#there are definitely problems w american education system but in no way did i ever expect this fucking outcome

[subsidiary]

my brother told me kids on tiktok are talking about using chatgpt to write papers for them and my god the future is fucking bleak

[qqueenofhades]

i am a youngin and I have LOTS of questions for you. I became aware of you through your political posts so question number one would be how did you become so articulate? sometimes when I want for respond to arguments, I get so frustrated that i look a fool and nothing gets done. question two, how do you inform yourself and stay critical of what you watch and read? question three, how does one balance their desire to learn and their need to live their life? sometimes I want to spend days (1/?)

 youngin anon (2/?) Sometimes I want to spend days absorbing all the knowledge I can get my hands on, but I also have to go to school, I wanna spend time with my friends, i want to watch my overdramatic rom coms, so and so forth so the desires are constantly battling out in me. question four, how realistic is to want to be a professional historian? when I saw you mention you’re a professional historian, I almost screamed bc so cool! If I want to be a historian, could I succeed in the field?thanks

(3/3) youngin once more w/ her final question! how do you educate yourself on the government and what it’s doing? finding and reading through government reports is confusing and I barely understand how it works because I barely understand civics. I want to learn and be a helpful citizen in the future, but I’m only 15, and I don’t even know what I don’t know. It all feels a bit overwhelming.

Okay, first of all, you must know that telling me that you think being a historian is “so cool” means that you’re now my favourite person and I will 101% die for you, right? Right.

Second of all, I’m very impressed that you’re 15 years old and thinking about all this, which also increases my desire to invite you in for a virtual hot chocolate and chat while scrambling to look like I in any part know what I’m doing and shout at you to stay in school and get enough sleep. I will do my best to go through your questions in order.

One, I’m flattered to hear that you think I’m articulate, and there is definitely an advantage to being able to write and rewrite arguments, rather than being put on the spot and having to do it orally. It comes with practice and educating yourself on what makes a good argument and reading arguments that you find convincing, taking note of what they do well, and the kind of evidence that they marshal to support their positions. It’s similar to writing a good essay or other thesis-driven piece, where you have a position in mind and have to put together reasons for your listener to believe you or at least take your stance seriously (the noble old arts of rhetoric and logic, which were central parts of the classical liberal arts education). I am not sure that there is any easy shortcut for this, alas. Your critical sensibility will get refined with use and age and the volume of things that you read and think about. This also goes into the question of how you stay informed, aware, and critical about things that you read. Basically, the rule of thumb is the delightfully named CRAAP test:

C(urrency)/R(elevance)/A(uthority)/A(ccuracy)/P(urpose). 

Is the source recent? Is it relevant? Is it published or has it gone through peer review? Is it being used in conversations in its field? Who would have an interest in presenting this information one way or another? (I.e. a big manufacturing company concluding for itself that it is not polluting the environment with its operations would be… suspect to say the least). The corporate media in America is very often not all that reliable and/or will certainly not report everything going on, because their central interest is money and upholding the status quo. If you want a left-leaning and reputable news source, you could try The Guardian. It’s a UK-based newspaper, but focuses a lot on American and international issues. Almost nothing that you read from a tabloid or from a random Facebook or Reddit source is likely to be all that legit. Don’t agree with an opinion just because you like it, without doing research. Don’t listen just to what people on the internet would like you to think, including me (I mean, by all means, go out and research and decide for yourself if whatever the hell I’m saying has any merit to it). You don’t need to do this all the time, and you do need to prioritize your mental health and your desire to live an ordinary life. There are bad things happening in the world, but humans are not built to take in a 24/7 bombard of bad news, and it doesn’t make you a bad person if you have “empathy exhaustion.” You literally cannot care about everything everywhere, though you can do your best to stay informed and sympathetically engaged. 

Next, I really recommend you read A People’s History of the United States, by Howard Zinn. It is a classic, it is a pretty clear and straightforward read and doesn’t have confusing footnotes or too much academic jargon, and it sets out and explains the way in which American history has often been framed and the many problems with that approach. (There is also A Young People’s History of the United States, also by Zinn, and Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong, by James W. Loewen.) All of these will offer some corrective and perspective on what passes for historical education in America (answer, pretty much bupkis) and hopefully give you some sense of the ways in which this narrative has systematically discouraged critical thinking or anything besides “America’s the best!!!1″ in generations of America First flag-waving masses. If you do want to be a historian, it’s important to familiarize yourself with what the academic practice of history looks like, decide what you’re interested in and what you might like to specialize in, what area/place/time, and other such things, as well as developing an appreciation for the subject and the work that goes into putting together a historical argument. It will also help if you like reading a large variety of things about many topics, as you will become informed and engaged that way. 

As for whether you could succeed in the field: god, I hope so. I’m in the very-not-fun post-PhD job hunt phase, and I have to warn you that it’s pretty soul crushing, and comes after the exhausting, time-intensive, and nitty-gritty process of getting all the way through the MA and PhD themselves in the first place. That’s almost ten years of school on top of an undergraduate degree, and you really do have to be committed to your subject and want to remain in it if you are going to get through all that with your will to live (barely) intact. Academia is also a weird and cliquey and sometimes depressing place with its own set of bizarre rules. None of this is meant to discourage you – I think we need historians very badly and more than ever – but to warn you that if you think you could be happy being anything other than an academic historian (not to mention make more money) you should seriously consider doing it. You still have most of high school to go before you enter college, and I honestly can’t say what the humanities job market might look like in another 10-15 years, when it’s pretty nonexistent right now. There are jobs, and you can make a career out of it, but they’re all extremely competitive, because there just are not enough of them for all the newly minted humanities PhDs with hopeful dreams of making it in the academy. You have to be fairly lucky, know the right people, network a lot, and apply for pretty much everything you can think of. And as noted, nobody gets into this because they want to be rich. It just is not happening.

