#this just derailed into me bitching about one guy in art school

[seeminglyseph]

my art teachers were so caught up with permanence, commit to the brush stroke, no sketchy lines, ink drawing, refusing to teach us layer masks. They were so determined we not erase or fix or change things. But building a shape out of a mess by erasing and like sculpting a shape is like.... an important and valid step in art. otherwise you get too used to shorthand and you start doing sloppy mistakes and default features because you know ‘noses look like this’ ‘eyes look like this’ but then again the refused to actually acknowledge ‘maybe you should teach some of these assholes how to draw non-white features without it looking like a caricature?’

But then also they played an R Crumb documentary and pretty much went hands off when me and one of the douchiest art bros started arguing about rape culture in 2013. (He said ‘they should have known better than to get drunk’ over and over again and I nearly murdered him. the only reason I don’t feel like a heal over it was a couple people mentioned later that they’d been victims of assault and really triggered by both the documentary and the shit that was getting spewed about girls being responsible for what they get if they get drunk at a party.) they then sent an email to say we should handle situations like adults but for some reason I wasn’t actually added to their mailing list so I didn’t actually get scolded for it.

We got a reputation for drama from there.... but you know what honestly a lot of it was “I think gender and sex are the same and I have very deep spiritual beliefs about it.” “Okay but that’s not true, you call yourself jesus all the time so I doubt the validity of your respect for spiritualism, also homophobic and transphobic” I don’t actually remember how the conversation went but I literally stomped out of the room and slammed the door because he refused to stop spewing transphobic bullshit. I basically solidified my position as fat pink haired lady with cateye glasses arguing about feminism. but you know what the class needed a fat mouthy bitch to stand up to the literal MRA posting anti-woman shit on his facebook all the time. Gaia would see her husband in you you little worm man, and we know what she had done to him.

Also I don’t really know how you take a group of artists, varying younger ages and experiences, about one week into their kinda beginner art course. And you play the R Crumb documentary? Without anything like ‘listen a lot of this is super not okay but it really did pave the way for indie comics’ instead I think it was more like “It’s not really PC today but he’s a big name and made comics as they are today possible” and you just watch a man create honestly some seriously triggering art in explicit detail, often the comics I believer were narrated as they went through panel by panel. This is a controversial as fuck documentary and you just went ‘okay hands off you guys can be mature adults I’m sure’

‘course I say “I’m really weirded out by the scene where he clamps his hand down on the back of his ex-wife’s neck and basically moves her head around as he’s making a point” and “Maybe you could have warned us before the comedy rape golden hour” and it devolves into “They knew what they were getting into when they got drunk at a party” “So if you get drunk at a party it’s an open invitation?” “I’m just saying they have some responsibility”

like I know a lot of the girls in the class understood very very quickly that you did not want to be vulnerable around this guy, he was not to be trusted. And he really did call himself Jesus all the time, in his self portraits he made himself jesus and so on ‘cause he had long hair and a beard like White Jesus. he wasn’t even good at art. fuck. but it’s not like we were learning anything in class....

[kytcordell]

Why Do I Create?

Compulsion

I cannot stop creating.

In fact, I’ve tried--multiple times. There have been so many occasions on which the frustration and self-loathing associated with creative pursuits was psychologically crippling to the point where I did try and stop. But I never stopped inventing stories in my mind. I never stopped creating characters. I never stopped following artists I liked, basking in distant envy at the skills I believed I could never attain.

It has taken me a lifetime to really distill the true reason behind why I create. As much I would like to say that I’ve “always just loved drawing and expressing myself,” this simply wouldn’t be true nor an accurate representation of the relationship I have with art. At this point, I’m not sure if the word “passion” or “love” quite captures why I create. I would describe it more as a feverish need--a compulsion. I actually don’t even quite see myself as the “owner” of my works or ideas, but rather, as the vessel which serves them. Every ounce effort I put toward creative endeavors is a means of honing myself into a more suitable vehicle for delivering ideas into being.

For most of my life, I had an extremely pathological and maladaptive sense of self that resulted from nearly 26 years of physical and psychological abuse. It took me a long time to even recognize that what happened to me was in fact abuse. I used to shy away from the word because it seemed too self-pitying and dramatic. It still sometimes feels that way, despite the fact I objectively know that if anyone (let alone a parent) ever pulled a knife on me now, I would call the police without a second thought.

I won’t go too much into the details of what happened because it isn’t really worth delving into. But I was essentially raised as if I were an investment fund and not a person. My entire purpose was to be useful so my mother could stop having responsibilities of any kind. I was not raised with own personal well-being and future stability in mind. This meant that a non-lucrative career was unacceptable. My art was ever only appreciated in the context of bragging rights or winning awards. This of course, manifested in my relationship with creative pursuits.

Narcissism

My adolescent motivations for drawing were fueled mostly by pure, unadulterated narcissism.

