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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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MAKER'S SCHEDULE, 631, BRIEFLY

I'm a writer, and writers always get disproportionate attention. How did they stand it? Their main expenses are setting up the company, which costs a couple thousand Altair owners, but without this software they were programming in machine language. Those ideas are so rare that you can't find some way to reach me, how are you going to create a successful company? For a startup, managing them is one of the first 10 employees you'll have almost as much.1 Families are entitled to their own traditions, and who the competitors are and why this company is going to beat them.2 In the late 90s my professor friends used to complain that they couldn't get grad students, because all the undergrads were going to let hosts rent out space on their floors during conventions. Part of the reason I can't believe it will be more like being able to play the two firms off each other as well as talent, so this answer works out to be important, because a we invest such small amounts, and b we think it's better if startups operate out of their own premises, however crappy, than the offices of their investors.

If you're a freelancer or a small company doesn't ensure freedom.3 What makes a good startup idea, it's sort of like having a guilty conscience about something.4 There's an idea that has turned out to be a startup. For a lot of work.5 Which is exactly how I'd describe the way lions seem in the wild seem about ten times more alive. You probably can't overcome anything so pervasive as the model of work is a job. Don't sit on their boards. What really bothers parents about their teenage kids having sex are complex.6 It's not so much as that they never pander: they never say or do something because that's what the audience wants. So if you're going to optimize a number, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. In social settings, I found that I got over 100 other responses listing the surprises they encountered. If you don't understand YC.

At the time any random autobiographical novel by a recent college grad could count on more respectful treatment from the literary establishment. The angel now owns 200/1200 shares, or a job. The kind of question on the application form that asks what you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to do, at least, nothing good.7 I often recommend that founders act like consultants—that they wanted to.8 In a startup, you don't even know that.9 If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been.10 Viaweb entirely with angel money; it never occurred to us that investors were too conservative here—that they do what they'd do if they'd been in Nebraska, like Evan Williams was at their age? The saddest windows close when other people die.

And when you propagate that constraint, the result is that each species thrives in groups of a certain group, that seems nearly impossible to shake. Someone who's figured that out will automatically focus more on the idea. The only explanation is: by definition. It's not just a figure of speech to say that the outcome is zero. The artists who benefited most from this were the ones who had preserved a child's confidence, like Klee and Calder. Once you have all the college students, you get rich is that there are many degrees of it. It could be replaced on any of these axes it has already started to be on most. When you're a little kid and you're asked to do something differently.

But not all waste is bad. Later I learned it hadn't been so neat, and the three founders each get 25%. Along with such outright lies, there must have been told a lot of economic history, and I understand the startup world is evolving away from their current model.11 If you seem really good we'll accept you anyway. Even in the rare cases where a clever hack makes your fortune, you probably have an idea.12 At least, that's how we'd describe it in present-day languages, if they'd had them. The way you get taught programming in college would be like teaching writing as grammar, without mentioning that its purpose is to make me feel better. After two years, the un-rapacious that you only extract half as much from users as you could. If you have something that no competitor does and that some subset of users urgently need, you have to seem like you understand technology.13 On that scale, every negotiation is unique.14 I was cynical about VCs, but the way he composed them into molecules was near faultless.15 But unfortunately when you graduate, as long as you want.16

Notes

Thanks to Daniel Sobral for pointing this out. Make it clear when you ad lib you end up reproducing some of the things they've tried on the LL1 mailing list. What you learn in college or what grades you got in them, initially, to sell earlier than you expect. But while this is also a name.

In fact most of them. But try this experiment is that if you conflate them you're aiming at. The worst explosions happen when unpromising-seeming startups do badly.

Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college. This approach has not worked well, but this would work better, and that modern corporate executives were, we try to accept a particular number.

Aristotle the core: the editor in Lisp, they may try to accept that investors are induced by the surface similarities. Com of their assets; and with that additional constraint, you can't help associating it with such a statement would merely be eccentric.

Most word problems in school math textbooks are bad: Webpig, Webdog, Webfat, Webzit, Webfug. Without the prospect of publication, the assembly line, the closest anyone has come is Secretary of Labor Statistics, about 28%.

I think the usual way to fight. The next time you raise as you can see the apples, they made much of it, and no one who's had the discipline to pull it off. Successful founders are driven by people trying to decide whether to go to college, they would implement it and make a lot of investors caring either.

P nonspam are both genuinely formidable, and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he was otherwise unoccupied, to get into the heads of would-be startup founders who had been a good idea to make more money. The best thing for startups is very long: it might take an hour over the Internet, like hedge funds, are available only to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies. That it might take an hour over the Internet. Yes, I had zero effect on the relative weights?

The VCs recapitalize the company, and yet managed to screw up twice at the data, it's probably good grazing. I should add that we're not. They did turn out to be a win to include things in shows that people start to pull ahead in the field.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives would work so hard to mentally deal with the founders gained from running through their initial attitude. Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The Old Way. One thing that drives most people emerge from the moment it's created indeed, from hour to hour that the worm might have done all they could be overcome by changing the shape of the bizarre consequences of this: You may not be far less demand for them.

Indiana University Bloomington 1868-1970.

Trevor Blackwell points out that taking time to come up with an associate cold-emailing a startup could grow big in revenues without including the order of 10,000, because investors already owned more than their competitors, who may have realized this, but simply because he was skeptical about Viaweb too. See Greenspun's Tenth Rule. We just store the data, it's software that doesn't seem to want them; you have significant expenses other than salaries that you decide the price, and for filters it's textual.

P 500 CEOs in the sophomore year. It was only because he had more fun than he'd had in school, and philosophy the imprecise half. The philistines have now missed the video boat entirely.

As we walked out we ran into Yuri Sagalov. Emmett Shear writes: I'd argue the long tail for sports may be common in, you'll have to replace you. It took a painfully long time.

The reason Y Combinator.

This is an instance of a safe will be coordinating efforts among partners. In practice it just feels like a loser they're done, she doesn't like getting attention in the definition of property.

The thing to do sales yourself initially. 5%. At first I didn't care about GPAs.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Gary Sabot, Trevor Blackwell, Tiffani Ashley Bell, and Jeff Arnold for sharing their expertise on this topic.

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citrineghost · 3 years

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“You have to do X to be good at Y”

So, I have beef with this kind of advice. My beef with this is somewhat specific to my own experience, but I know there must be others with something similar going on, so I want to share.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m a writer. I love it. It’s a passion of mine to write and world build and character build and draw and all sorts of stuff. Something I heard a lot growing up was:

“You absolutely have to read a lot of books if you want to be a good writer.”

This was easy enough when I was 12, but that was before I’d really started writing. By the point where I was writing, my ADHD had progressed to a point of being unable to focus on books. I could demolish a 300 page book in one day when I was 11, but I could barely get past the first chapter at 13. I read a fanfic every few months, but it’s still not the amount of reading that’s supposedly befitting of a professional writer.

Because of that, when I heard people say (and this is many, many people - published authors, publishers, editors, agents, you name it) that you cannot become a successful writer without reading a lot of books, it crushed me.

It made me believe that, because I couldn’t sit down and read at least 1 book every week, or every month, or even every year, that I would never stand a chance at becoming a professional writer.

The fact is, that advice is very generalizing. It’s an opinion, not a fact. What helps one writer improve may be the Achilles heel of another. Something I read recently that may be applied here is:

“A diamond may be formed under pressure, but dough must rest in order to rise.”

We can’t possibly say that everyone’s road to success passes by the same attractions and intersections. We all learn in different ways.

All of this to say, I am a natural writer. I don’t mean it in a conceited way. Writing is a hyperfixation of mine. I am naturally able to pick up new skills, perspectives, and styles. I am a natural at metaphors, analogies, and conveying emotion and intention.

To be clear, I was horrendous when I started. My writing from when I was 13 wasn’t fit for human consumption - but it had the right bones. I just needed to learn how to put those bones in the right order and bring them to life.

For many people, learning how to put together the framework of their book or story is learned through reading the works of others and breaking them down into frameworks - skeletons - and reverse engineering. For other people, like me, it is more effective to try and try and try again, learning from my own mistakes, than trying to focus on another person’s creation.

Instead of reading the work of others and using that to determine what I did and didn’t like about their writing, I read my own work, and I find what I do and don’t like about that instead.