I am really flattered, again, that you want to hear my advice on all this, and I would love to help you in any way that I can. You’re welcome to return if you want to chat through things. I also really do recommend Wikipedia. It gets a lot of flack for not being an “academic” source, but as a starting point, you can just go in there, look up whatever you’re interested in, and read the basics (such as civics, the American political system, and so forth). Well-written articles will also be well cited and have lists of links and references at the bottom, which you can use as a jumping-off point for more research. If you’re interested in learning, there are definitely ways to do that. I think you’re already well on the way to being a helpful and productive citizen, just by virtue of WANTING to learn and be informed and critical and compassionate. Tons of people, including lots of them who are much older and in much more important positions than you, don’t do that at all. So you’re already doing better. The information, the ability to work with it, and to form your own opinions will come with time. So don’t go too crazy about feeling like you have to learn it all immediately. You will continue to learn and you already sound like you’re going in the right direction.

I have faith in you. If you want a hug from a random stranger on the internet, consider yourself hugged. Or if that’s too creepy, here’s a high five.

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter two: $40

on ao3 1

here we are again. hope everyone had a good october, mine was....something. sorry if the writing style/tone changes a bit throughout, i basically wrote this in two sittings, just two sittings with a month between them

warning: discussions of mental health, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, let me know if other warnings need to be added

enjoy!

Connor is starting to run out of places in town where he can be alone without someone in his family finding him. Zoe is a little too perceptive and his mother has eyes everywhere. It’s kind of creepy and Connor’s sick of it.

Still, they’ve yet to find him at the old elementary school playground so far. Maybe it’s because the playground is hidden behind the school and is surrounded on two sides by tall trees. Or just because it’s in the rundown part of town, abandoned until the town can think of something better to do with a building almost as old as the town itself.

Connor is pretty sure people have broken into the school before. There are definitely serious drug deals that take place under the biggest tree on the edge of the fields. But mostly it’s just empty.

Connor’s been here before to smoke. Yeah, he’s been the creepy teenager smoking on the swingset at three in the morning before. Who the fuck cares, no one comes by here to get him in trouble. But more often then not, he just comes here to think.

He sits on a swing and holds onto the rusting chains and just stares at his knees and thinks. Or dissociates. Or both. He can’t tell anymore.

It’s been a fucking day. He definitely hadn’t planned getting yelled at by Evan Hansen into his schedule.

For one, he didn’t think Evan had it in him. For another… Connor doesn’t actually know what he’d been expecting when he sat down in the computer lab instead of going to last period. Maybe that one thing in his life would be easy. He could apologize to Evan or something and they could maybe slowly make it seem like they were drifting apart or something.

Connor doesn’t know how friends work. It’s been years since he had a real one.

And Evan isn’t even a real one.

He walks the swing in circles, twisting the chains together until he can’t twist anymore, then lifts his feet from the ground. He lets his toes drag along the ground as he spins in slow circles, the chains groaning as they untwist.

He can still hear Evan’s voice in his mind, shouting at him.

I just jumped out of a fucking tree!

He tried to backtrack so quickly. Take back the truth he’d released to the world. But Connor saw it. There had been a moment of clarity.

That was Evan Hansen.

That singular moment of honesty says more about Evan Hansen more than he will ever say about himself. He’s awkward, anxious to a fault, and suicidal. He looks at the world and he doesn’t see a future. He sees in grays and muddled tones and doesn’t see something worth fighting for.

Or maybe that’s just Connor projecting.

The swing dips a little as it stops untwisting, moving back and forth with the remaining momentum. Sometimes, sitting on these swings, he feels like a little kid. Mostly he just feels out of place.

But it’s better than home. Home, where he has no bedroom door. Home, where his mom is desperate for him to get better but doesn’t know how to help. Home, where his father doesn’t want to face the facts or him. Home, where his sister has given up.

Home, which is a building and not much more.

Connor closes his eyes and rests his head against the old chain. Childhood doesn’t feel real anymore. It’s hard to believe he was a little kid. That he was happy. That he constantly didn’t feel like shit.

His entire life has been overshadowed and stained by his present. He wishes he’d been able to wipe it out— that he’d been able to wipe him out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Only twice. A text.

His other only calls. She leaves frantic voicemails and voicemails with forced cheer. Nothing else.

No one else contacts him.

Connor sighs and opens his eyes. The sky is starting to get dark already. As it gets closer to winter, night comes faster and god he can’t wait for the darkness to just swallow him whole.

Dramatic depressing stuff like that.

His phone buzzes in his pocket again. He leans away from the chain to pull his phone from his pocket. He squints at the overly bright screen as his eyes adjust.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im s o soryr I shoulnd t have  yelled a t you or said thos e things      And IM s orry that I ran out and tha t happend a dn

Connor stares at the screen. A few moments later, he gets another text.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Cna  we talk tomorro w      After sc hool computer lba      IMs or y I can ttype righ tnow

Connor hesitates, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of him forgot he gave Evan his number. Part of him thought Evan would never try to contact him ever again.

From: Connor To: (522) 144-8119      its fine      and ok      ill see you there

—«·»—

Connor slams the front door to announce that he’s home. He doesn’t bother actually using his voice, he’s tired and ready to just lay in bed and stop existing for a while.