I drew semi-seriously throughout high school. By that, I mean I quickly figured out what kinds of skills were considered impressive for that age group and did well at shows and competitions. I wanted to feel superior and adored at any cost, and while I embodied the external talking points of “being humble, always learning, etc.” deep down, I clung to the idea that I was better than everyone else. I couldn’t handle critique emotionally, despite acting receptive. I was completely consumed by the idea of being some kind of perfect, “talented” golden child.

I managed to get very good at copying photos and rendering, while neglecting all the skills that contribute to being able to design characters or draw from imagination. I didn’t really pursue art with any real level of personalized focus. I just liked feeling like I was better than people and knew more than the other kids. Honestly, every single aspect of my life revolved around this mentality.

I held onto the idea of “being good” as a trophy because that was the only mode of thought that my psyche could accept. It was easier to embrace narcissism and even just accept being a shallow social climber than to face the far more harrowing truth:

That I was afraid I’d never have the skills to manifest my ideas.

In fact, I talked myself into believing for ages that I didn’t care that much about my ideas. They would never amount to anything. And having self-indulgent, non-utilitarian attachments to my stories and OCs felt like a weakness. I needed to rationalize my own shortcomings with a guise of indifference.

Revererence

I stopped drawing for about seven years after high school. And even during high school, I didn’t do anything that remotely resembles the kind of ‘grind’ that I’ve put myself through the last 2.5 years. Frankly, I’m amazed I got as far as I did even with being a human copy machine that produced lifeless 1:1 images of candles. With each year I passed, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the fact I always knew deep down--I just wasn’t that good. I mean, I was pretty good for a guy in high school. But my holistic sense of composition, invention, and execution was near non-existent. I went through a few attempts of returning to art, only to be so overwhelmed with my own incompetence that I would just go back to the “I don’t care that much about art” script I had gotten so good at conning myself into.

It was not until I had a complete mental breakdown due to my psychotic cunt of a mother threatening my safety and sanity that my long-con finally broke. I had a moment where I just accepted that I had no fundamentals, my skills were trash, and most of all--I was not okay with them being trash. From that point, I started desperately seeking out resources and practicing to improve. Receiving criticism (while I really appreciated it objectively) was psychologically devastating to me. Every single imperfection was a reminder of “lost time” and the years I had spent lying to myself.

It wasn’t until I discovered Loomis, Hampton, Draw-a-Box, Proko, and many other reputable art resources that I managed to start hitting the pavement and making the kind of gains I wanted. I drew sometimes for 12-16 hours a day even while I was homeless and living on a friend’s couch due to having to flee my home at the time.  Through all of this, I shed all my notions of “being talented” or needing to delude myself into feeling like I was good. No, I was dogshit and I needed to do something about. I think the biggest hurdle people face when trying to get good at anything is accepting that they are bad. You cannot improve until you fully and wholeheartedly accept that you have problems that need fixing.

I went from approaching things from a place of narcissism to a place of reverence. A lot of what instilled this change in me was observing people that I admire. Those that are highly competent (in any craft) tend to be realistic and humble about their shortcomings. The very process of attaining mastery forces you to realize that there is an infinite scale of improvement. This isn’t to say that people who are good can’t also get full of themselves. But at least among the individuals I gravitate towards, there is a general sense of reverence and genuine modesty. On the other hand, people who are mediocre frequently have very large egos. Unfortunately, there is a lot egotistical, irrational, whiny-bitch anti-progress behavior that is prevalent in art circles. I realized just how cancerous conceit and ego could be. It had destroyed my progress for years and I was watching complete hacks insist they were gods atop mount stupid. It was truly the Dunning-Krueger effect in action.

Many of the people I encountered in the art community early on were pretty mediocre and had a terrible sense of fundamentals. Again, this would be fine if they didn’t insist on acting like experts on the topic. (Plenty of people draw for fun and don’t care about being good and there is nothing wrong with purely pursuing something for leisure.) However, I unfortunately ran into quite a few extremely petty people had no idea of how to actually get good at anything, and were annoyed at the fact I had prioritized working on fundamentals. People that I engaged in good faith soon attempted to derail conversations and questions I had about technique and improvement. Crabs in a bucket bullshit, really.

Anyone knows me also knows that I have no tolerance for bullshit or “UwU bitches” making “it’s my style” excuses for being technically incompetent. (Which isn’t to say accuracy is always more important than style, but using “style” or “aesthetic” as an excuse for a lack of skill or competence is extremely common among mediocre artists). Likewise, I also encountered people who manifested narcissism in the opposite direction. The opposite of the “it’s muh style” camp were people who endlessly liked to talk about theoretical technical knowledge. Sometimes they were good at one skillset or another, but generally lack any kind of concept or actual artistic vision. It was like they had lost sight of expression goals in favor of shit talking and dropping advanced art vocabulary.