This is perfectly fine. This method has done a world of good. In the last ten years, having read a grand total of ~10 novels, here are some things I have accomplished. I’ve:

Learned that a concept is not a plot

Learned that the gold standard outline does not work for me in the slightest and created my own type of outline instead (something different from any outline I’ve heard of before, and that has changed my entire ability to write)

Gained my own voice and writing style

Learned how to use sentence variance so that my writing doesn’t feel flat and monotone

Realized that, with ADHD, channeling passion is a much more effective road to focus than a neurotypical’s idea of ‘discipline’

Built an entire fantasy universe that will one day become a series, which I am confident in my ability to write

Practiced my writing by writing what I’m excited about, even if that means starting literally over 50 collaborative writing projects with my boyfriend and not finishing a single one (because you don’t have to finish a project to cash in the experience you’ve gained from what you did do)

Learned how to take criticism as well as how to ignore criticism that I disagree with - because not every critique is important or objective

Become a professional content writer

Built myself a website, which is nearing completion, so that I can become a professional in creative writing, rather than content writing

I’m saying all of this because I think it’s really important for other people, neurodivergent or otherwise, to understand that there is more than one way to improve and succeed.

There is no single ‘right way’ to improve your craft. This can be applied to anything. Yes, anything. While most people say to read to become a better writer, and I do the opposite, people also say you should practice practice practice to become a better artist. I do the opposite of that as well. I don’t draw nearly as much as one might expect, given my amount of improvement over the years. I look at other people’s art and mentally download new information. I’m very visual, so this is possible for me. It might not be possible for you. That’s okay.

You will find a way that works for you.

Don’t let other people decide for you what you need to do to be the best you can be. You will do Just Fine.

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yourdesertsunflower · 4 years

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Boruto did a disservice to Temari

Sorry, in anticipation I warn you, this will be long.

Okay, okay. I love Temari. She is my favorite kunoichi, I love each and everyone of her appearances in Naruto and Naruto Shippuden, I watched all filler that she was on, and I even have her on my avatar. So, yes, this by no means is to hate on the character but to actually show how Boruto writers completely misunderstood her.

I’ll always love her character, but I got to admit I am not okay at all with somethings they are making her do in the Boruto’s anime. And no, it’s not because she moved to Konoha, or decided to take mainly the role a housewife (a bloody difficult job if you ask me) because I frankly couldn’t care less of any of that if she is happy. I really think that Shikamaru and Shikadai make her genuinely happy and that’s all I want for her. She had went from so much shit that I only want to see her feeling value and loved, that’s the least she deserves and her husband and son give her that.

The problem is that, in most of her characterization in Boruto, I hardly see that Temari we got to know and love in the anime and manga of Naruto. Now when we get to see her in her recurring role in Boruto she is capitalized by her writers as a joke of the “crazy wife and mother that would rather hit you with your fan than having a civilized talk and will be angry twenty-four seven with no apparent reason.”

And that, my friends, is not Temari. At least not the Temari I grew to love in Naruto.

Through this post I’ll try to explain why I think that that portrayal of the abusive housewife and mother that they give her in most of Nara Family moments in the Boruto manga, and specially the anime, is (in point of view) completely mislead. It had become clear to me, through my time watching the show, that Boruto writers are clearly not even trying to understand Temari’s character and how they are using her as a recurring joke rather than considering her as a real three-dimensional character. And I despise them for that same reason.

So, without more vacillation, I’ll get started.

1. Who is Temari?

Before venturing into everything that is wrong about the characterization of Temari in Boruto and trying to pin point when this actually started to happen, I would like to see deeper into Temari’s character. I think it’s only wby understanding her character previously from Boruto that we will actually understand how inconsistent is her writing in the show.

I decided to base my analysis of Temari’s character in the Naruto series in two key aspects: an overarching analysis of Temari’s character profile using the Myres Briggs Personality Types and the Enneagram and in pin-pointing will pin point some specific moments of characterization in the manga of Naruto that show her character.

Before starting with the analysis, I want to be clear about why I use the Myers Briggs Personality Types and the Enneagram in my analysis of Temari. I really don’t usually tend to care for the function of neither of those test in real life (if you do I am perfectly fine with it, it’s just something I don’t do myself) but I think they can be great tools for any author to understand better the behavior, desires and motivations behind their characters. I personally do this in my work and I highly recommend it for any other writer out there.

Remember, this is my own personal analysis and I’ll tell you when my opinion differs from the majority, I’ll justify everything said in my analysis, and I’ll leave links to every info that I give you.

Well, speaking specifically about Temari. Who is she? What she wants? Why she wants it? What she’ll do to achieve it? What she really needs? Which is her fear?

This between others are questions that any author or actor has to ask themselves when they are writing their characters. It’s a question of giving the character depth, making it seem “like a living breathing human-being.”

Kishimoto state it in the most bluntly, yet efficient ways, when he presented Team Seven by making Kakashi ask them about their likes, dislikes and dreams. Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke’s response reflect all this questions even though they are not saying it directly. I won’t analyse this respective scene, because if not this will be really long, but I promise to do it sometime in the future.

Well using the Myers Briggs Personality and Enneagram Test we can get to full-picture of these questions. Myers Briggs Personality test will tell us who the character is in it’s core; how they’ll behave, how they’ll face a situation and their outllook of life. The Enneagram on the other side show us their wants and needs, what they long to archieve and their fears.

In the case of Temari I would classify her as an ENTJ but,her most common classification is ESTJ and a 8w9 as her Enneagram. If you want me to explain why I think she is an ENTJ an not a ESTJ (thoiugh I’ll construct my case over ESTJ) just ask for it cause I’ll be more than happy to do it. But for now, and in order not to make it way longer than it will already be I’ll focus on Te (Extraverted Thinking) and Fi (Introverted Feelings) both functions that both types share as their primary and inferior function respectively and will be key for my analysis.

Source Temari’s Personal Database

(If you want to understand the differences between ESTJs and ENTJs here is a good tumblr source that explains everything quite complete yet quite simply explained)

Let’s go first with the MBTI (Myers Briggs Type Indicator)

What means to have Te as a primary function and Fi as in inferior function?

Te as a Primary Function (Extroverted Thinking): Think of your primary function as your strongest suit, things you are good at. Dominant Extroverted Thinkers tend to be logical, objective and fair. They are very organized and try to arrange the real world to suit their needs.

Strives to bring order, control, and rationality to the systems and operations of the outside world.Evidence: Temari is able to rationalize situations and access their pros and cons quite easily. This is showing in the flashback where she doubts of the productivity of the Konoha Crush since she maintained that there alliance with Konoha was much more valuable any they could gain from the attack.

Insists on objective standards and measurable goals. Evidence: She is prone to be involved in and thinks in things as if they were projects like the preparations of the Chunin Exam, the Allied Shinobi Forces, etc. (see the image of the Fourth Databook)

Tendency to quickly express their judgments and opinion, to literally think (i.e., make judgments, conclusions, and decisions) aloud. Evidence: In her match against Shikamaru she was pretty quick in express her analysis of his movements aloud.

Speak before they listen which can either make them strong and courageous leaders or seem abrasive, dogmatic, or controlling. Evidence: Temari asserted a leadership position within her village and also within the Allied Shinobi forces (despite not being strictly one) showing us her natural inclination to take charge.

Source of the Image

Prone to overstating things. Evidence: In her fight against Shikamaru thinking she knew all the extent of his technique.

They may say things that, in retrospect, they wish they could rescind, or at least soften (specially true for hypersensitive Fi), which can lead them to respond defensively or re-actively. Evidence: Sasuke Retrieval Arc, Temari’s expression as Shikaku reprimanded his son. Konoha Hiden, Temari feels ashamed about what happened the

Fi as a Inferior Funtion (Introverted Feeling): Inferior Function is that thing that we often push aside the most and find most difficult to fully grasp. However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t play a key role in our behavior. People with Fi are driven by an internal moral compass, helping them adjust their actions in order that what they are doing helps or affects people in a meaningful way. This gives them a sense of loyalty to those around them, considering the wants and needs of those close to them.

Loyalty and dutiful nature due to a well constructed inner moral compass. Evidence: Fierce sense of loyalty to her village and her moral and ethical duty towards it.

Not prone to display emotions, may see them as a weakness.Evidence: The famous, “Had you received emotional training?” after the failed mission against Sasuke.

If taken to their worst they can have an all-or-nothing nature, this is neutralized when more “healthy” and less hypersensitive their Fi is. Evidence: Her whole fight against Tenten. She should to be someone strong, determined, disciplined with a strong chracter that will never let anyone mock her.

Image Source

Strong sense of inner control reached by vigorously working to control the outside world. The only way they can feel in control of themselves is by taking control of their surroundings. Evidence: How she managed to control the situation when Shikamaru was trying to ask her out on a date, her reasoning during their Chuinin Exams fight.