“Don’t slam the door,” his father says from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper.

Connor rolls his eyes. There are only so many doors he can slam in this house nowadays. He’s going to take advantage of what he can get.

His mom leans out from the kitchen, a smile plastered onto her face. She looks tired, even though she’s trying not to. Connor knows better. As the cause of most of her stress and frustration, he absolutely knows better. “How was your first day back, sweetie?” she asks. And she’s trying to be so excited for him.

Cynthia Murphy is attempting to hold her household together with pure faked optimism alone. She is the only positive force in the family, but it’s wrong and plastic.

Connor shrugs and makes his way toward the stairs.

“Answer your mother,” Larry says. Sort of mutters, sort of uninterested sounding, sort of irritating.

Connor stops on the bottom stair with his hand on the railing and turns to look at his mom. “It was whatever.”

“Is that all?” She twists a dishrag in her hands.

He sighs. She probably deserves more than that. “It was boring. Missed a lot. I’ve got homework. Probably going to fail out of math. Lunch is still shit—”

“Language,” Larry mutters.

“And the guidance counselor only talked to me for seventeen minutes this time.” Connor glances to his mom. “So yeah. It was okay.”

Cynthia smiles again, a little less forced. “I’m glad. I’ll call you for dinner, see what you can get done, okay?”

Connor nods.

He’d rather not deal with dinner.

—«·»—

“How’s Evan?” is this first question Cynthia asks when Connor sits down for dinner and puts half a spoonful of tonight’s vegetable of the day on his plate.

“He’s fine,” Connor mutters. He needs to end this conversation as fast as humanly possible.

“That’s wonderful, he seems like a nice boy.”

Larry hums in agreement and Connor tries not to grimace. Zoe just looks bored.

“He’s…cool.” Maybe vague compliments will work until his mom gets tired of this line of questioning.

“You’ve never told us about Evan,” she muses. “You aren’t even friends on Facebook!”

Connor’s brain goes into panic mode because oh shit. Of course Cynthia checked Facebook, that’s possibly one of the most predictable things she’s ever done. Which— fuck, Connor definitely should’ve seen this coming.

“People don’t use Facebook anymore, Mom,” Zoe says flatly, staring down at her plate.

Connor glances at her and then does a double take, gesturing to her. “That.”

Cynthia purses her lips. “I still use it.”

Zoe flicks her gaze to Connor before looking back to their mom. “You know what I mean.”

“I can ask him if he has one if you want me to,” Connor says, because if this conversation doesn’t end he’s going to come up with some sort of escape plan and he does not have a good track record with those.

Cynthia smiles and, god, does Connor feel guilty. This better be worth it in the long run.

Connor goes to school like he doesn’t have to drag himself out of bed and force himself into the car. He pretends he doesn’t hate Zoe’s music choices or notice that she stops more suddenly than she has to. He just grits his teeth and focuses on the cookie cutter houses they’re passing.

He hates the suburbs.

“I have rehearsal today,” Zoe says when she parks the car. “Figure out how to get home or wait.”

Connor rolls his eyes and slams the door harder than he knows he has to. “I’ll walk,” he grumbles.

The thing about high school is that it’s boringly and horribly constant. It’s also just fucking awful, but it’s mind numbing and dull. Even if Connor actually tried, and he can’t exactly remember the last time he did, he would not be having a good time.

He’s pretty sure the only people who have a good time in high school are the people whose lives will only go downhill from here and the people who are fucking lying to themselves.

The bells are piercing and make him grimace and the awful rotating yet standard schedule is one of the worst things to ever happen to him. He hates seeing the same people in the same space every single day. He can hear Alana Beck talking his ear off about the factory system and how the American education system creates people who follows rules more than anything else as she conformed to the system and followed all the rules back when they were sophomores in a boring, standard english class that left Connor feeling tired and bored.

He stalks down the hallway, glaring whenever anyone gets too close. One of the few perks of being known as the kid who may actually try to kill someone. People leave him the fuck alone.

The last time he really did homework was the end of sophomore year. All he has to do is not fail. And that doesn’t require doing homework.

If Connor tried, he could probably be a half decent student. But Zoe tries hard enough for the both of them and he would rather just get high.

At this point, his biggest problem in school is staying conscious through the whole thing.

He spends lunch in the library, hiding in a back corner where no one ever goes and pulls a random book off the shelves and reads about someone he’s never heard of until the bell rings and he forces himself to go back to a class that makes his eyes glaze over as people discuss readings that he absolutely did not do.

Connor finds himself getting almost anxious as the end of the day nears. He’s not sure why, sure Evan wants to talk, but it can’t be that bad. Evan holds the cards at the moment, but they’re both in this mess together. The worst Connor can think of is Evan bringing Kleinman and Kleinman being…himself.

Connor stalls in his last class for a few minutes while everyone clears out. His teacher ignores him to talk to a student that actually tries and once the hallways have cleared a bit, Connor gets up and takes the long way to the computer lab.

The long way is away from the school entrance, meaning the hallways are almost empty aside from a few laggers. No one wants to spend any more time in this hellhole than necessary. With it’s annoying posters and rows and rows of never ending lockers that no one ever uses. They’re pointless, just there for show and storing things kids aren’t supposed to have on school grounds.

When Connor pushes open the door to the computer lab, Evan Hansen is awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, gripping the straps of his backpack in his hands.

Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “Hey.”

Evan takes a shaky breath. “H-hi.”

“So.” Connor drops his back on the floor and kicks it closer to one of the tables. “You wanted to talk.”

