car is and the more miles it has logged, the more its value typically depreciates. However, exceptions exist for classic or collector vehicles. Low mileage generally boosts value, particularly when paired with a newer model year.

Condition Cosmetic and mechanical condition are paramount. A car with visible scratches, dents, or a rough interior will likely fetch less than a well-maintained vehicle. Mechanical soundness, including engine performance, transmission function, and brake condition, is equally crucial.

Service History A well-documented service history adds value to a car. Regular oil changes, timely repairs, and consistent maintenance give appraisers confidence that the vehicle has been well cared for.

Market Demand Certain models are more popular in specific regions. For example, trucks might appraise higher in rural areas where they're more functional, while compact cars might fetch better prices in urban settings.

Accident and Title History A clean title with no accidents generally results in a higher appraisal. Vehicles that have been in accidents, especially those with structural damage or that have been rebuilt, typically see a significant drop in value.

Aftermarket Modifications While some modifications can enhance a car’s appeal—like upgraded sound systems or performance enhancements—others can reduce its value. Non-standard modifications may not appeal to every buyer and can affect the car’s reliability or insurability.

Location and Timing Geographical location and even seasonality play a role. Convertibles, for example, may be appraised higher in the spring or summer. Likewise, SUVs may increase in value during the winter months or in areas prone to harsh weather.

Types of Car Appraisals

When you decide to appraise my car, it’s important to recognize that there are different types of appraisals depending on the need. Each serves a distinct purpose and follows unique evaluation criteria.

Trade-In Appraisal This is typically done at a dealership when you're looking to trade your vehicle in for another. Trade-in values tend to be lower than private sale values because the dealer needs to account for overhead and resale margins.

Private Sale Appraisal If you plan to sell the car directly to another individual, you may want an appraisal that reflects the vehicle’s fair market value. This type often yields a higher valuation than a trade-in.

Insurance Appraisal Insurance-related appraisals assess the value for coverage, premium setting, or claim purposes. These appraisals are critical when insuring rare or high-value vehicles, or when settling claims after an accident.

Loan or Refinancing Appraisal Lenders require an appraisal when using a car as collateral. The appraised value determines the amount of money they’re willing to lend and the terms of the agreement.

Pre-Purchase Appraisal Buyers often want a professional opinion before finalizing a purchase, especially for used cars. This appraisal verifies the condition and value of the vehicle in question.

How to Prepare for a Car Appraisal

If you're going to appraise my car, preparation is key. You can take several proactive steps to make sure your car is shown in the best light and receives an accurate valuation.

Clean the Vehicle Give your car a thorough cleaning, inside and out. First impressions matter. A clean car indicates it has been cared for, even before popping the hood.

Gather Documentation Have your title, maintenance records, service history, and any receipts for upgrades or repairs available. Organized documentation increases trust in the condition and value of the vehicle.

Fix Minor Issues Replace burned-out lights, top off fluids, repair minor scratches, or install new wiper blades. These small actions can make a big difference in perceived condition.

Check Tire Condition Tires in good shape can positively impact value. If they are heavily worn or mismatched, consider replacing them, especially if you're planning a private sale or insurance appraisal.

Know the Market Before seeking an appraisal, research similar vehicles in your region to understand what others are selling for. This baseline gives you a better idea of what to expect and helps you gauge the accuracy of the appraisal you receive.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

When thinking “I need to appraise my car,” be cautious of several common mistakes that can lead to underestimating or misunderstanding your car’s value.

Relying on a Single Source Using just one online valuation tool or estimate can provide a skewed view. Use multiple reputable sources and, if possible, get a professional in-person appraisal for the most accurate results.

Overestimating Sentimental Value While you might have memories tied to your vehicle, sentiment doesn’t equate to market value. Emotional attachments can cloud judgment and expectations.

Ignoring the Importance of Timing Trying to appraise or sell a car in an oversaturated or low-demand market can drastically affect what it’s worth. Consider waiting for a better season or economic moment if you're not in a hurry.