Fi might also inspire them to take up causes that have personally affected them, ingrained on a deep fear of being a bad person or having corrupted moral. Evidence: Given her participation in the Konoha Crush Temari is one of the main actors to amend the relationship between Konoha and Suna in the time skip. Also she wants to archive a peace she never had due to her childhood as a Gaara’s sister and Rasa’s daughter, shown in her important participation in the Shinobi Alliance. Her deep care for both of her brothers given their mother’s death and she taking a position of caretaker within the family on an unconscious level.

Unconscious yet particular empathy and concern for children, often finding great fulfillment in having and caring for children. Evidence: In Part I, after the Sasuke Retrieval Arc, The Sand Siblings stay in Konoha to help at the Academy. Temari reveals to Shikamaru that she had done it because she was fond of it. Children seem to really respect and admire her.

Source MBTI

Enneagram: 8w9 (The Diplomat)

Basic Fear

Eights with a nine wing fear being hurt by others. They avoid situations in which they have less control, generally preferring to be in positions of leadership.

Basic Desire

Their basic desire is to guard themselves against threats and control their own destiny. They may express this by asserting independence at a young age.

Hence Diplomats (8w9) defend themselves by building emotional walls and denying vulnerability. They seek to appear strong, subconsciously believing that being too emotional will make them seem weak (Haven’t you received emotional training?). They,

Dislike taking orders from other people

Though they are certainly not the most chill of all types the most calm and laid-back of the eights.

Struggle to openly share emotions

Fear being controlled by others

Seek autonomy and independence.

At their best diplomats use their wit and ability to see different perspectives to face different projects. Their naturally energetic and confident persona make of them people that can lead others effectively, through support and guidance. They have a talent to give others what they need, and are empowering and advocating for others. They feel a need to protect the ones they love and enjoy their-selves the most when they are surrounded by these people.

Image Source

At their worst diplomats, given their struggle to control their temper and their tendencies to be stubborn or rigid can enter excessively in conflict or disagreement or directly reject and dismiss others. They struggle to face emotionally vulnerable situations due to their sense of lack of inner control with can make them seems overly confident or emotionally detached. They also can develop a dislike for rules from authority figures.

Image Source

The best way to communicate with a 8w9 is to be direct and straightforward, while encouraging them to share their ideas. If conflict arises it’s better to address conflict directly and logically; discuss and work together toward the best solution.

Source of Enneagram 8w9

Conclusion

For that we have seen through this analysis some key things about Temari.

She is quite a direct and logical and rational individual who values to get things done in the outside world.

She has leadership skills, given their courageous and confident attitude, but can also come up a abrasive or controlling.

Tend to overstate things and may say or do things that they, later on, wish they could soften.

Is incredibly loyal to her set of values and those around her and tends to involve personally with the things she works on.

She tends to want to have a control of the outside world and her worst fear is to loose it, cause is in the only way she can feel in control of herself.

She wants independence cause that is the way she can feel in control of herself. Therefore she tends to leave emotions on one side, they are less controllable cause they are in her inner world, and focus her energies on the outside (rational) world.

2. Shikamaru and Konoha Hiden: The Beginning of Everything.

I can begin to trace the disservice towards Temari in this point in time, in the anime’s adaptation of her character from the light novels. From here we can begin to see how they are starting to tweak Temari’s character (in a way that’s unfair and clearly not coherent) to fit her into the mold of the angry or crazy girlfriend/wife though with moderation.

Why? Why, do you have to adapt an moment like this...

Clutching his back, Shikamaru turned his eyes toward the voice.

A woman with a sharp gaze and golden hair tied into two bundles stood there, holding a giant fan in both hands. And that fan had no doubt created the wind that had knocked Shikamaru flying.

Temari...

"So you're just gonna skip out?! You're gonna do whatever he tells you to? That's not like you at all! I expect a lot more from you! Get it together, you idiot! I mean, I know you actually think this guy's boring! His stupid lecture's total garbage! Am I right? Say something! Shikamaru!"

His ears, now accustomed to Gengo's weighty tone, took in the screeching, loud voice, and his eyes flickered with pain. "Ah!"

The haze blanketing his head vanished cleanly and completely. The thing squeezing his heart was gone; it was as if a hole had popped open in his chest.

But it felt amazingly good. He inhaled deeply, down to the bottom of his stomach, and slowly let it out. A laugh naturally followed.

A single blow to pull him out of the genjutsu...

"So you show up out of nowhere to badmouth me?" He put a hand on the back of his head, eyes fixed on Temari as he stood up.

"I came to save you. Quit grumbling and thank me." She rammed the end of the folding fan into the ground, rested her right elbow on the pivot, and puffed her chest out. Behind her stood a line of ninja. They all had the mark of Sunagakure carved into their forehead protectors.

"I can't exactly go letting you die now, can I?" She grinned.

Her smile, glittering like the fire of the desert sun, cleared Shikamaru's heart. Her earlier words came back to life in his head.

Source: Naruto: Shikamaru Hiden - A Cloud Drifting in Silent Darknes (2015) by Masashi Kishimoto, Takashi Yano

as this?

I know this may be completely unpopular but, hey I am here to say what I think. You can always count that’ll be honest. And I don’t like this.

This in my opinion this is not female empowerment, this is not funny and this is not Temari reacting naturally to the situation she is involved in. Is just simply her hitting Shikamaru with no reason at all.

In the novel, as we have seen, Temari lectured him (oh, boy did she lectured him just rightly). She basically made her come into his senses using logic and reason, using words, the same through which Gengo almost defeat him. And that is Temari, she may not be the best at expressing her emotions but when conflict arises she address conflict directly and logically. She explains, in a way that yes may seem imposing for others, but that always uses Te (extroverted thinking) as her main weapon.

Temari would never make someone come to his senses by a love declaration but she wouldn’t slap him on his face either.

Temari does this because, although Shikamaru hurt her, Shikamaru is someone dear to her and she knows that he needs of a little bit of tough love in order to function. This is Temari’s way of being empowering and advocating for others.

And you may be asking. But hey, Temari had already slapped Shikamaru before and you didn’t say nothing about that moment? Yes she did, but that moment was intrinsically different to this second one.

This slap...

It’s justified in Temari’s character. Maybe it’s not the best thing she could do, nor what I pictured her to do, but is not that detached with the situation.

Let’s see another extract of the Light Novel to understand better the context:

"Oil" A voice called to Shikamaru from behind.

He clicked his tongue imperceptibly. The voice belonged to the person he least wanted to speak with at that moment. Ignoring it, he kept moving forward.

"Shikamaru, hold up!" The voice beat at his back, threatening to send him flying.

"What?" He turned just his head to look at the woman over his shoulder.

Temari from Sunagakure. Her hair was shorter now than it had been two years ago, and she had pulled it back into two bundles on either side of her head. Her eyes were gentler now than they had been, set in a fairly adult looking face. But given that she was older than Shikamaru, her face didn't just look grown-up; she was actually already a very fine adult.

"What's going on with you?" She stared at Shikamaru with eyes that drooped somewhat more than they used to.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been weird lately." Temari's slender hand reached out to Shikamaru's shoulder and pulled him around to face her.

What a drag... The words made it all the way to his throat before he managed to desperately swallow them back down.

"I mean your attitude at the meeting there. You just sit there with your mouth shut. Everyone gets nervous; the whole place tenses up, you know."

"It does?"

"You didn't notice it?" Temari's eyes grew wide. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"It's something you can't talk to me about?" Temari's hard gaze hurt.

In the two years since the Great War ended, Temari had been a good and understanding partner in their work on the alliance. She shared his desire to keep the shinobi from fracturing into factions once more after they had finally come together in the face of a powerful enemy. She had rallied the Allied Forces with him. The strong bond between Naruto, seen as a candidate for the next Hokage of Konoha, and Gaara, the Kazekage of Sunagakure, also played a part; the relationship between the two villages was extremely good, even among the five great nations. With these kinds of outside factors also at work, Shikamaru and Temari each recognized the other as their greatest ally in the alliance.

"Something's happening in Konoha." She had fairly good insight.

However, her shot was a little off. Nothing was happening in Konoha, although it was true that they were trying to take care of the situation with only the shinobi of Konoha. So Temari was half-right, half-wrong.

The basic policy of the alliance was that matters relating to the life or death of shinobi themselves exceeded the framework of the villages and should be shared with the entire group. What Shikamaru and Kakashi were attempting to do was in very clear violation of this policy. Even so, he couldn't say anything. Getting the alliance involved now and stirring up trouble with the Land of Silence was not a good plan.