“I-I wanted to apologize,” Evan says quickly, “for yesterday because I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have assumed or, like, implied that you were, I mean, that you wanted to—” He shakes his head. “That you were. Using me? That was— I was…confused by— confused because of, of the timing but that doesn’t mean it was…okay.”

Connor crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, if I kill myself it’s not going to be fucking performance art.”

Evan winces.

“If my family is going to mourn something they’re going to mourn actual me, not the me some stranger makes up because my mom thinks we’re buddies or something even though we aren’t even friends on Facebook.”

Evan frowns. “F-facebook?”

Connor waves a hand. “Never mind. The point is, I was using you. Just not…like that. I am using you. Currently. Present tense. If…you’re still in?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another twenty dollar bill. He holds it out to Evan.

Evan stares at it. “Y-you still want to…to do this?”

“I have three choices,” Connor says. “One: we keep doing this and then slowly break it off. Two: we fake a big fight and never speak to each other ever again. Or three: I tell my parents it was a lie. Haven’t thought that one through yet.”

Evan chews on his bottom lip. “Okay.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “You’re in?”

Evan nods.

“Good.” He walks over to Evan and shoves the money into his hand. He yanks his hand away and shoves it in his pocket before Evan can tell it’s shaking.

“W-why—?”

“It’s been a week,” Connor explains. “There’s your twenty. We agreed to that.”

Evan stares at the bill in the palm of his hand. “Um…right. Right. Do we,” he glances up at Connor, “are there…other rules? Or like? A plan or are we just…?”

“Winging it?” Connor suggests.

Evan makes a face. “Let’s— can we not do that? That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Okay fine. Rule number one, we don’t tell anyone else about this.” Connor gestures between the two of them. “If no one else knows, it’s easier to keep it a secret.”

Evan grimaces. “J-Jared will know.”

“What?”

“He— Jared can always tell when I’m lying, he’s-he’s really good at it. It’s…kind of scary, actually.”

Connor scowls. “Seriously? Are you that bad a liar?”

Evan shakes his head quickly. “We’ve just known each other— it’s been so long he can just…tell.”

Connor sighs. “Okay then. Can we trust Jared?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“We’re fucked.”

“I-I think…” Evan trails off.

“You think what?” Connor prompts.

Evan takes a breath. “I think…if we tell him an-and explain everything, we have a better chance of him keeping it a secret. Because then he— he’s included in it or something? Since he’ll figure it out anyway it might just be best to…to tell him right away.”

If someone has to know, Connor would not have chosen Jared Kleinman to be that person. But if he has to do it…

“Whatever,” Connor decides. “We swear him to secrecy and threaten to hurt him if he tells anyone.”

Evan tugs on his shirt. “Um…yeah th-that— okay.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I won’t actually hurt him.”

“I knew that,” Evan mutters.

“We can come up with other rules on the fly,” Connor offers.

Evan opens his mouth and then closes it quickly.

“What?”

“I…” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Connor groans. “It’s not nothing! Just tell me!”

“I don’t know anything about you!” Evan bursts out. “H-how do we—? We’re supposed to be best friends? How long have we been friends? What do we do when we hang out? What if people ask us questions?!”

Those are good points that Connor hadn’t considered because he’s been doing this on impulse. Obviously, Evan has thought this through a bit more. Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Are you free right now?”

“N-not right now,” Evan stutters. “Later tonight?”

“You still have my phone number?” Connor asks instead.

Evan nods.

“Text me when you’re free, we can figure stuff out then.” Connor moves to leave. “If…you’re cool with that?”

“Fine!” Evan says quickly.

Connor eyes him before shrugging and turning away. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah…s-see you”

—«·»—

Connor walks home from school, because Zoe is at rehearsal for another hour and he’s a.) not hanging around school for that long and b.) not spending more time in the car with her than necessary. It takes a while and his mom is still somehow worried about him crossing a highway, but he doesn’t care. The walk is strangely nice. Kind of calming and gives him some time to think. Mostly about Evan Hansen.

Knowing his mother, they’re going to need a hell of a backstory. She likes to dig until she hits rock bottom. And then she pulls out a pick ax and starts swinging.

“I’m home!” he shouts as he throws open the front door. He closes it and waits for the usual “how was school, honey?” to come from the kitchen before he starts making his way up the stairs.

“It was fine,” he answers. “Doing homework.”

Connor didn’t think either of them believed that, but whatever. He threw his bag onto the floor and kicked off his shoes before flopping onto the bed.

Now he just has to wait for Evan.

—«·»—

Connor wakes up with a jerk when his phone starts buzzing repeatedly. He rolls onto his back and pulls his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen as his heart tries to calm down.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im hom e      Sorry if htis is a bad item for you

Connor changes the contact name from the number to Evan’s name before he responds.

From: Connor To: Evan      its fine im not doing anything      can i come over yours?

Connor glances around his room, eyes settling on the doorframe. They definitely can’t do this here. He hopes Evan is cool with them sitting in an abandoned playground if all else fails.

From: Evan To: Connor      Thats fine!!!      You need my address don t you that would probably be helplfu

He keeps laying in bed until Evan’s sent the address and Connor has found it on Google Maps. He can walk, it’s not too bad.

The world spins a little bit when he stands up from his bed, swaying and darkening as the blood rushes from his head.

Connor stumbles out of his room and down the stairs, figuring he probably doesn’t need to bring anything with him to Evan’s. All they’re going to do is talk.

He glances at the time. Hopefully his mom doesn’t care if he skips dinner tonight.

Connor takes a pit stop in the kitchen and steals an apple from the bowl on the island on his way to the front door.