I realized that no amount of shit-talk, posturing, or external validation was going to make me good at art. I always knew that, but watching people descend into the abyss of self-sabotage just reminded me what was at stake. I would rather never “feel” like I was superior than run the risk of delusional overconfidence. Likewise, I broke out of the trap of thinking technical skill could somehow compensate for a lack of good ideas or artistic vision. Nothing matters more than the clarity of expression, and skill is but a conduit for said expression. I would rather feel eternally small and striving for a forlorn dream than run the risk of being 10 years down the road cranking out trashy, vapid content while thinking I’m some kind of omnipotent art god.

I draw because I cannot stop. It’s like being touched by fire that you cannot quell or erase. I work to improve because I want to depict my stories and characters with the finesse, nuance, and artistry that I admire in so many others. I truly feel there is no point in pursuing art seriously if you do not have a voice, a “vision” for why you create. Looking back, the motivation that kept me going through the hardest struggles was the desire to succeed in communicating my stories and concepts. I am but an acolyte eternally striving for even a brief glimpse of an ephemeral muse.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Are you planing on ever making By Dawns Early Light into a full blown story? ... And is Thanos an issue in this AU? I think you havent mentioned him in it so well, I wondered?

UMM. *looks over what I’ve got in that tag, and winces*

geez this thing’s longer than some of my actual fics, when did that happen?

Here’s the thing, though: this AU’s meant to be a writer’s-block-buster. Which, if the current evidence is anything to go by, has been a resounding success. 

However. 

As of right now it’s just that, a thought-and-snippet-writing exercise, because there’s a lot of things that’d need tweaking before I’d even consider posting it on AO3 [aka my inner perfectionist strikes again]. 

Again, this is mostly just me messing around with a fluffy tumblr-exclusive [for now, anyway] AU because this feels smaller stakes than if I were to round this up and make it into a full-out fic.

Also, in regards to the second part of your ask: not exactly. By Dawn’s Early Light is, at its core, a fairly fluffy self-indulgent AU, which for me is also code for ‘nobody dies if I can help it’ and ‘if the MCU can have a Gary Stu villain then I can do what I want, Deus Ex Machina-levels of fixits included’.

How? Simple. By nerfing the heck out of him, while also unfridging as many other moms as I can, with a side of I-have-yet-to-forgive-the-writers-for-pulling-this-bs-seriously-what-kind-of-writing-was-that. 

Here’s how the entire Thanos situation would go down, in By Dawn’s Early Light (spoilers for a fic I have yet to write):

First, let’s take a step back, shall we? This is, among other things, a timeline-crunch AU. There’s a lot going down in a very compressed time frame [originally just because I wanted Howard to still be around just for Tony to be able to punch him, but now I’m invested in this so time go the full nine yards, buckle up everyone].

So. The entire situation around Maria Stark and Tony and Bucky’s been covered fairly well, but to sum up: when Howard turns out to be an abusive asshole of a husband, his wife smiles at him and promptly turns around and burns both SHIELD and Stark Industries, revealing HYDRA and Obadiah Stane’s double-dealing ahead of schedule [unintentional fixits ftw]. In the chaos, Bucky manages to escape and joins up with Maria and Tony as they go in hiding. 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned: Hank Pym sees this shit going down, realizes that the most famous missing child in the country is about the same age as his daughter, and decides to not aim to be Absentee Father of the Year. He ends up being a tad overprotective, sure, but is way more involved in his kid’s life and Hope Van Dyne grows up with at least one (1) parental figure in her life, so…there’s that. 

Things happen, and the timeline for bringing Janet back gets moved up somehow, right around when the Avengers assemble.

Note to self: adjust part of Scott Lang’s origin story in this? Compare whistleblower laws of that time era, alt. entrance for him could be him somehow helping Tony hide because BDEL!Howard’s the type of petty and vindictive asshole who’d pull some strings if he found out this rando interfered with his search somehow. 

Bonus for giving Scott and Hank something to commiserate about, later on, and would also have Tony and Co. feeling indebted to him [which would result in a lot of shiny prototypes and records being expunged, later on, probably]

…though that might be a bit much. Hmm.

Reason to bring Janet back: I do what I want also I think the MCU fridged moms because otherwise they’d be too powerful 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned, the second: since this is also the AU where moms get unfridged, Frigga’s going to be derailing the plot from her corner of the galaxy.

Also, since I finally watched Ragnarok but was a mythology nerd as a kid and have a passing knowledge of the comics, time to revamp how Hela fits into this universe.

Okay, she’s still murderous and powerful and ruthless. 

Only, turns out there’s a very good reason for it: she was one of Loki’s students [iirc she’s his daughter in the myths, that’s the best I can come up with atm] before Odin saddled her with the thankless duty of being the watchkeeper of Asgard’s enemies and prisoners. As in, Odin just straight-up went ‘hey you look pretty talented, here, I now hold you responsible for this entire goddamn realm of assholes and creeps, if any get out we’re all screwed’. 