I'll handle it... His resolve hardened.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"There's not."

Temari dropped her eyes at Shikamaru's curt reply. "Okay," she muttered, lifelessly. In the next instant, the brief look of sadness on her face changed to anger.

It was all he could do to take a breath. He had no room to dodge; before he knew it, Shikamaru was flying. He tumbled down the hall a few times before ending up on his backside in a seated position. The right side of his face swelled up, bright red. Stroking his hot cheek, Shikamaru looked up at an indignant Temari glaring down at him.

"I never actually thought I could've misjudged you so badly!" Her angry yell turned into a powerful wind, pushing up against his face.

"I-I'm sorry..." The words were unconscious. He unthinkingly took on the persona of his father stumbling home in the morning, only to get yelled at by his mother in the entryway.

Taking long strides, Temari passed by Shikamaru and disappeared, her eyes slightly damp.

Source: Naruto: Shikamaru Hiden - A Cloud Drifting in Silent Darknes (2015) by Masashi Kishimoto, Takashi Yano

We see a Temari that is continuously trying to reach someone who she had become closed to and with whom she had worked side by side since the war ended two years ago. Someone who she thought trusted her. The slap is given her sadness with ended up being represented in anger (inferior Fi). She had a real reason to be sad: Temari isn’t someone who lightly trust or cares about someone and Shikamaru was just closing the door to her. Saying that he didn’t need her. And there’s nothing that Temari wants more than feeling need, something that is evidence in her Tsukuyomi Dream, which may not be canon, but yet captured Temari’s character.

Not only that but, as we said, Temari’s basic fear was to be hurt by others. That’s why she usually has that overly confident and seemingly emotionally detached attitude. And once she left her guard down she was hurt by non other than a person she hold dear, which we have seen ain’t an easy point to reach with someone with Temari’s personality. Given her “all or nothing” outlook this might be a really bad wound for her, like if he was back-stabbing her.

That’s why "I never actually thought I could've misjudged you so badly!" and Temari’s cry really is so important. It shows she’s truly hurt. It justifies her punch, no. But it explains it. (I won’t lie, I also wanted give Shikamaru a good punch when I read this)

Also this moment wasn’t exactly the best adapted sequence but it’s much better than the previous one and with the right context it all comes quite justified.

You could also say that there was also that one time were Temari hits Shikamaru with her fan after she realizes in the Konoha Hiden that Shikamaru and her were actually searching for a wedding gift for Naruto and Hinata,

“Hmm, so that’s what it all was....” She said, smiling peacefully.

“No, hold on ...Ah!!” Shikamaru inadvertently let out an exclamation.

It was possible that Temari’s misunderstanding had been- “Hey, oi ...You couldn’t have thought that, right.”

When he said that, for some reason, Temari silently took her tessen off her back, holding it in her hand.

“H-hey...what is it?” He asked. “Why’re you suddenly taking that out...? Wh- what’s up with your chakra...?!”

Temari grinned affectionately at him.

Shikamaru was captivated by the sight, and found a smile forming on his face, too.

Smiling at each other like that, they looked like the very picture of an intimate pair of lovers.

That night in Konoha...

One sudden, out-of-season gale swept over Konoha’s hot springs, and lasted the entirety of the night. The residents and tourists spent the whole night awake, too frightened to sleep...

Source: Konoha Hiden: The Perfect Day for a Wedding (2015) by Masashi Kishimoto and Shō Hinata

And I agree I am not saying this is fine either (though there isn’t that much of an explicit but an implicit hit), but is also something Temari shows to be sorry and ashamed about later in the story. Even though she is prideful and won’t be able to admit it she finally does. Because at the end of the day Temari is a lover and fighter but, even though she won’t admit it, will love rather than fight.

Besides the context in here is different. They had already went on a date and could almost be consider a couple. I had already posted a quote were Ino and Sakura talked about Shikamaru and Temari’s relationship. It was obvious there was something going on for months (If you want to get to know better you can see the time line). It wasn’t that far-fetched to understand the situation as Temari, someone who’s pretty direct, was interpreting them.

It’s something through which they both learn and grew together. Shikamaru will never be as frontal as she might want to but he is willing to give it a try for her and she is willing to try to understand what is going in his mind.

Also I think that this novels suffered of having different writers so it sometimes feels as the story unnecessarily regresses. Kishimoto only illustrates the stories and this becomes pretty showing. However and despite I don’t enjoy Temari hitting Shikamaru, the novels itself aren’t that detached from Temari’s character. The soul of her character is still there.

But are these slight changes in the anime showed us the way that they were trying to head Temari’s character in Boruto, changes that as we had seen during her analysis don’t seem to fit rightly her character. Specially in Perriots adaptation of the manga we see a deep misunderstanding of Temari, from her behaviour to her wants and feelings. Unluckily, the worst was yet to come.

3. Boruto: Why did they did this?

Well, here is what triggered this whole post. Temari’s portrayal in Boruto. And I got to say one thing before starting with this analysis. I really like some scenes of Temari in Boruto.

To see her in action, training with the new generation of the Ino-Shika-Cho and protecting her son were fairly enjoyable but, more importantly, are congruent with her character. It’s her more domestic scenes which I tend to dislike a lot.

I consider than in this scenes they depict Temari as an angry housewife and an aggressive mother which, in my opinion, are the greatest disservice to Temari’s character. Maybe I am the only one that thinks this, but (as I said previously) I don’t find them funny nor that they depict Temari correctly, serve a motif in the narrative or serve any agenda. They are simply treated as comic relief.

This is truly hurting for someone that is not only a Temari fan but a ShikaTema shipper since they transformed a relationship that was based on mutual trust, respect and communication above anything else into this dynamic we see in Boruto.

And I have to hypothesize why they made Temari do this I would have two main factors:

Lazy Writing and Appeal to Nostalgia: All Nara men marry to troublesome woman so they found in this moments a cheep way to remind the audience constantly that Temari is troublesome and therefore be able to make easy correlations to Shikaku’s relationship with Yoshino.

The Tsundere Trend: Maybe this is me overthinking a little bit too much (but when I don’t) but the Tsundere one of the most capitalized dere types in anime. People seem to love them in a way I don’t fully understand. Having a woman inflict danger to his partner is the most easy way to scream “tsundere” maybe not the best but an easy one. Mind that when we speak about a tsundere I mean:

A stock love interest who is usually stern, cold or hostile to the person they like, while occasionally letting slip the warm and loving feelings hidden inside due to being shy, nervous, insecure or simply unable to help acting badly in front of the person they like.

The Japanese term tsundere refers to an outwardly violent character who "runs hot and cold", alternating between two distinct moods: tsuntsun (aloof or irritable) and deredere (lovestruck).

Tsundere Source

Funny enough I never saw Temari as a Tsundere. I would never say, from the manga, that Temari ‘runs hot and cold.’ Yes, you don’t want to mess up with her when she is angry but it’s not like this happen often in the manga.

The only time I consider we have seen Temari go angry pretty quickly (in Naruto) was in her match with Shikamaru when he said that he wouldn’t be defeated by a woman. But I think we can’t apply one situation to larger and broader spectrum. That was in the middle of a fight and, as I explained in a previous post of mine, there were much more other things involved in the context of the manga/anime at that point in time.

I have always consider Temari someone who was deep in control of herself and her emotions, capable of displaying what she wants to show when she wants. This is because of her own basic fear of being hurt, hence she only shows this emotions when she is either, truly hurt, angry or when she trust enough the other person.

That’s why is so important that the only times we have seen Temari fully displaying this emotions were around Shikamaru or her brothers.

I don’t like that much dere types but, if I had to chose one, her sarcastic humor and realistic outlook of life, always seemed more alike to the profile of a hinedere

The hinedere is a sarcastic, cynical person who always looks to the darker, more realistic side of things and is very quick to reveal that to other characters. They tend to be arrogant and cold-hearted however, the hinedere will have a soft spot for their love interest and will reluctantly but reliably do anything for them.

Hinedere Source

This dere type may not be as popular but, I think, fits much more her personality all through Naruto. However, that’s a personal opinion and no falling into a dere type should, if it’s understood correctly, disrupt the core character.

Okay so, they wanted to make Temari fall into this direction but... Why isn’t this her? Well that’s the following point.

4. Why this isn’t Temari?

Temari at the beginning of Naruto is someone that thinks that life is like in the dessert: everything is though and hard and only the fittest are meant to survive. Anything or anyone that shows her weakness is naturally inferior or undesirable. That is her outlook of life: you have to be pragmatic, logic and strong if you want to continue fighting another day. The weak are naturally destined to loose, and hence she doesn’t care to be the one to destroy them since it’s only when you impose fear that you’ll be actually able to survive.