“Dinner is soon,” Zoe says pointedly from where she’s leaning against the counters.

Connor ignores her. “I’m going over Evan’s,” he says to Cynthia.

She looks up from the frying pan in surprise. “You are?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of the apple. “Yeah we’re going to…” he should’ve thought of an excuse earlier, “play a video game. Or something.”

Cynthia claps her hands together. “That’s great! Have fun and let me know when you get there and when you’re on your way back, okay?” She presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “And make sure you eat!”

“I will,” Connor mumbles.

“You don’t even know him,” Zoe mutters.

Fuck. He should’ve known Zoe backing him up last night was an outlier. Connor glares at her and flips her off.

“Zoe, be nice,” Cynthia says firmly. “Text me when you get there, Connor.”

He nods and leaves before Zoe can make any more commentary. He can only hope she doesn’t press it while he isn’t there.

Connor eats his apple as he follows the directions on his phone. Evan’s house isn’t too far, but it’s already starting to get darker and this town is shit, so the streets aren’t exactly well lit.

He stands on a street corner and watches a truck go by with complete disregard for a stop sign before he crosses the street and turns onto Evan’s road.

Connor pauses outside the house that matches the number and description Evan gave. He sends a quick text as he walks up the walkway to the front door.

From: Connor To: Evan      outside what i think is your house      gonna knock

Connor knocks once before the door swings open. He blinks in surprise as Evan stares at him.

Connor clears his throat. “Hey…can I come in?”

Evan steps out of the way. “Y-yeah of course you can— just. Yeah, take off your shoes here that’s… You can do that.”

Connor steps inside and takes off his boots as Evan closes and locks the door. “Parents home?” he asks.

Evan shakes his head. “No my mom’s— she’s working late tonight. Long night.”

“Dad?” Connor asks absentmindedly as he drops his boots by Evan’s shoes.

He looks up when Evan doesn’t answer.

Evan is staring at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, picking at his cast.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan interrupts. “He’s not here. It’s just— just me and my mom.” Evan gestures down the hallway. “Let’s just— follow me.”

He leads Connor into a kitchen, smaller and older than the one in the Murphy household. There’s a twenty dollar bill sitting on the table and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“I-I don’t have any—” Evan shakes his head. “I have money to order pizza if…you want.”

“Maybe in a bit.” Connor leans against the counter. “I uh…never apologized for taking that letter, did I?”

Evan laughs awkwardly. “N-not real— I mean it’s fine! It’s fine it’s, it’s not a big deal it’s just…”

“What?” Connor asks slowly. “What was it?”

Evan takes a deep breath and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “I-it was an assignment for— for therapy.”   

Connor raises his eyebrows. “You go to therapy?”

“Yeah? I, um, I have… severe anxiety?” Evan gestures to himself. “And depression but that’s kind of— to a lesser extent usually? But yeah. It’s um…the letter— it’s supposed to make me more positive about my day? Uh, dear Evan Hansen, today’s going t-to be a good day and here’s why…” He trails off and glances to the sink.

Connor hesitates before he says his next thought. “My parents… They thought it was a my suicide note.”  

Evan closes his eyes tightly and opens them. “Uh yeah well, I-I mean it’s…it’s supposed to be a positive thing but it’s— it’s almost never a good day? In fact it’s usually a very bad day and the first day of school was a— it wasn’t…There wasn’t much positive in it. And Zoe, I— The letter was— It wasn’t meant for you it was for this assignment. And Zoe is— after you, you know.” Evan gestures to Connor and Connor tries not to grimace.

“Zoe saw me and-and she talked to me and she’s— Ihavethisreallysillycrushonher which is silly because I don’t even know her! The letter says I don’t even know her cause I don’t, she’s just— she’s a girl who’s pretty and nice and she smiles a lot and she doesn’t seem bothered by anything.” Connor raises his eyebrows. “She seems to have herself figured out and that’s— she’s just a girl I see sometimes and I guess that’s—”

Evan ducks his head. “She saw me and she helped me up. That doesn’t happen. Not— not to me.”

Connor looks away. There are a lot of things to process in that and his mind doesn’t want to process any of them. His eyes land on the money on the table.

“What kind of pizza do you like?” Connor asks.

“W-what?”

Connor steps forward and picks up the bill. “Pizza,” he repeats. “What do you want? I’ll make the call.”

Evan blinks a few times. “Uh…cheese is fine?”

“Cool.” He pulls out his phone. “Let’s see how much food we can get for twenty bucks.”

Evan gives him a weak smile. “O-okay.”

Connor paces around the kitchen as he places the order at the pizza place. There are places in town where you can order online, but their sauce isn’t as good and their breadsticks are shitty. Once he’s hung up, he sits down at the table and gestures for Evan to do the same.

“You wanted to figure things out, right?” Connor asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

Evan nods.

“Let’s do this then.”

[aikainkauna]

I still can't reply to replies because of Tumblr's new interface, so I have to respond to this very good point by @acitymadeofsong this way.

And yes. This is a big problem, because it seems like many writing gurus and teachers and BOFQs seem to treat it as an either/or thing: either you write sparse, sober prose *or* turgid, purple prose; there's *nothing* in between. Now, I know that especially in the zine era, there were mountains of azure orbs and limpid pools around. So that led into an attitude where every bit of poetry and every metaphor resulted in a kneejerky "that's badfic!" reaction from the critic and the readers and the writers themselves. And that deprived us of a lot of really good poetry, I feel. Hell, *I* have a superbly honed sense for romance cliches myself by now--and don't get me wrong, this puritanism did, in fact, help me as a writer in a "know the rules before you start rolling up the rulebook and smoking it" kind of way--but this terror of the dread demon of purpleness has got me to a point where I have to *constantly* slap myself upside the head to remind myself that it's not only ok, but *in character* for me to put poetic thoughts and lines into my characters' heads and mouths when I'm writing Thief of Bagdad fic.