Which is something Hela absolutely did not sign up for, but she’s now just about the only thing standing between said realm of undesirables and her home so she stays put […also maybe Odin sealed the only way back? Maybe? Idk].

It didn’t help that in the early days, these ruffians thought they could overpower her and escape to wreak havoc. So she had to kick everyone’s ass six ways to Sunday, until they finally accepted her as the head honcho of this dump and as someone Not To Be Fucked With.

Thus, why Hela’s known as the goddess of death and ruler of Helheim.  

…and it’s also why she accidentally came to Thanos’ attention.

(Because why the hell not, as if her day wasn’t bad enough Odin you owe her big time—)

Thanos, of course, is in love with her carnage and seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Hela just wants to be left the alone but can’t tell him to fuck off because if she did, she’d risk leaving her home open to attack from enemy agents, which is how we get the story behind why Thanos is known as the madman who courted death. 

[Hela: fuck you and the horse you rode in on shoo you bastard and take your stupid flowers with you—]

Thanos was on one of his especially annoying ‘let me woo you with the ashes of this one civilization!’ kicks [Hela: ashes. How romantic. Not. Leave me alone already.] when some of the Dark Elves snuck out and killed Odin. 

Hela…is only pissed she couldn’t have done it with her own two hands. Also slightly embarrassed that the Dark Elves escaped in the first place, and relieved that it was only Odin who’d kicked it because his wife had seemed pretty nice, the one time Hela’d seen the lady before she’d been drop-kicked to this hellhole. 

Also— apparently she now can leave this place? Sayonara, bitches. 

.

Thanos is very displeased when he doesn’t find her standing guard over Helheim when he returns.

Displeased enough to get creative, as far as courting gifts go, and think that if she didn’t like rings or jewelry, well, maybe this Lady Death would appreciate a shiny, fully-assembled Infinity Gauntlet instead.

well…let’s be honest, if it weren’t for his ‘don’t take no for an answer’ thing, you’d have to give the guy props for trying. Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than ‘here have this item of absolute cosmic power’, amirite? [just kidding]

.

Hela now has mixed feelings about Asgard. Before she was crowned Queen of This Dump, she’d been a student of magic, had been used to certain things. There’s quite an element of culture shock to be had, now that she’s back. It’s the first time she’s seen sunlight in thousands of years, and also there’s a lot of systemic changes going on now that some of Odin’s dirty secrets are coming out at last. Turns out she’s not the only one who’d been pressed into duty: some of Loki’s other students[/children in the myths] came back with stories of the same. Fenrir was apparently voluntold to be the guardian of the Reality Stone, Jormungandr had apparently been busy on Midgard […which now had a school of Mystic Arts? Pfft. Overachiever], and the more Hela thought about it the angrier she got.

Especially when it turns out that her teacher had been mocked for suffering a breakdown and was also tortured by the creep who’d been flirting with her for millennia [Everyone: wait what Hela: I am going to KILL THAT BASTARD NEXT TIME I SEE HIM]. 

However, thanks to Frigga being Frigga and having a crazy-high charisma stat, Hela is still mostly willing to play ball with everyone else on Asgard. Despite her not being happy with how ungrateful the general populace acted [oh, magic’s just ‘tricks’? Here, have a fireball TO THE FACE I FOUGHT MONSTERS WITH THESE TRICKS FOR MILLENNIA]. 

So when Thanos shows up again, he gets one-shotted by Hela, who’s very very pissy about her vacation being interrupted.

Because this planet has sunlight and hot chocolate and punk rock and she’s got centuries’ worth of time off and she is damn well going to enjoy it.

.

…aka why Thanos is a bit of a non-entity in this one. Again, fixits are the name of the game for this AU.

[imdoingthismspaintadventure]

Worm 2.3 - In which Taylor has the best day ever

I didn’t have any time to contemplate the message I’d received from Tattletale.  The bell rang and I had to hurry to properly log off and shut down before heading to my next class.  As I gathered my stuff, I realized I had been so caught up in researching on the villains I’d met last night and in Tattletale’s message that I had forgotten to worry about getting into trouble for skipping class.  I felt a kind of resignation as I realized I would have to face the music later in the day, anyways.

Time flies when you’re having fun, or at least reading about interesting stuff. Like the fact that a member of a villanous group maaay or may not have solicited a meetup.

Also the classes you missed would eventually come back around to bite you, so it’s better that it happens now.

Madison was already in her seat as I got to the classroom.  She had a pair of girls crouching by either side of her desk, and all three of them broke into giggles as they saw me.  Bitches.

Ugh. What a great start to the next class. This is going to suck.

My seat of choice was the far right, front row, closest to the door. Lunch hour and immediately after school was when the trio tended to give me the hardest time, so I tried to sit as close as possible to the door, for a quick escape.  I spotted a puddle of orange juice on the seat, with the empty plastic bottle lying just underneath the chair.   Madison was going for a two for one.  It was both a ‘prank’ and a reminder of how they had doused me with juice and soft drinks last Friday.  Irritated, I carefully avoided looking at  Madison and took an empty seat a few rows back.