Skipping the Mechanical Check Even if a car runs well, ignoring a mechanical inspection can be costly. Underlying issues that you didn’t account for can affect value once discovered during the appraisal.

Expecting Appraised Value = Sale Price Appraised value is a guide—not a guarantee. Market conditions, buyer availability, and negotiations will ultimately determine the final sale amount.

Conclusion

Understanding how to appraise my car is a powerful skill for any vehicle owner. It equips you to make better financial decisions, whether you're selling, trading, refinancing, or managing insurance. By taking into account all the key factors—like condition, history, mileage, and demand—you can ensure a more accurate and favorable outcome. Preparing your car properly, researching market trends, and avoiding common pitfalls will position you to receive the true value of your vehicle. Appraisal isn't just about numbers—it's about knowledge, presentation, and timing. When approached wisely, it becomes a valuable tool for maximizing the return on one of your most important investments.

[milatovar]

"Restoration is not about erasing the past but listening to it—hearing where silence has gathered, where structures have hollowed, and where, with steady hands, we might shape something whole again."

This piece, Tomoo Mukai, resonates with Hexagram 18 – Gu (Work on What Has Been Spoiled). It speaks to the quiet yet profound necessity of renewal. Just as decay overtakes what is left unattended, so too do old patterns, beliefs, and structures lose their vitality when they are no longer questioned or refined. This artwork, with its layered transparency and subtle distortions, mirrors the delicate process of restoration—how clarity must be sought through engagement rather than avoidance. Gu is a call to examine what has been inherited, not with resignation, but with a sense of responsibility. It is not destruction but refinement, not rejection but recalibration.

In life, we inherit not only wisdom but also errors, both personal and ancestral. Some structures may seem firm, yet they harbour cracks beneath the surface.

This piece suggests that true renewal begins when we acknowledge the fractures, allowing light to pass through.

The vibrant yet restrained composition reflects the tension between what is and what could be, offering a meditation on how repair itself can be a form of artistry.

Hexagram 18 – Gu (Work on What Has Been Spoiled) (蠱) is composed of Mountain (Gen, 艮) above and Wind (Xun, 巽) below, creating an image of stagnation where decay must be addressed before progress can resume. In the ancient texts, Gu is often associated with corruption—of ideas, institutions, or personal habits. However, it does not suggest mere condemnation but rather an active process of purification.

The hexagram teaches that deterioration is a natural part of existence. When something is left unexamined, entropy takes hold.

This applies to relationships, creative endeavours, and even the structures of thought that shape our perception. The wisdom of Gu lies in recognising decay not as an end but as an opportunity—an invitation to engage, to restore, and to refine.

Gu does not advocate abrupt change but instead careful and steady intervention. Like tending a neglected garden, one must first identify where the soil has become barren and where new seeds may flourish. The trigrams suggest that insight (Wind) must move through resistance (Mountain), breaking through stagnation with persistence and wisdom.

To follow the wisdom of Gu is to step into the role of both caretaker and innovator. It asks for awareness—seeing where decline has set in, whether in one's habits, relationships, or creative work. It encourages methodical correction, neither rushing nor retreating, but approaching the process with patience and skill.

Ignoring Gu, however, leads to stagnation. Decay that is left unaddressed does not remain static; it deepens. Procrastination, avoidance, and complacency allow weaknesses to entrench themselves. Whether in personal growth, artistic expression, or decision-making, postponing necessary work only makes future effort more difficult.

One must ask: Where have I settled into patterns that no longer serve me? What structures in my life require attention? Gu does not demand drastic action, but it does require engagement. Small, consistent efforts—an honest conversation, a realignment of priorities, a return to what matters—create lasting change.

True renewal is not about erasing the past but refining it into something stronger.

[davidmarceau]

week 8 of my Start-Up Venture.

what is working?

I've been refining my budget and identifying ways to cut costs. I've also started to look at product options that could result in better resale value. Some items I notice are quite volatile, and I may need to hold onto the items for longer timeframes to guarantee a profit. The more research I do, the clearer my pricing strategy has become. I am nearing a low input cost with a high probability return. I just need to continue focusing on my market analysis strategy and risk management. Once I have all the financial data and tools, I can then proceed onto the next phase.

what is not working?