The movie itself is a really great example of beautiful, poetic language that does hold together well even now, despite there always being some whiny, cynical asshats in the audience who think they're tough by moaning about its "corniness"--and I always think that they are doing themselves--hell, even their very own humanity--a disservice. "Were you never an innocent, dreaming child?" I think. "Are you *happy* in having thrown your dreams of romantic adventure and beauty onto the pyre of postmodern nihilism?" Because of course, those people aren't--the whole point of that film was to allow people to escape (especially since WWII broke out during filming), and it's *explicit* about the value and power of the mind of an innocent child. It's the last, defiant dying cry of Romanticism before the war crushed it. Its dialogue and storytelling were unabashedly Romantic even for the time, a loud cry in favour of the fairytale without a *shred* of cynicism, thanks to which the film is so incredibly pure--and thus refreshing, a merciful respite, a balm. So it was serving that same urge that I am defending here, really; therefore, I would be committing a crime against it were I not faithful to that same spirit of hope and passion that ran through it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the whole sparse prose mafia thing. I think that this is also heavily cultural. I keep seeing posts on here from American kids complaining about their teachers wanting to make everyone write like Hemingway. Ah, Papa Hemingway. Now, he's a particularly painful example in that you can see the guy *did* feel, and did have even crazily romantic emotions, but his work reads like a classic process of machismo crushing all that, suffocating that, and him just not having been given any tools for handling those emotions because society robs men of that. If anything, it should be analysed as a warning example of how the culture of masculinity fucks guys over.

But in other countries, it's crazily different--I knew a Spanish girl who was an aspiring academic, and even at her university, the teachers pressured everyone to write academic text in this really old-fashioned, formal, conversational style. As in, "we should be grateful for the way the ancients..." and "the old truth of X has been aptly demonstrated by the brilliant Y here..." and all these other near-Victorian turns of phrase that are nowhere near a neutral, impersonal scientific POV. And then you've got the extreme politeness and formality in highly-educated Indian correspondence, and conversely txt spk being universal among even grown-up Middle Eastern and South Asian folks on the internet (I always wonder if this is because of having to switch between different writing systems, some of which skip many vowels), etc. So the cultural expectations of what's good language use is hugely varied.

But, yeah, poesy is being weeded out more and more as somehow embarrassing and naive (and always with that unconscious feel of its emotion being "feminine"=weaker, lesser, thus less strong and valuable--even the word "sentimental" is an insult when it just fucking means "something with feeling!"), all over the world. Yet, just like love and passion and intense emotion and awe at the grandness of grand things (the definition of Romanticism, obvs) cannot be killed because it's such an inherent part of human nature, poetry has found ways to survive through song lyrics--and a lot of bad writing that doesn't know what bad writing and cliches are. People still go for it, just like they still do ritual and devotional and spiritual things in a seemingly secularised Western world, because that kind of thing is how the human psyche works. (And there's a gender divide there as well, sadly--why is it that the rantiest, angriest atheists and puritan fundamentalists are angry men aiming to strip weaknesses and frills from human behaviour in favour of bleak brutality, and then it's either ditzy hippie chicks who are into all the fluffy superstitious New Age stuff or superintelligent academic women setting out to construct feminist witchcraft? Oh, wait, candles and incense and yoga and being kind to yourself and others are *girly.* Reason and strict rules and punishments are upright and manly!) Why are humans like this and can't just seek a balance from the best bits of both reason and compassion... *sigh*

So, yeah, that crazy polarisation is just lame, in everything ever, because... variety and diversity, please. I digressed hugely again, but one has to point this out because people really don't seem to see how stupidly b/w--and gendered--it all is. We've been lured into this idea that just because in society, the default for "human" is male/masculine and therefore, pursuing that leads to equality somehow, whereas it's just rubbish--and not just because of the poisons of modern ideas of masculinity, but because just like all gender bullshit, ideas of what's manly have varied like crazy from place to place and from era to era. Looking at history, you've got beautiful and emotionally complex poetry and Romanticism from guys, but now we're all supposed to just suffocate that and be bland and dead. To serve what purpose (if we're not aiming to become emotionless killing machines, the only reason a culture of sparseness/emotional coldness was ever developed for), I don't know. What if Bob wants to be as wild as a Dionysian devotee and compose wildly florid songs in praise of the moonlit meadows of Arcadia--where does he turn to hone his craft; who listens to him sing? What if Anne wants to be swept up in the arms of a wild romance and make her prose shine and glisten like the dew on that moonlit grass, without slipping into a limpid pool on the way? Where's the cave in which XYZ could hone hir poetry to soar like that of Inanna's dragtastic priests in fervent, orgiastic abandon?

My only answer to that would be to just... well.

Read tons of old shit.

Write tons of new shit.

And then *interact* about it, be *supportive* about it, *discuss it.*

Because, just like you said, we don't have enough of that right now.

But even then, I would just say, even to poetic writers whose work I might find bad, *keep fucking going.* Because if you are dedicated and exercise a constant, honest self-awareness about your flaws, you'll keep getting better. Even if you are writing in a vacuum, or think you're writing in a vacuum (because fuck knows it feels like it in today's "too scared to comment" culture), KEEP WRITING. You owe it to yourself and your soul, as an act of fierce honesty towards what you really are.