Taylor don’t you know that’s not the seat where the protagonist must be? Read up on your tropes!

Also uuuuugghhhh, the bitches supreme continue with their pathetic teasing bullshit.

Mr Gladly entered the room, he was short and young enough you could almost mistake him for another high school student.  It took a few minutes for him to start the class, and he immediately ordered us to break into groups of four to share our homework with one another and to prepare to share it with the rest of the class.  The group that had the most to contribute would win the prize he had mentioned on Friday, treats from the vending machine.

Oh and this is great too!

Honestly, the less palsy and group exercise-y my teachers are, the better. I don’t like having to do weird assignments and then share it with everybody else. The introvert in me dies a violent death thinking about it.

It was stuff like this that made Mr. Gladly my least favorite teacher.  I got the impression he’d be surprised to hear he was anyone’s least favorite teacher, but that was just one more point against him in my book.  I don’t think he comprehended why people might not like him, or how miserable group work was when you didn’t identify with any of the groups or cliques in the school.  He just figured people liked doing group work because it let them talk and hang out with their friends in class.

Seems like Taylor agrees with me! Sometimes it can be fun, but yeaaaah.

While the class got sorted, I figured I’d avoid standing around like a loser with no group to join and get something else out of the way. I approached the desk at the front of the room.

“Mr. Gladly?”

“Call me Mr. G.  Mr. Gladly is my dad,” he informed me with a sort of mock sternness.

Oh god he just did that.

“Sorry, uh, Mr. G.  I need a new textbook.”

He gave me a curious look, “What happened to your old one?”

Soaked with grape juice by a trio of harpies.  “I lost it,” I lied.

“Replacement textbooks are thirty five dollars.  I don’t expect it now, but…”

“I’ll have it for you by the end of the week,” I finished for him.

Taylor don’t lie about these things. He probably won’t do jack shit, but downplaying your situation isn’t a good thing to do!

He handed me a textbook, and I looked over the room before joining the only group with room for more: Sparky and Greg.  We had been in a group several times before, as the leftovers when all the friends and cliques had banded together.

At least you have company....?

Sparky and Greg sounds like a comedy duo, honestly.

Sparky had apparently picked up his nickname when a third grade teacher used it in an ironic sense, and it had stuck, to the point where I doubted anyone but his own mother even knew his real name.  He was a drummer, long haired, and was so out of touch with reality that you could stop talking in the middle of a sentence and he wouldn’t notice.   He just went through life in a daze, presumably until he could do his thing, which was his band.

Fun fact, the “nickname becoming his only name” is a real thing. We had a classmate we just called Pan, and I don’t know where that originated from, but it wasn’t his real name or even close. I don’t think we ever knew his real name...

School is weird.

Also he seems veeery zoned out, holy shit. This one won’t contribute anything to the group project, huh?

Greg was just the opposite.  He was smarter than average, but he had a way of saying every thought that came into his head – his train of thought didn’t have any brakes.  Or tracks.  It would have been easier to be in a group with just Sparky and essentially do the work by myself than it would be to work with Greg.

I have met a Greg. I have met at least two Gregs. We all have probably met a Greg somewhere

So we have a chillaxed drummer and an overeager fuckup. Looks like it’s time to begin the classic show “Let’s to this group essay by ourselves!”

Yaay!

I got my share of the homework out of my new backpack.  Mr. Gladly had asked us to come up with a list of ways that capes had influenced society.  In between the various steps of my getting ready for my first night out in costume, I had taken the time to fix up my art project and had come up with a fairly comprehensive list for Mr. Gladly’s homework. I had even used newspaper and magazine clippings to support my points. I felt pretty good about it.

Taylor is pretty efficient about her work, I like it.

A way in which it has influenced society is that now instead of normal crime bosses, we have regenarative metal-scaled hellfire-spewing living human dragon crime bosses. Don’t ask me how I know or why I smell of ash and smoke.

“I didn’t get much done,” Greg said, “I got distracted by this new game I got and it is really really good, it’s called Space Opera, have you played it?”

Oh--Ohno

Greg no

A full minute later he was still on the same topic, even though I wasn’t playing any attention to him or giving him any feedback on what he was saying, “…you have to understand it’s a genre, and it’s one I’ve really been getting into it lately, since I started watching this anime called – Oh, hey, Julia!”  Greg broke off from his monologue to wave with enough energy and excitement that I felt a little embarrassed to just be sitting next to him.  I turned in my seat to see one of Madison’s friends coming in, late.

Oh god this boy is a walking human disaster.

“Can I be in Madison’s group?” Julia asked Mr. Gladly.

“That wouldn’t be fair.  Greg’s group only has three people.  Help them,” Mr. Gladly said.