That ideology, she had learn all through her childhood, translates in her battle against Tenten and began to be challenged in her battle against Shikamaru. At the end we see a Temari that, despite being born to fight, develops as a character chooses to dedicate her life to the search of peace in order to protect those weaker ones that she once loathed. That’s why she is an incredible ambassador for Suna and good adviser of Gaara: she yet has that pragmatic, logical and sometimes cynical point of view but that contrast with the idealism of her brother and helps them to balance each other out. She is highly loyal and I am sure she’ll do anything for her family and to protect that peace she found in it.

Hence, I always find it pretty hard to believe that Temari would rather take her fan and hit someone before having a reasonable, direct and straightforward conversation.

Even, before her evolution, we see that Temari is much less willing to enter a unreasonable and violent dispute than her brothers and that is what, in the first instances sets her apart from them.

When Temari first hits the scene just before the start of the Chunin Exams, by mere virtue of the fact that the group that she’s with is intimidating, she becomes a bit scary herself, but she shows to be different than both of them.

Kankuro comes off as the tough, scary guy who you don’t want to mess with only to be swiftly upstaged by the seriously blood-chilling Gaara.

(Sorry for the image in spanish but basically Temari is telling Kankuro to leave Konohamaru alone and to not involve her in his actions)

Temari, on the other hand, stands by coolly, occasionally offering her brothers warnings or plays referee. Her sit-back-and-bide-her-time attitude makes her look like the most stable of the three in comparison; Kankuro picks a pointless fight with a kid and Gaara ends up looking psychopathic.

Temari’s rational and cool behavior also pays testament to what readers later see are some of her major strengths which keeps repeating itself through the manga, in the Forest of Death during The Chunin Exams and in The Five Kages’s Summit it was Temari who during tense times was able to cool them up.

(Temari asking Gaara to calm down during the second stage of the Chunin Exams)

However, I got to admit that Temari isn’t a saint. She has a sharp tongue and she is straight foward and direct what, as we said before may lead to her to say things that, in retrospect, they wish they could rescind, or at least soften, which can lead them to respond defensively or re-actively.

Things like this we see them while she looks at Shikamaru after the failure of Sasuke’s Rescue Mission. Even when she had lectured Shikamaru she then looked at him as if she questioned if she had been to harsh on him. It was clear that she had misjudge him as she realized how much she cared for his friends. Or in the Konoha Hiden as, after having that little incident with Shikamaru she is nervous to see him again.

Images Sources (Manga in Spanish)

That’s why I can’t imagine Temari simply hitting someone just for kicks. Is not like she can’t but that she doesn’t want or sees the appeal to do it.

The is in a lot of senses the perfect kunoichi, disciplined, determined, strong and intelligent and will never let anyone mock her (that’s for sure). She is ruthless towards her opponents cause that is her way of approaching a rival but she will never be violent for violence’s sake.

It’s not like we just attacked the Leaf Village for kicks, you know? We were following orders. That’s all, just like we’re doing on this mission.

Temari to Shikamaru during the Sasuke’s Retrieval Arc

But even less than this I imagine being violent towards people she appreciates and cares as Shikamaru and Shikadai. Yes, I think she would most likely express herself through some tough love, being strict with Shikadai and not letting Shikamaru just slack and complain about everything. But, never, ever, I imagined her being physically or verbally violent towards them without feeling any remorse. Cause she never was in Naruto.

She was direct and honest, maybe a bit to much for people, but after her the Chunin Exams her character never showed to be like that to anyone. Even less towards Shikamaru.

You have the “crybaby” thing going on but I would rather think that of a positive rather than a negative aspect because of the way in which she says it. It shows their connection as individuals which is full of bickering and this back and forth of clever commentaries but that is build on common ground. You may not be the people that like these but that doesn’t mean that Shikamaru feel the same as you.

If not he would never have this expression on this face...

Source Image

Temari is the one that trusted fully in him during war even to the point of considering him capable of being Hokage because “he has the power to reach/.sway away people’s hearts” and she wants to create a world of peace with him. Their relationship was about bringing out the best of each other not the worst, which doesn’t mean they don’t function like fully capable individuals without the other (cause they do) but that through their interactions they developed into better people. We are after all, social creatures and we need of others and the Sand Siblings are exemplary that that doesn’t make you weak but stronger. That you can change your preconceived notions of the world and learn from others, change for the better and use that strength protect instead to attack or seclude yourself.

So why, if Temari was capable to reach a point where she was at her best, letting her fear to be hurt to fall, and use her naturally energetic and confident persona to lead others effectively, through support and guidance, Boruto writers tend to write her in her moments with Shikamaru at what would be her worst, struggling to control her temper and with her stubbornness and rigidness making her excessively enter in conflict or disagreement or directly reject and dismiss others?

This is a complete character regression for Temari. And I don’t mean that characters can’t have their moments, nor that Temari should be perfect, when they are at that stage. But that should be addressed in that manner and not as comic relief.

In my opinion Temari had always a talent to give Shikamaru what he needed, giving him some tough love when he needed but at the same time being empowering.

Source: Naruto: Shikamaru Hiden - A Cloud Drifting in Silent Darkness (2015) by Masashi Kishimoto, Takashi Yano

That’s why, with the clear feel and need to protect and be appreciated by the ones they love and enjoying herself the most when they are surrounded by them, I can’t really see Temari acting like this.

5. PS: I still love you

This turned out to be really long so I won’t pull it any further. Just let me say this last words.

I really like Temari, I really do, and in part a lot of my dislike of her portrayal in Boruto comes from that same factor. I truly think she is an amazing kunoichi and someone girls could look up to when watching Naruto, cause yes she had flaws, but this were addressed as such and were never used as comic relief. Besides, her good qualities and strengths quickly unnumbered her flaws: she was intelligent, strong, honest, disciplined, determined, dutiful, loyal and caring. Yes she might be prideful, overly confident, way to upfront and may not like to show that much her emotions but I don’t consider that this flaws could beat her logical and rational mindset that first matched her with characters like Shikamaru.

Truly I think these scenes are a disservice towards my favorite female character of this whole manga and anime to the extent that if there was one thing I could change about the whole series would be this.

Temari wasn’t that much in the manga or in the anime but she was capable of leaving a palpable impression in me (to the extent that I wrote a +6.6k word essay about her, counting quotes and all) as well as in lots of other people. And that should tell you a lot about her as a character, a character that yes; could have been even better in terms of story and narrative than she was in the Naruto but that also certainly is much better than how they portray her in Boruto.

#naruto #manga #anime #boruto #opinion #temari #shikamaru x temari #nara #shikatema #temashika #shikadai #violence as comic relief is not funny #i will get so much hate for this #character analysis

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alwaysmarilynmonroe · 4 years

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It’s hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world’s most famous Star would leave us all. Yes, I know a lot of you will be thinking, “wait, didn’t she die on the 5th?” – she was found in the early hours of that morning, and her death was announced then – so that is the “technical” date. However, as with many Marilyn “facts” that too is incorrect and so like every year, I will be posting this on the 4th.

I’m not going to write about all the ridiculous dramas and he said she said statements that have grown rapidly over the years, as they don’t deserve any more coverage. Whenever a major celebrity dies, the more shocking the statement, the more attention it gains, so much so that it’s almost became ingrained into society as being accepted as fact. But, I am going to have a big name and shame moment for the two main culprits – Robert Slatzer and Norman Mailer I’m looking at you both. Also Anthony Summers – you’re a piece of crap and I will never forgive you for publishing Marilyn’s autopsy photo in your toilet paper worthy biography.

Long story short as they don’t deserve any mention with Marilyn’s name – Slatzer created the whole Kennedy, Mafia and basically everything shit and defamatory written about Marilyn in the early 1970s. If you want to find out the actual truth with documented facts click HERE.

Sorry to disappoint any conspiracy lovers – Marilyn didn’t love JFK, nor did any of the Kennedy’s kill her, she died of an either accidental or intentional prescription drug overdose. Was I there? No, I wasn’t even alive, but it’s really not hard to disregard the nonsense and absurd claims, when you actually take the time to do a little (a lot in my case) of research.

Baby Norma Jeane in 1929.

Norma Jeane (left) and a friend at the Los Angeles Orphanage in 1936.

Norma Jeane at the Los Angeles Clifton Restaurant, which she attended with her then Husband Jim Doughtery in 1944.

Marilyn by Richard Miller in April 1946.

Marilyn by J.R. Eyerman in 1950.