Besides, and most people don't seem to realise this, writing poetic language is *hard.* Even if you're not writing rhyming couplets, just constructing a sentence is more difficult if you want to evoke really specific images and emotions; the word order itself gets more difficult when you step outside the "see Spot run" style. That's why Twilight is so bad: because the sentence construction is clunky and godawful, and because the thoughts are really vague and drifty and not definite. When saying a bitch fancies a guy, saying "She also thought of other things" is horridly opaque, especially when it's not even meant to be mysterious: if you want to be mysterious, you have to signal that better. So you'd be better off saying "other thoughts also entered her mind, thoughts she was unable to understand or process; therefore she pushed them into the deepest peripheries of her mind, out of sight." Because that shows to us a hint of why these thoughts are vague and unprocessed; the *prose* can't be vague even if the heroine's experience is. That draws the reader in and helps her understand what's going on; the vague "other things" just leaves one hanging and WTFing.

But... yeah. That's the kind of thing I mean. I still stubbornly believe you can get away with anything if you just work hard enough on the suspension of disbelief part, work hard enough on the characters to make their actions seem like they were the sorts that character would commit, if pushed.

I can't remember if I actually made a post at any point talking about Romantic/poetic writing and how to make it work? Probably on LJ, or then I am thinking of fic comments? Because, really, if there *is* need for such, I could throw something like that together. But I don't really feel like I'm some kind of authority on the matter, that's the problem. For all I know, most people consider my stuff too purple, and there's no telling how objective that is--whether it's just a matter of taste, or some (however ephemeral and subjective) standard one either achieves or falls short of. So I don't want to become like one of those conceited people who get really puffed up if they've been published once, and actually write fairly mediocre fiction, and then suddenly start behaving like they're gurus.

(Plus, I've had so much shit for creative word choices in DW and B7 fic that I fear it'd just look like I was defending overt poetry where it doesn't work. I'm *fully* aware these days of how fandom-specific it is, and that's why I've burrowed myself firmly into ToB, so I will never have to come out into sparse-prose writing ever again. I still remember groaning at a fic that randomly described Romana's inner labia as "petals," whereas with Jaffar looking at Yassamin's bits? For a guy who describes her eyes as "Babylonian," "Petals" is par for the course and wouldn't even stand out.)

Anyway. I just hope these rants and discussions will shake up and/or encourage at least some people who have had their poetry suffocated. I will go and have a look at my notes and old LJ posts to see if I have, indeed, written anything that'd come close to the sort of poetry-encouraging writing guide you describe. Because I do feel like I *have* written about getting away with it at some point. I'm sure it all boils down to a) "learn the rules and *then* bend them," b) "avoid the most *obvious* cliches," c) "describe the poetic stuff in a new, original way or aim for a perfect pastiche," and d) "choose a poetic world and stay there," but I'll have a look anyway!

Also, JFC, this became long! But it really is a matter worth talking about. I want a whole fucking literary salon dedicated to getting Romantic/poetic writing right, and celebrating the style without shame. Who's with me?

[smokeybrandcompositions]

Evolution

I just read an article about how Americans don’t want socialism. That the trappings and failures of capitalism are far and away better than anything Socialism can bring to a country. Tell that bullsh*t to those Nordic countries. I concede that communism is designed to crate dictators; anytime to coalesce that much power into one person, there’s a problem, but socialism is different than communism and most people don’t understand that. Especially in America where anytime you mention anything with any semblance of sharing, it’s a goddamn fight. The thing is, though, we already have socialist policies. What the f*ck do you think Social Security is? I mean, it’s in the f*cking name! Beyond that, whenever there is a deficit or something in the budget, what’s the first thing the cut? Social Security! So, I mean, Socialism is bad, right? But it’s always used to bail us out though, right? So, which one is it then?

This article used examples like Venezuela and Russia to articulate their reticence but, I mean, of course they would. The thing that really got me was, immediately after this, they f*cking said it was because of corruption that these “socialist” governments failed. Bro, corruption ruins everything. By definition, that’s what it does. Venezuela is failing because the people in charge have no accountability and hoarded the country’s wealth. Same thing with Russia, but to a lesser extent. Their money was charred around by a set of oligarchs, funneling the scraps to the people. With a cat like Putin in charge, of course Socialism isn’t going to work. Dude is all about consolidating power and wealth is power there. Another failure cats like to throw in my face is Cuba. See, the thing about Cuba is, if they haven’t had all of those sanctions imposed by America on them for 60 f*cking years, Cuba would be a legit paradise. Cuba has some of the highest level of literacy in the world and they get that schooling for free. They have some of the best doctors in the world. The only reason their country is in such bad shape is because NATO decided their regime was toxic and blocked trade for decades. Cuba is an island. It has finite resources. They NEED that trade to survive. DO you honestly believe that, if Cube had the means to feed their people with traded goods, people would want to flee? I dunno, man, Havana is gorgeous.