Julia walked over to where we were sitting and made a face.  Just loud enough for us to hear, she muttered a disgusted, “Ew.”  I felt much the same about her joining us.

nooooooo

The bad situation got even worse!!

Whyyyy

It was downhill from there.  Madison’s group moved so the four of them were sitting right next to our group, which let Julia talk with them while still sitting with us.  The presence of all the popular and attractive girls in the class just got Greg more wound up, and he began trying to insert himself into their conversation, only to get shut down or ignored.  It was embarrassing to watch.

Well this class is being all around fantastic.

If the bitches are the apocalypse then Greg is blowing the fucking trumpets.

“Greg,” I said, trying to distract him from the other group, “Here’s what I did over the weekend.  What do you think?”

I handed him the work I had done.  To his credit, he gave it a serious read.

“This is really good, Taylor,” He said, when he was done.

“Let me see,” Julia said.  Before I could stop him, Greg dutifully handed my work over to her.  I watched her glance over it, then toss it onto Madison’s table.  There were a few giggles.

NO

“Give that back,” I said.

“Give what back?” Julia said.

“Madison,” I said, ignoring Julia, “Give it back.”

Madison, cute and petite and crush of choice for half the guys in our grade, turned and managed a combined look and tone of such condescension that a grown man would have flinched, “Nobody is talking to you, Taylor.”

Aaaaaaaaaaaaa

Why are they the worst! They are masterful at being the worst!!

That was that.  Short of running to the teacher and complaining, I wasn’t going to get my work back, and anyone who considered that an option has clearly never been in high school.  Greg looked between me and the girls with a kind of panic before settling into a funk, Sparky had his head down on his desk, either asleep or close to it, and I was left fuming.  I made an attempt at trying to to salvage things, but getting Greg to focus was impossible, as he constantly tried to apologize and made lame attempts to convince the other group to give my work back.  Our time ran out, and Mr. Gladly picked out people from each group to stand up and go over what they had come up with.

*flips an infinite number of tables*

This is painful and very realistic at the same time! You sure know how to evoke gigantic feelings of frustration, Wildbow!

I sighed as Mr. Gladly picked Greg to do our group’s presentation, and was forced to watch Greg botch it badly enough that Mr. Gladly asked him to sit down before he was finished.  Greg was one of those kids I always figured made teachers groan inwardly when they raised their hands in class.  The sort of kid that took twice as long to answer as anyone else, and was often only half-right or so off-tangent that it derailed the discussion.  I couldn’t imagine what had possessed Mr. Gladly to pick Greg to do our group’s presentation.

And of course Greg is the one picked! Of couuurse.

The universe is a petty bitch like that.

Honestly Taylor, the fact that you haven’t said fuck it, and gone Exodus on the school is proof that you are a good person.

What made things worse was that I then got to watch Madison rattle off my very impressive sounding list of ways capes had changed the world.  She cribbed almost all of my stuff; fashion, economics, Tinkers and the tech boom, the fact that movies, television and magazines had been tweaked to accommodate cape celebrities, and so on.  Still, she got it wrong when explaining how law enforcement had changed.  My point had been that with qualified capes easing the workload and taking over for most high profile crises, law enforcement of all stripes were more free to train and expand their skill sets, making for smarter, more versatile cops.  Madison just made it sound like they got a lot of vacation days.

Oh fuck off Madison! At least you explained it wrong, you absolute dick.

This is just the “Taylor’s life sucks” episode, isn’t it?

Mr. Gladly named another group as the winners, by virtue of the sheer number of things they had come up with, though he made a point of saying the quality of Madison’s work was nearly good enough to count.  From there, he moved on to his lecture.

At least she didn’t win. There is some justice in the world.

A pitiful, insignificant amount...

I was steamed and I could hardly focus on the lecture, as my power crackled and tugged at my attention from the periphery of my consciousness, making me acutely aware of every bug within a tenth of a mile.  I could tune it out, but the extra concentration that took, coupled with the anger I felt towards Madison and Mr. Gladly, was distracting enough that I couldn’t focus on the lecture.  I took a cue from Sparky and put my head down on the desk.  Being as exhausted from the previous night’s activity as I was, it was all I could do to keep from dozing off.  Still, spending the class half asleep made it go by faster.  I was startled when the bell rang.

Oh shit her powers get more powerful or precise when she’s pissed off! That is very interesting

At least she can keep it in check and not have a bee accidentally give the Lung treatment of stinger to eyeball to some of these wonderful individuals.

As everyone gathered their things and began to file out, Mr. Gladly approached me and quietly said, “I’d like you to stick around for a few minutes, please.”

I just nodded and put my books away, then waited for the teacher to finish negotiating where to meet the prize winners from the class contest so he could pay for their prizes.

When it was just me and Mr. Gladly in the classroom, he cleared his throat and then told me, “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Okay,” I replied, not sure how to respond.

!!! Is Mr. Gladly actually going to do something?!

Nice!! Good on you, Gladly, for bringing this up!