Marilyn on her Doheny Drive Patio by Alfred Eisenstaedt in May 1953.

Marilyn in Korea visiting the Troops in February 1954.

Marilyn by Milton Greene on January 28th 1955.

Marilyn by Cecil Beaton on February 22nd 1956.

Marilyn during the filming of Some Like It Hot by Richard Miller in October 1958.

Marilyn during the filming of The Misfits by Erich Hartmann in the Autumn of 1960.

Marilyn during the filming of Something’s Got To Give by Lawrence Schiller in May 1962.

Thankfully, I was lucky and never fell down that ridiculous rabbit hole in the first place. I discovered Marilyn whilst reading an article in Vanity Fair magazine almost ten years ago, discussing the then upcoming release of, Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Marilyn Monroe.

This book is truly one of a kind and is basically a published archive of many of Marilyn’s personal letters, excerpts and anecdotes she had written from 1943 until 1962. Before anyone says it’s disrespectful to publish/share these and it is an invasion of privacy, to an extent I agree. However, as stated a few moment ago, with the amount of disrespectful, outrageous nonsense that has been slurred out over the half a century since Marilyn left us – I think it’s a necessity to see her own words in print. Ironically enough, it’s almost as if Marilyn herself foreshadowed the future of the media, when she said this in an Interview to Georges Belmont for Marie Claire Magazine in April 1960.

“The true things rarely get into circulation, it’s usually the false things.”

Therefore, today I have decided to focus on Marilyn herself, not as a Star, Tragic Icon or a pretty face, but as a human who had a beautiful, sensitive soul. Some of you may already know, but for those who don’t, Marilyn actually wrote numerous poems throughout her years, mostly just for herself. In her rare moments of confidence, she would occasionally show a few to her close friend, Writer Norman Rosten, who said the following in his (must have) book, Marilyn Among Friends.

“She had the instinct and reflexes of the poet, but she lacked the control.”

“Although she gave the appearance of being so confident and self assured, she was in reality incredibly self conscious and her own biggest critic, which is heartbreaking really as she was truly gifted. She was such a perfectionist that she would spend hours preparing herself mentally and physically for her beloved fans, regularly looking in the mirror at her perceived flaws. Marilyn was infamous for her lateness, which is often viewed as diva like behaviour. However, the reality is, it’s rarely noted that her anxiety was so severe, she would break out in rashes and even vomit, before going on set.

In her final interview with LIFE Magazine, published one day before her death, she even said to Journalist Richard Meryman,

“I’m one of the world’s most self conscious people. I really have to struggle.”

I remember the first time I looked through Fragments, of course it was very upsetting to see her pain written down and think about her suffering, However, I strongly noticed this recurring theme of hope, despite some incredibly sad notes, there was always some sparkle of inner strength and I just thought that should be said. Often we ourselves don’t see are bravery and bouts of determination in our inner self, but others do and I for one am glad I can see in Marilyn what she could not.

I love you with all of my heart Marilyn, from the moment you came into my life, a decade ago in October 2010. Wherever you may be, I hope you know how much love, joy and happiness you have brought and continue to bring to many people’s lives each day. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem.

Life – I am of both of your directions Somehow remaining hanging downward the most but strong as a cobweb in the wind – I exist more with the cold glistening frost. But my beaded rays have the colors I’ve seen in a painting – ah life they have cheated you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem shared with Norman Rosten and published in his book, Marilyn: An Untold Story.

To the Weeping Willow

I stood beneath your limbs and you flowered and finally clung to me and when the wind struck with.. the earth and sand – you clung to me. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Stones on the walk every color there is I stare down at you like a horizon – the space / the air is between us beckoning and I am many stories up my feet frightened as I grasp towards you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Only parts of us will ever touch parts of others – one’s own truth is just that really – one’s own truth. We can only share the part that is within another’s knowing acceptable so one is for most part alone. As it is meant to be in evidently in nature – at best perhaps it could make our understanding seek another’s loneliness out. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

for life It is rather a determination not to be overwhelmed.

for work The truth can only be recalled, never invented ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951.

What I do believe in What is truth I believe in myself even my most delicate intangible feelings in the end everything is intangible my most precious liquid must never spill don’t spill your precious liquid life force they are all my feelings no matter what ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951. Fear of giving me the lines new maybe won’t be able to learn them maybe I’ll make mistakes people will either think I’m no good or laugh or belittle me or think I can’t act. Women looked stern and critical – unfriendly and cold in general afraid director won’t think I’m any good. remembering when I couldn’t do a god damn thing. then trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence depressed mad ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I do know ways people act unconventionally – mainly myself – do not be afraid of my sensitivity or to use it – for I can & will channel it + crazy thoughts too I want to do my scene or exercises (idiotic as they may seem) as sincerely as I can knowing and showing how I know it is also – no matter – what they might think – or judge from it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I can and will help myself and work on things analytically no matter how painful – if I forget things (the unconscious wants to forget – I will only try to remember) Discipline – Concentration

my body is my body every part of it. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

feel what I feel within myself – that is trying to become aware of it also what I feel in others not being ashamed of my feeling, thoughts – or ideas

realize the thing that they are – ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Sad, sweet trees – I wish for you – rest but you must be wakeful ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Not a scared lonely little girl anymore

Remember you can sit on top of the world (it doesn’t feel like it.) You can have any help you want personally – or in your work – or anything else you want – There are technical ways to go about it or problems – figure out if anything tec. can be done about it because there are people to help you – gladly – you more than most they want to help Remember there is nothing you lack – nothing to be self conscious about yourself – you have everything but the discipline and technique which you are learning & seeking on your own – after all nothing was or is being given to you – you have had none of this work thrown your way you sought it – it didn’t seek you

Too much talent Too much ability and and much too much sensitivity to invert yourself out of fear – not come to class – or to do things like being afraid to come to class or to get up. ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Italian Agenda” Notebook – Written throughout 1955 or 1956.

and the more I think of it the more I realize there are no answers life is to be lived

and since it is comparatively so short – (maybe too short – maybe too long – the only thing I know for sure, it isn’t easy

now that I want to live and I feel suddenly not old not concerned about previous thing except to protect myself – my life – and to desperately (pray) tell the universe I trust it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Parkside House Stationery – Written during her stay in England between July 14th – November 20th 1956.

I guess I have always been deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

In every spring the green is too sharp – though the delicacy in their form is sweet and uncertain – it puts up a good struggle in the wind trembling all the while. Those leaves will relax, expand in the sun and each raindrop they will resist even when they’re battered and ripped. I think I am very lonely – my mind jumps. I see myself in the mirror now, brow furrowed – if I lean close I’ll see – what I don’t want to know – tension, sadness, disappointment, my eyes dulled, cheeks flushed with capillaries that look like rivers on maps – hair lying like snakes. The mouth makes me the saddest next to my dead eyes. There is a dark line between the lips in the outline of several waves in a turbulent storm – it says don’t kiss me, don’t fool me I’m a dancer who cannot dance. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

re – relationships

Everyone’s childhood plays itself out No wonder no one knows the other or can completely understand. By this I don’t know if I’, just giving up with this conclusion or resigning myself – or maybe for the first time connecting with reality –

how do we know the pain of another’s earlier years let alone all that he drags with him since along the way at best a lot of lee-way is needed for the other – yet how much is unhealthy for one to bear.

I think to love bravely is the best and accept – as much as one can bear. ______________________________________________________________________________

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58 Years Without Marilyn. It's hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world's most famous Star would leave us all.

#1940s #1950s #1960s #angel #blonde bombshell #classic hollywood #icon #legend #marilyn monroe #norma jeane #norma jeane baker #old hollywood #retro

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another-mexico-oc · 4 years

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The most used Mexico´ cliches in fanfiction and comics (And surely this can apply to any other OC)

Traducción en Español: AQUÍ

DISCLAIMER:

This post DOES NOT intend to throw shit and attack specific authors or their work, so out of respect we will not mention names. If you have read my other posts you will know that this only has the purpose of entertaining and to give a personal opinion.

Also, this does not intend to be a manual or guide on how to write a good comic or fanfic. It is only a compilation of repetitive elements found throughout these works.

Now, let's continue ...

Hi! How are you doing? I hope you are safe at home, and in case you have to go outside take your precautions.

I have been in Hetalia's fandom for more than a year, and the Countryhumans' less than a year, and both my cousin and I have seen and read enough material from Mexico's OCs, enough to compile in a list the most popular cliches when reading a fanfic or comic which involves this character. As I said at the beginning, this is not a guide of what to do and what not, but we invite creators to find new ways to tell the same stories (or even new ones) differently and to not fall into the predictable.