I think marketing is the greatest challenge at the moment. To get a large audience to notice a business model, you need the right strategy. At first, I thought simply listing products on different platforms would be enough, but there’s more to it than just posting. I believe that once I focus more on the law of business attraction, the business will start to take shape. Business is like a puzzle, and every piece needs to fit in the right place to create a functional model.

how do you feel the project is coming?

The project is moving with small improvements. I am starting to understand what works and what doesn't work when creating a business model. I find some things take longer than I thought they would, but that is part of learning new things. I just need to continue to be consistent because I know this business is needed not only for myself but for others as well.

what are you learning about running a business?

I know to stay flexible and that everything isn't always going to go as planned. I need to be willing to adapt to strategy changes when it is best. I thought I could just list products and wait for sales, but I see now that with especially low-volume items, I would need to be more active with a unique strategy that would make me stand out in the competitive business world. Even the small costs like fees and shipping materials will add up, so I need to always be cutting costs where I can. I need to be extra careful with my spending and always find the best cost-effective solution for every step of the way.

what are you learning about yourself?

I find that I spend a lot of time thinking, sometimes too much. I like to be precise in all my actions, which is a good thing, but it can be time-consuming. What I need to focus on is efficiency, where I can think and act much faster, which would be necessary to stay competitive with the best possible actions. I have to calculate much faster and analyze more data to keep up with the best. I am confident that I can find a way to do this with additional strategies. Sometimes a solid, weighted absolute strategy will go further than just basic hard work. Quality over quantity, as they say. My next goal is to master my business model and then fine-tune it. I know that the more I fine-tune my business model, the more successful I will be.

[midlifecrisis453]

What Legacy Do I Want to Leave Behind?

Mid-Life Crisis – Part III

As part of the unbroken chain of human existence spanning millions of years, I carry a responsibility—to contribute to the legacy passed down by my ancestors. Without preserving and building upon this legacy, I risk falling behind in the race of life, a race not just against time but against the countless species sharing this planet.

But the question remains: What exactly should I contribute? Is there a standard operating procedure for leaving a legacy? The answer is no. Legacy is not about following a predefined path; it is about learning through hardships, celebrating victories, rising after every fall, and evolving through experiences. One doesn’t need to be an expert in everything. Legacy, in my view, is the relentless fight to survive—not necessarily to win, but to live in the greatest possible way. It is about living the life my ancestors could not. My duty is to become a better version of my father, a better version of a human being. It may feel like a race against my loved ones at times, but in reality, it is about setting an example for future generations—not just as a father, but as a remarkable human being. This is my duty—the duty of humanity.

I am the beneficiary of my ancestors' struggles since the dawn of humanity. My existence is the result of their perseverance and sacrifices. It is a humbling thought that, had just one of my ancestors made a different choice—had he hesitated in the face of danger, succumbed to illness, or simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time—I might not be here today. If a lion had hunted one of my forebears, if a flood had swept them away, my story would have ended before it even began. They fought to keep their place at the top of the food chain, often at the cost of their own lives. They endured natural selection, sometimes paying the ultimate price. Now, I must continue this effort for future generations, but unlike my ancestors, I am in a far better position—I do not have to risk my life to do so.

To truly leave a meaningful legacy, one must reflect on the major events that have shaped their life—from childhood to adulthood. What experiences altered my thought process? What shaped me positively? What mistakes taught me the hardest lessons? What people entered my life, changed my perspective, and influenced my emotions? How often did I misjudge someone, only to later realize their true character? What unnecessary losses did I endure, only to understand their futility when it was too late? What mindset helps maintain high morale? How does one balance life in the midst of stress, chaos, and unpredictability? How can we avoid foolish decisions that inevitably lead to sorrow? How much attachment to others is healthy? Who are our true friends, and who are the wolves in sheep’s clothing? How do we navigate the complexities of dealing with different personalities, lifestyles, and perspectives?