“I have something of an idea of what goes on in my classroom.  I don’t know exactly who, but I know some people are giving you a pretty hard time.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I saw the mess left on your usual seat today.  I remember a few weeks back when glue was smeared on your desk and chair.  There was also the incident that happened at the start of the year.  All of your teachers had a meeting about that.”

I couldn’t meet his gaze as he brought that last event up.  I looked at my feet.

“And I’m guessing there’s more that I don’t know about?”

Please talk about it Taylor, this cannot continue like this.

“Yeah,” I said, still looking down.  It was hard to explain how I felt about this conversation.  I was gratified, I think, that someone had brought it up, but annoyed that that someone was Mr. Gladly.  I felt kind of embarrassed too, like I had walked into a door and someone was trying too hard to make sure I was okay.

“I asked you after the glue incident.  I’m asking you again.  Would you be willing to go to the office with me, to talk with the principal and vice principal?”

Ow, Taylor you poor thing! I know exactly how you’re feeling and how much it sucks, but this situation merits the genuine concern!

It is not shameful to need help

After a few moments of consideration, I looked up and asked him, “What would happen?”

“We’d have a discussion about what’s been going on.  You would name the person or people you believe responsible, and each of them would be called in to talk to the principal, in turn.”

“And they’d get expelled?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Mr. Gladly shook his head, “If there was enough proof, they would be suspended for several days, unless they’ve done something very serious. Further offenses could lead to longer suspensions or expulsion.”

...A several day suspension isn’t going to do shit.

I gave a rueful chuckle, feeling the frustration welling up, “Great.  So they might miss a few days of school, and only if I can prove they were behind it all… and whether they get suspended or not, they feel a hundred percent justified in whatever else they do to the rat for revenge.”

Yeaah Taylor is right here. This is just going to backfire.

“If you want things to get better, Taylor, you have to start somewhere.”

“That isn’t a starting point.  It’s shooting myself in the foot,” I said, pulling my bag over my shoulder.  When he didn’t immediately respond, I left the classroom.

I have to say, they really managed to capture how schools can be Agressively, Gloriously Useless in issues like this a lot of the time

Emma, Madison, Sophia and a half dozen other girls were standing in the hall, waiting for me.

Oh my god it keeps getting worse!

How does it keep getting worse!!

[blogagog-blog1]

Fear: Pt 2

Read Fear Pt. 1 To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong. - Joseph Chilton Pearce

Okay, I need to be serious for a second. Before going any further, I wanted to share something that I think is infinitely important and we should all take note of.

...Fear was back from his piss break in like, 10 seconds. And you know what they say: He who pees quick, got a small - sorry, what was that, ref? Game on in 3, 2, 1...now? Okay. 

Let’s go, bitch.

Ourselves.

I’m acutely aware of the first instance where fear sashayed in and said “Stop what you’re doin’ cuz I’m about to ruin.”1 After realising my love of music was more than the average appreciation of a pretty tune, I borrowed a classical guitar and learned the My First Rock Tunes™ Starter Pack: Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’, Nirvana’s ‘Come As You Are’ etc. By the time I finally got an electric, I was into insane guitarists like Eric Johnson and Steve Vai. This may have been...unfortunate. See, this was right around the time ol’ depression started poking around, and at this stage, I literally had no idea what was wrong with me. So the rampant self doubt just seemed like logic: the quantum leap from the beginner I was to these guys was clearly one I’d never accomplish. And so the guit’ had to sit.

Fast forward to today. I’m a pretty shit guitarist as far as real players go, but having been forced in the past bit to play in order to create my own music, I can do things I couldn’t dream of a year ago. Imagine if I’d started 15 years ago. Even 6 years ago...but at that point, the stance was: “Welp, it’s too late now.”

There’s that one famous quote: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Speaking solely for myself, I find that to be the biggest load of hippo poo ever written. What we are afraid of, Ms. Williamson,2 is falling flat on our faces and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt (instead of just having a strong suspicion) that we absolutely suck at the things most important to us.

I was trying to think of a metaphor, and for some reason, this (admittedly ridiculous) scenario popped into my head. Bear with me here. Imagine you’re 10 years old, and you see old footage of Jane Goodall on TV - just kicking it with the chimps. They’re signing amongst themselves about the tastiest banana strains, the best poop-throwing techniques and whatnot. Suddenly you have an epiphany: that’s what you want to do with your life. You dive into every primatology book you can find, you volunteer at the zoo - nothing can stop you, man. And then you attend your first kids’ ethology class - and you have no idea what’s going on. The other kids seem fine - but you’re just sucking up a storm. And then your Dad, whose words are immediately considered fact cuz, you know, you’re 10, mentions: “Oh wait, did nobody tell you? Chimpanzees fucking hate people with red hair. (Or named Theodore, or whatever applies to you.) So, that’s not going to work.”