( Perhaps it is because in my university career one of my teachers was very demanding with coherent scripts and stories, and that she tended to review them 10 times before giving the approval, that I became very demanding with the creation of stories and characters. But that's my personal issue! )

Sarcastically, this should be called "The clichés that cannot be miss for your Mexico´ story" :

1. The Mexico´OC was created ONLY to be the love interest of another character (the author's favorite):

In the same way, the author´ comics and fanfics will be of the romantic genre, and it will involve his favorite ship (or his various ships if he/she is a multi-shipper). Making a brief conclusion, there are few works in which Mexico stands out as a character, without having the love interest, or the famous harem, as the main plot.

And if you were curious, here is a chart that shows the most used ships in the Hetalia´ case, although in 2020 it may have slight changes:

(Denmark and Norway?! I have never found any fic about them being paired with Mexico)

2. María Sue and Gary Estuardo:

More cliché this could not be. Even when I´m mexican myself, I realize that the representation of my country has received the Mary Sue treatment by the fandom, both in Hetalia and in Countryhumas, and mostly by the latino and mexican community. I already talked about this HERE, but I'll summarize it:

Regardless of whether Mexico is a man or a woman:

- They will be the center of the universe, all the characters will kiss the ground they step on, they will be the most cute person in the world, without flaws, and their greatest virtue will be his or her ethereal beauty that will make everyone to fall in love with them, with just an eye blink.

- It´s never their fault and they will never face the consequences of their actions, e.g. causing WW3. What's even more, he or she is just a poor victim of the evil countries that want to take advantage of his/her territory.

- Having got laid or dating half of the world will not cause them serious consequences or a negative reputation.

- Personality? Oh my, that´s very complicated to write, instead I will narrate how my female Mexico arrived at the restaurant with a dress that highlighted her feminine attributes and how her long and abundant hair made more than one person to sigh; Or how my male Mexico wore tight pants that showed his perfect toned legs, and that when he smiled he made blush every country.

If it was a parody, I'd accept Mexico to be a Mary Sue or a Gary Stu. But usually the authors want you to take the story and the character seriously. So... nope.

3. Plots taken from soap operas, or telenovelas:

Believe it or not, there are authors who have admitted that their Mexico´ fanfics are based on mexican telenovelas. And the worst thing is that telenovelas have the most cliche stories in the world! Think about it, you have a good and humble, but kind of dumb person, who in this case is going to be Mexico, who falls in love with a handsome and rich person, who will obviously be a first world country, but there is someone who wants to finish their romance. You also have forced marriages, fights, misunderstandings, slaps, super dramatic scenes, passionate scenes, cheesy titles...

Mix all this elements together, and you will get:

For comedy purpose, we will be using my OC)

4. The fanfic or comic always, ALWAYS, has to start with a world meeting:

I propose a challenge for you and your friends. Gather together and search for Mexico fanfics, no matter the fandom where you all came from. Take a shot, or put a coin in a jar, for every time the first chapter begins at a meeting.

And almost always it is here where the author builds the romantic story, examples:

“It was a normal day in the boardroom, everyone was arguing while Germany (United Nations if it is a Countryhumans fic) tried in vain to put order and discipline. Only a nation was waiting for a certain person with brown skin and delicate features, to enter through that great door… ”

“Suddenly, a brown skin girl with black and curly hair (Seriously guys, where did you got the idea your average mexican girl has natural curly hair?!) entered the room, and the entire room went silent. Everyone who was there had something to do with that young lady, and seeing her there, turned into a full woman, left them stunned. She was gorgeous.”

Another cliché, but this one can be in any story, is: "Realizing that it was getting late, he got up, took off his pajamas, groomed, combed his hair, and put on his yellow shirt with his ...". There are several ways to start the story without the famous world meeting and the character's morning routine.

5. The harem and love triangles (or any other geometric shape):

This cliché could not be missing either. There are a lot of Mexico x TheWorld´ fanfics. As I said before, I am not against the shipping and the harem of Mexico, each one is free to ship whatever they like, as long as there is respect between the community.

But even when an author wants to focus on a single couple, let's take for example Canada x Mexico, he necesarily has to include USAMex and RusMex as secondary couples, and at some point it gets exhausting and reforces the Mary Sue treatment. It seems that for many authors, Mexico's international relations automatically translate into a “romantic relationship”, and not into a friends or business partners one.

And also, the construction of the relationship it feels sometimes very empty. The author doesn't give time to show how they become a couple or how they found the chemistry in the other. In the third chapter they are already making out!

6. The toxicity:

Oh yeah.

I don't blame this clichá, my cousin and I concluded that healthy relationships are rare in Hetalia and Countryhumans. Practically all countries have one or two flaws that at first sight makes them look toxic. And in Mexico's fanfics and comics, particularly those involving USAMex, the character gets involved in a possessive and codependent relationship.

If Mexico is not a dominant male or a femme fatale, it will be a submissive character who will allow all kinds of abuse. Or in each chapter he or she will doubt about his/her relationship, and will make their partner jealous.

To write a healthy relationship, you must work on the characters' strengths and make them both face their flaws, but instead, the authors take these flaws and make them the basis of the relationship.

7. The party´ chapter in which things get ... heavily crazy:

Okay, so we have our first chapter at the world meeting, where we establish the main couple. Now what we need is the stage for the lovebirds to confess their love ... while being drunk. In many works we will find the countries gathered at a party (usually a Latino party), and the author will narrate all the crazy events that occur, including how Mexico and his sweetheart, will confess their feelings after having taken a few bottles, and sometimes this gets to ...

8. The chapter (or chapters) + 18

This is almost a requirement for many fanfic´ writers, and is always written in the same way. The author will narrate you in detail from the moment they begin to undress until the climax moment.

9. Spain will never stop calling Mexico "New Spain", despite the fact that more than 200 years have passed since the country's independence and its recognition:

And in the case of Hetalia, Mexico must have the same last name as Spain: Hernández Carriedo. Yes, in the same way that United States last name is not Jones, but Kirkland, like its ex-colonizer England; or that Belarus last name is Braginski as his brother Russia, and not Arlovskaya.

Also, although Spain continues to call Mexico "New Spain", he will never call Argentina "Rio de la Plata" or Colombia "New Granada". Similarly, England and France will never call America and Canada "13 Colonies" and "New France" respectively. It seems to be something exclusive for Spain and Mexico.

10. Repetitive references and jokes, or lack of knowledge about the country.

Paco the chihuahua dog, Mexico and Sudamericans fighting over the avocado´s name, Mexico having flashbacks of his/her past with the Aztec Empire and with the USA when they were colonies, Mexico complaining about his/her rulers and corruption within the country, Mexico crying over Texas, Mexico demonstrating his/her beautiful culture to other countries …

Not to mention when someone makes an Mexico OC and his knowledge of the country is very basic: tacos, sombreros, Day of the Dead, always hot climate, the wall issue with America, Aztec and Maya as the only ancestors of Mexico, Texas, burritos... Sorry if I sound rude but, those people need to read and investigate more, and watch less movies where Mexico has that yellow filter.

11. Bad translations

Okay, this is something exclusive of the spanish speaking fandom, but I´ll tell you what´s their issue.

Some author had the brilliant idea to make the dialogues of the countries in their respective languages, followed by placing the Spanish translation in parentheses, and from there many followed suit. The problem is when you notice that they don´t speak or understand the language, and instead they use the Google translator, obtaining results like this:

There have been several occasions when I am reading America and England´ dialogues, and it makes me want to write in the comment section: “DON´T USE THE GOOGLE TRANSLATOR! ” I wouldn´t know what to say from the rest of the countries, since my French is very basic,and I have hardly learned one phrase from the others languages.

My advise for these authors is to find a person who is fluent in the language and who can help them with the dialogues. Or even better, try to avoid this cliché, because at the end of the day people will only read the translation, and it is already implied that each country speaks in its respective language. Also doing this is very pretentious.

The less you can do is to add in the dialogues well know words, like adiós, hola, bonjour, ciao...

12. Changing the canon personalities. Or worse: turn a loved character into a villain.

I already said this HERE too. Basically, for the author to make his Mexico an empathic character and to make other countries to fall in love with him or her, they must conveniently change their canon personalities. This applies more in Hetalia than in Countryhumans, since this last one belongs to the community and nobody can establish what is canon and what is not. On the other hand, in Hetalia the characters already have their own personalities, and neither plays the role of villain. And there is a big difference between being an antagonist or a villain, but I´ll let you to investigate it yourself.