Leaving a legacy does not require writing a book or addressing large audiences. It is about having meaningful conversations with loved ones—our children, our partners. Teach them through daily interactions. If books can impart wisdom better than words, then read and encourage them to do the same. Engage in debates over trivial topics; listen to their perspectives, understand their thoughts, and refine them if necessary. Guide them toward what truly matters. Involve them in decision-making, study their reasoning, correct them when needed, and follow their advice if it surpasses your own. Discuss current events—not just the headlines, but the hidden stories behind them. The untold stories often hold more truth than the headlines. Seek the root causes of everything that affects you, directly or indirectly. Through such discussions, you will realize that your children are far smarter than you were at their age. Their rapid growth will bring you joy and reassurance.

This is legacy: becoming a student in your child’s classroom, embracing their potential, and nurturing them for a better future. Teach them about the world, about people, about selflessness and humanity. Instill values, humility, and respect. Share with them the lessons of your 50 years in just five. By the time they turn 15, they will carry the wisdom of a 65-year-old.

And that—more than wealth, status, or accolades—is the legacy worth leaving behind.

[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s 12 Nov 2024. You know how stupid I can be, right? Well, here’s one: I just this second realized that torture is twisting, which is torsion, which is pairing over a certain End, which is HG. And in this, I’m Observer, like watching someone with battle ropes in a mirror except it’s someone else rolling the ropes through to you, one over the other, so they cross, so they change shapes and amplitudes.

Lost the thread. I was sitting outside listening to the traffic whine while my tea steeped for as long as I could take the chill. Is that a peculiar sentence? It has an unusual rhythm which I like, very much like when two hands combine to play a melody which changes in both hands.

I just got the Roman mental trick for generating such lengthy descriptives. It’s the translation of the Observer telling the story, meaning it’s fundamental in the mental shift involved in storytelling. This is hard to describe. I’m trying to get out the idea that storytelling counts along a composition axis - oh, and here is where I go wrong; I think xK and yK when I should be thinking about szK, where the notation means s is orthogonal to the count (so zsK is when movement is in sK directions. Both can be entirely positive: just draw the axis line, like in Hexagonal because that’s what we’re describing again, and we begin at the center End and we see choice into gsSpace as a cube, meaning as the corner of a cube. How did that show up? I’m confused. I know it’s what we saw, but we begin with Triangular, and we draw sK and zK as yK and xK by tilting the image. I remember doing that before, more than once.

As I think about it, that becomes the upper halfplane, which we can tilt to be forward and backwards along the standard xK.

So, the idea is the Romans developed or rather refined a method of speaking in which you become the storyteller and you make up stuff, but something important is left out, like the identity of the speaker or the action. Pending identity in those ways means you describe things which are parts of a journey, places you stop on the way, and that is easier because you can connect to all the stories about that type of person or place or element of character, all those previously worked out bits that you can assemble more easily, with greater fluidity because they’re attached without a label because when labeled comparisons automatically generate and those will deflate or otherwise counterbalance the exaggerations or frankly any distortion necessary to make the story sparkle. I’m not saying this is unique to Rome, but it helps me understand why their thought processes can seem so modern.

The idea behind that is hard to dig out. The ability to be blunt is in a 1-0Segment with the ability to avoid being blunt, so there’s a pairing of the ability to describe in the closely linked abstract. That goes from abstract to concrete so there’s this place where the Attachment may be the identity of the person or something else which Attaches, like a sudden change in the direction implied, like by negation. As in, heaps of praise and then he is not or he doesn’t deserve. That organizes events over time as they specifically relate to real Things. So that’s specification in action in Latin and in Roman thought.

An implication is the barbarians didn’t reduce the metaphors to the concrete. So the concept of we’re going to kill you all if you don���t do what we say is taken as bravado rather than reality. Same as when Hitler took power and people said it can’t really be that bad? In some ways. Both are failures to reduce context, but the latter was truly hard to believe. Don’t know about the former.