But, okay, let’s say those examples are the worst, that Socialism failed miserably because it doesn’t work there. With dictators at the helm. What happens when you have elected officials running a country with checks and balances to the social programs? You get f*cking Denmark. You get f*cking Sweden. You get f*cking Amsterdam and Scandinavia. You get literally the happiest countries in the world. Let’s look at Denmark a little closer because I just read an article about them trying to debunk their $20.00 an hour minimum wage and it didn’t do them any favors. Sure, it’s a little expensive to live there but, with those taxes they pay, Denmark residents don’t really have to pay for anything but f*cking food. The effective buying power of that 20 bux is roughly 11.50 in real time but they have free education, healthcare, and daycare. So that right there cuts out student loan payments, exorbitant child care costs, and any ludicrous medical bills you may have to pay. That frees up a MASSIVE amount of capital for you to do whatever with. Seriously, you’d have a bout a grand extra, every month, to do what you need to do with. On minimum wage. Minimum. Wage. They have one of the healthiest economies in the world so there’s a good chance you’d make more than that, easy, especially if you graduate from a free college. You’re instantly pressed into the workforce in your major upon graduation and serve a 4-year term, for the government, in your field. Afterward, you’re free to leave or continue with that gig. So not only did you get a free education, they got you a paying job in your field, not an internship, fresh out of college. And it gets even better. Since the clear majority of Denmark citizens have a higher degree, there’s much less crime. The Nordic countries are some of the safest in the world. I wonder why? It’s almost as if economic imposed poverty breeds criminal activity or something. When you have less of that, you have less crime. Who’d have thought?

Democratic Socialism works. If some asshole isn’t in the big chair as we run that system, we’ll be fine. We’ll probably be great. Every time socialism fails, it’s because of a dick. Like the one sitting in the big chair now. Trump is actively ruining America. His is the most corrupt administration since Nixon, on both a national and private level. Everything he’s done has bolstered his brand and tanked the country. Seriously, how are we any better now, than W? How is the country in any better position, globally, than under Obama? He’s getting played by North Korea. He just publicly kissed Putin’s ring and lied about it. I’ve literally heard this man say, “Don’t trust what you see or read in the news.” Bro, what? That sh*t is textbook Nazism. It’s how you create dictators. It’s how Putin runs his whole system. The installation of mistrust in free media is how it always starts and you’re telling me Socialism is a problem? That Democratic Socialism will be the end of America as we know it? Nah, our county is already in decline and it’s not even a socialist has nothing to do with it. It’s this god-awful capitalism that has us to the brink. Wage disparity has never been higher. 80 percent of the GDP is being pocketed by, like, 20 people. Contrary to Gordon Gecko’s mantra, Greed is, in fact, NOT good! Crime is insane and literacy is down historic levels. Crime is insane BECAUSE literacy is down historic levels! Cats are out here turning on each other over dumb sh*t like race, politics, and religion, instead of uniting against the forces that have very real ill intent; the mother*ckers that are making the laws taking away your rights and protections.

America has an aversion to Socialism because the powers that be have orchestrated one of the most insidious propaganda initiatives I have ever seen. They hammered the red scare into our grand-parents, who fed that sh*t to our parents, who have distilled it into us. The thing is, though, we as the next generation have had access to information that the others have not. Propaganda like that doesn’t work on someone who understands haw to think. Most cats with a reason and common sense can see the way things are now, can’t be sustained. Why not give socialism a hot? But the intricate social engineering that has been enacted for decades has it’s claws in enough of this country’s people that making headway is nigh impossible. Abortion has nothing to do with government or religion. A chick has the right to do with her body, whatever she wants because it’s her body. If she doesn’t want to carry a tumor in her womb to term, that’s her business, not the f*cking senate, president, or Supreme Court judge. No one is coming to take your guns away if there ever is reform. What the f*ck do you need an AR-15 for anyway? It’s an assault rifle. Assault. It’s designed to take as many human lives away as possible because it’s a tool of war. You expecting war, my man? A two-party political system and the electoral college are tools created to perpetuate a false narrative that keeps us Pigeon hold to a corrupt system who’s only interest is to pocket as much wealth as possible, not move the country forward in the people’s interest. Competition is the mother of innovation so why is it there are only two options who, more and more, look the same? Capitalism doesn’t work in the way it should because the people in charge are assholes who kowtow to massive private interests and conglomerates. America is strong enough to secure itself, protect its national interests, and supply free education, healthcare, and a decent living wage without batting an eye. California, alone, is the 6th largest economy IN THE WORLD and we have 49 other states and a handful of territories that contribute as well. How is it we’re first in crime, last in education, and running point in wealth disparity again?

Its obvious capitalism isn’t working the way it should anymore. I think it’s because society has evolved beyond its principals. I think my generation is more interested in advancing society, not nationalism and I think the generations before us, the Baby Boomers and backward, are terrified of this change. They’ve been suckling at the teat of the all-knowing government machine since their youth and it terrifies them that the faith they gave to the watchers, has not been upheld. Trump feels like a panic play before the real wave of change hits. We’re already seeing it. Puerto Rican ma out in New York beat a 20- year Democratic incumbent. She’s democratic socialist and is very vocal about her views. We got a 24-year-old out in West Virginia running on an identical platform and he’s beating out a millionaire Republican. Bernie Sanders was a DNC sabotage away from being the Democratic nominee for president, and he was beating everyone in the field by double digit points! Hell, record numbers of cats 30 and younger have registered the vote in Florid for the first time in forever. You think those kids are going to follow the national trends? Millennials terrify the establishment because we hate the establishment. We see how terrible it is. We live how terrible it is. We have had access to other forms of government our entire lives. The globalization of the world and the fact that I can get instant information on my phone has given us a means to usurp the blind patriotism generations before us held dear. WE know America isn’t the greatest country in the world. There are facts that back that up. But it can be. And it starts with a vote toward universal healthcare. It stars with gun reform. It starts with a flat tax rate and government supplemented college tuition. It starts with a form on socialism that is both sustainable and realistic; a model that Denmark has followed for decades.

It starts with us.