Now, the fact is your Dad just wants you to be a doctor so you’ll be loaded and take care of him when he’s decrepit. But you don’t have any reason to doubt him, and since you’re pretty sure this is a done deal, why would you go through the pain of trying anyway? 

Or worse yet, maybe your Dad isn’t even telling you straight up - he’s whispering it in your ears when you’re asleep (Jesus Christ - your Dad is an ASSHOLE, dude). So now you’ve got this subconscious fear of failing at your Goodall-Goals - and although it never sits right, you’ve gone ahead and convinced yourself you’re dying to go to medical school and primatology was just a passing kid’s fancy. What I’m getting at is, you can dismiss some random hater telling you you’re going to suck. The voice in your head that you rely on daily to operate is harder to ignore - especially when it’s dropping the doubt bombs subconsciously.

Is there something you’re really passionate about? I don’t mean you like it oodles and bunches and arms-held-wide “diiiis much” - I mean it’s inexorably intertwined with fibre of your existence. If so, imagine diving head first into it and discovering, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’re Absolutely No Good at it. That’s the underlying fear - how exactly do you reconcile that and move on?

Here’s the thing though. If you look around, that pretty much never happens. The folks who turn their passions into successes tell us over and over that after being useless at the beginning (just like us normies!), they told self-doubt to suck it and kept it trucking with absolute focus and belief. The majority of those who gave it their all and didn’t find outrageous success did have a great chapter of their life, which was hopefully followed by a different but equally sweet one. And sure, maybe circumstances derail deserving people sometimes. But the human (and kitty cat) condition of being afraid to put our toes in the water derails us a hell of a lot more.

But I’ve always tried to make the best of fear, because without fears, there’s no art. - Tracie Bennett

                                 Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. I’m doing it but fuuuuuuck.

Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream. - Paulo Coelho3

Most of the time, though, getting stuck in a questioning-your-qualities quagmire (bam. my alliteration game is lit af4) doesn’t have anything to do with some lofty goal. The challenge most of us face is simply being able to get out of our own way and experience - I mean really experience - life.  

We all know someone who is - well, stuck. Stuck in a dead-end job they hate, stuck in a relationship with an undeserving douche, or just stuck in neutral across the board. They’re bemoaning their current lot in life and you’re tearing your hair out pointing out all the moves they can make with the potential they have. Nothing crazy or overwhelming - just that small first step to get things moving. So if you can see it, and they can see it, what’s the prob, Bob?

This, I think, is a chance to out the annoyingly unblinking Fear (I’m starting to think this prick doesn’t have eyelids) on another one of his sneaky li’l techniques. Sure...when you’re just plain stuck, it’s depressing. Sure, you hate the fact that this is your life. But it’s a shitty life that you know. It sucks, but it’s nothing to be afraid of. This  new existence that these baby steps are supposed to bring - now that’s scary. What if, at some point, the Curb driver taking you through this new life (cuz it’s weird and unknown, so there’s no Uber or Lyft) drops you off in some fresh hell without so much as a Maps-enabled iPod? Without the tools to deal or road map to get out, there won’t be much to do except curl up in a fetal position and wait for your imminent demise. No siree, I’ll stick with my current conundrum. Final answer Regis, thankyouverymuch.

I honestly think this can be harder to push past than the fear of shooting for the stars. I know someone properly stuck in that place, and it’s heartbreaking how much of a struggle it is. And while I throw up in my mouth a little every time I get anywhere close to banal, overused bullshit or condescending platitudes, there’s no way around it: the only way to start moving out of this one is with those clichéd as Christ ‘small steps.’ If you know someone in that spot, and truly want to help, be prepared to be around and do some lifting. Because your feet can get heavy, man.

People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar. - That Nhat Hanh

I like when people compare or equate Fear with the devil. Mostly because I think a concept attributed to the latter 100% applies to the former as well. 

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” 

Fear-The-Fuckface isn’t any less sneaky - in fact, I’d argue he’s more so. Sure, he’s loud and proud when it comes to us being terrified of spiders, air travel and Willem Dafoe. But when he’s doing the real nitty gritty of putting our lives on pause and trying to break us at our core, he slips on his Groucho Marx glasses and moustache to stay incognito. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, the trick is to recognise him and know that once we act, there ain’t shit he can do. I, for one, can assure you he’s real. He and his stupid face are staring me down right now. That’s okay. We got one more to go.

I just realised that when I initially pictured Fear in my mind yesterday, he bore a passing resemblance to Digital Underground’s Shock G. Swear to God. And in a rare bout of perfection, a search for a picture of him brought up this.

I have nothing against Marianne Williamson. She seems like an exceptional human being that has helped millions - I just really hate that quote. Of course, she’s the one that wasn’t afraid to write and publish ten works that have sold over 3,000,000 copies, so maybe I should shut the fuck up.

I’m aware I used this quote already. But it applies here too, and I do what I want, bruh.

Don’t ever say “ay-eff” to me in real life instead of “as fuck.” I will literally slap you.