But the idea is appealing because there’s a gap between a metaphoric based society and the Romans, with their ability to link abstraction and concreteness. As in the concrete, which they must have observed and industrialized using that linkage. Which is Observer and Actor, right? It must be. Abstraction means you look at it as separate while concrete means you connect to see what has been identified. So we see Actor and Observer in language and culture.

I’m going to the gym. Need to take a break. And to be blunt, the sexual need is really intense and I need to put strain on my body.

[humancollectivenz]

Human Collective - the essence is in the name: Everything You Need to Know

I launched my consultancy with a focus on uniting people and collaborating with businesses to integrate Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) strategies into their organisational DNA. Creating an environment where differences are celebrated and embraced, and where everyone is treated equitably, just makes sense.

Human Collective has grown and evolved alongside the clients I work with. My primary motivation has always been helping businesses to prepare for the future. Working closely with boards and senior leadership teams, I've enjoyed crafting / refining business strategies, coaching leaders to deliver operationally and ensuring people practices align effectively with business goals.

I take pride in applying my skills and expertise to foster growth and success in both people and businesses. There’s nothing more rewarding than seeing businesses and individuals taking the next step towards achieving well defined goals. Check out My Services page to see how Human Collective could partner with your business.

Overview of services My clients have wide and varying needs. For example, you may be part of a fantastic HR team, or in a standalone HR role and could benefit from specialist support. Or you could be the leader of a business with no dedicated people person. Perhaps you are an individual who could benefit from transformational coaching or could use some help with an employment issue. Regardless of your needs I’m confident that we can find a way to work together.

The commonly heard phrase that "people are a company’s greatest asset" has never completely resonated with me. In my view, people are not assets, FTEs, or resources. They are individuals, and to bring out their best, certain essential conditions must be in place. I firmly believe that an organization flourishes and succeeds when it has the right individuals in the right roles, leveraging their strengths, contributing to the mission, and aligned towards achieving common goals. While this sounds straightforward, achieving it is often challenging.

At Human Collective, people are at the core, embracing both our similarities and differences. I assist businesses in thriving by partnering with them to elevate "the people side of things," creating a workplace where individuals feel energised on Sunday evenings at the thought of Monday mornings ahead.

my approach I approach my work with curiosity, empathy, and a non-judgmental attitude, prioritizing active listening and fully understanding my clients' needs before proposing solutions. I love facilitating group discussions, guiding conversations towards productive outcomes, and when necessary, acting as a mediator to ensure positive results.

Clients often describe me as passionate, professional, experienced, pragmatic, and straightforward. I take pride in thoroughly understanding your business, your desired outcomes, and offering dedicated support throughout every stage of our partnership.

about me My professional experience: With over 20 years as a senior Human Resources leader in corporate environments across diverse industries such as Financial Services, Telecommunications, Retail, Advertising, Publishing, Manufacturing, Engineering, Recycling, Mining, and Primary Industries, I bring a wealth of experience and a best-practice approach to support your business needs. My consulting background further enhances my ability to provide up-to-date and effective solutions.

My skills and knowledge: I have extensive expertise in Human Resources, Organisational Development, Talent Management, and Change Management, among other areas. Committed to continuous growth, I recently completed studies with Stanford Executive Online while continuing my studies to become a Globally Accredited Certified Diversity Professional (CDP) through The Society of Diversity. I leverage Capgemini Change Management Training and Transformational Coaching methodologies from Coach Masters Academy to ensure sustainable and impactful change for the companies and individuals I work with.

My lived experience: I have been fortunate to work and live in different parts of the world. I have loved experiencing different cultures and connecting with people from many walks of life. I’ve heard their stories, shared their experiences and seen the opportunity to make things better for them, their colleagues and their organisations.

Giving back: I am a proud member of the Project Jonah Board and a volunteer mentor with the Graeme Dingle Foundation. Both not for profits are close to my heart and I’m delighted to be able to offer my time and experience to such worthwhile causes.

ORIGINALLY FOUND ON- Source: The Human Collective(https://www.humancollective.co.nz/)