This cliché is closely related to the Mary Sue treatment, because if I want readers to empathize with Mexico, I must turn another character into an evil person who is going to put him through hardships. And normally this character is the United States or America, whatever you call him.

If I want Russia or Germany to fall in love with Mexico, I must rewrite their characters and throw out the unstable part of Russia, and Germany's little experience regarding romantic relationships, just to make them the most romantic and sentimental people in the world.

✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥ ✥

There you have it! I think I already roasted 80% of Mexico fanfiction and fanart, but is not like they are going to dissapear with this post. On the good side, for every time I cringed reading some of these works, I have saved a good amount money, you must try it. I should try an aside blog where I criticize bad fanfiction... But at the moment, that´s all for today! See ya!

#mun says #personal opinion #hws mexico #aph mexico #hetalia mexico #countryhumans mexico #fanfiction reviews #clichés

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scarlettsabetlondongirl · 4 years

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Read Full article here or below

Poet Scarlett Sabet talks isolation, inspiration and working with her partner, Jimmy Page

Scarlett Sabet’s spoken word album Catalyst grapples with love, politics and isolation – and features production by Jimmy Page

By Thomas Barrie

19 April 2020

Envy Jimmy Page: one of the most compelling, passionate poems of recent years was written about him. It was penned by his partner, the poet Scarlett Sabet, and it appears on Sabet’s latest spoken-word album Catalyst – which Page produced. Seems like a fair deal.

Sabet, who was born in Surrey but now lives in London, has been working with Page since they first met in 2014. She now has four written collections to her name, alongside the album. Her work is often political and, enhanced by Page’s production on the spoken-word tracks, sensual and otherworldly. Sabet names William S Burroughs and the beat poets as influences, and Jack Kerouac in particular – one track on Catalyst is named “For Jack” – though she is just as likely to write about the immigration crisis or the Bataclan massacre as she is to embrace the fluidity and experiential language of the Beats.

GQ spoke to Sabet, who elaborated on Catalyst, her relationship and collaboration with Page and how she has been working during the coronavirus lockdown.

How are you and Jimmy spending time in the pandemic? What’s it like?

Scarlett Sabet: I think, as a writer, I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf. Social distancing has come naturally to me. From a very young age I would always read my parents’ books; my mother would have a lot of Margaret Atwood. I would kind of dive into my parents’ bookshelf and obviously that has spilled out into writing.

I think with the virus it's different, because there's this unfolding tragedy every day, so it's nothing to be glib about. I get up in the morning, have a green tea and try to meditate. I try to do yoga in the morning, something physical, and I’ve been watching the five or six o'clock news to check in with it. This is the fine line I think everyone's trying to balance at the moment – wanting to know what's going on, because things change by the hour and it's massively life-changing, but I think you need to balance your intake. So I definitely watch the news and then read and write and experiment.

We were scheduled to do a slot at Hay Festival. Jimmy was asked to talk about Catalyst. And then I'd also been asked by Van Morrison to read some of his lyrics – he's got a book of his lyrics coming out. The first one came out in 2016, so I read “The Way Young Lovers Do” at a festival in Belfast in 2016. He was going to do a similar event here as well, so that would have been nice. But I think it's going to be taken to the internet, as it were. I'm recording a video for Van at some point.

How do you keep writing during isolation? Is it hard to find inspiration?

Scarlett Sabet: Sometimes, with writing, I’ve found that discipline works – doing it every day and treating it like a job. I also have had amazing moments of inspiration. One of the poems on Catalyst was called “Fifth Circle Of Hell”. I wrote that here at home and it was about the refugee crisis. I remember seeing a tent in the rain in Calais and thinking, “Jesus.” I wrote a couple of lines down in my Moleskine notebook. And then I remember thinking like, “OK, I'm going to write more about that tomorrow.” The next day, Jimmy had a meeting in the house. So he was in one room and I just went off into a small room and I couldn't go anywhere else in the house. I had a green tea. I was in front of my computer. I typed that one up. And it just came out – it was like a channelling: these images and just a sense of, “What the hell is going on?”

My father was born in Iran, so I'm half-Persian and that made a big impact. I’m very lucky. My parents sent me to a private school and my father was studying architecture in Italy and then the UK, prior to the Iranian Revolution. But nonetheless, that changed his life, and the whole country. On the other side of my family, my great-grandfather was in the French Resistance and his life definitely would have been different if his country hadn’t been occupied by the Nazis. So this is one of the things I was saying to Jimmy: stuff has been cancelled, but it's bigger than us. It's all in perspective. So I'm definitely trying to be positive, keep a routine and check in with friends and family. It's a good time to be grateful for what you do have.

Your work seems very connected to the outside world, though – is it hard to work when you’re stuck indoors?

Scarlett Sabet: I wrote “Rocking Underground” – the first track on Catalyst – on the Tube. My computer broke and it was a deadend Sunday. I grew up in Dorking in Surrey and I love London, but any big city, whether it's New York or London, the effort it takes, sometimes, just to exist is hard. This particular Sunday, I was on the Tube and my computer broke and I just had this “Urgh” feeling. I had Walt Whitman’s Leaves Of Grass in my bag and I was reading that and I had trouble connecting to his world. I thought “This is beautiful, but this is not my reality today.” And so I put down the book and I got out my Moleskine again, and I wrote “Rocking Underground”. There weren't rewrites of that. That's how it came out the first time I wrote it. It was definitely channelling something coming through me.

How has Jimmy influenced your poetry?

Scarlett Sabet: The first poetry reading I ever did was in 2013, at the World’s End Bookshop in Chelsea. I had an apartment in Knightsbridge and Jimmy lived [near] High Street Kensington, so we bumped into each other. We had a mutual friend; we both went to this bookshop. I waitressed for my whole twenties – I only stopped waitressing last August because I knew Catalyst was coming up and I knew we'd be doing stuff for that. So Jimmy came to the first poetry reading, which I organised, and a friend of mine from waitressing, Alice, designed the poster. I just felt compelled to share my work and I invited other people. That was in November 2013. And Jimmy came along. I think that really resonated with him.

And so, our relationship started at the end of August 2014. I self-published my first book in November 2014. I was so young and I was flattered that [a publisher] wanted to publish me – I took that as a good endorsement, but I wasn't quite sure. And I mentioned to Jimmy and said, “What do you think? Do you think I should do it with them?” And he said he thought they were kind of playing me around and he said, “Are you ready to publish?” I said yes. And he said, “Well, then you should self-publish.” And I was like, “Oh, OK.” I didn't really think of that. The parallel he used was that he had been in The Yardbirds. He’d been a session musician and when The Yardbirds ended, he went back to being a session musician. He knew he wanted to create a band, but seeing how the record label’s demand for producing hit single, hit single, hit single had broken The Yardbirds, he thought “I'm not going to do that.” Instead of going to a record company and saying, “I would like to write some songs in the studio, please can I have some money?” he produced and paid for Led Zeppelin’s first album – and then went to them and said, “This is what we’ve got and this is what we’re going to do.” So in the spirit of that, I self-published. Waitressing paid for that.

Around the time my first book came out – and this was before people found out Jimmy and I were together – that was when Jimmy first brought up the idea that we might do something together. He said, “We should do that at some point.” Part of Jimmy’s genius is timing. We felt it would be best to announce [our relationship] and release [our collaboration] on the same day. And Jimmy said, “Look, some people are going to love it. Some people are not. But at least that way it could speak for itself.” Instead of there being chatter about it, people could just listen to it, make up their own minds. So we did it that way. And it was really very magical working with Jimmy. He’s really believed in me before anyone else and at times more then I believe in myself.

Tell me about “Possession”, which you’ve read for us from home.

Scarlett Sabet: It seems very sensual and it's about being in love. And it's about the divinity of our passion together and my desire for him. I know, to a lot of people, our relationship looks a certain way on paper, but to me I just can't believe it – it's like we were pulled together and it's been this amazing love and [he’s] this amazing person who's been my mentor as well. “Possession” was written trying to understand what it is that we… As soon as we came together, it was like this collision.

Jimmy didn’t really do anything to it on Catalyst. There are no effects applied to it like there were to “Fifth Circle Of Hell”. It's definitely very intimate. I remember saying I would whisper it to him. There's so much tragedy and death and I just felt like, “You know what? I'm grateful for the love I have.” Let's focus on something loving, as it were, and something a bit more intimate, because the global landscape at the moment is very brutal and sad

Catalyst can be purchased here

#scarlett sabet #jimmy page #jimmy page girlfriend #led zeppelin #catalyst #spoken vinyl #Spoken Word Album #spoken poetry album #GQ #GQ British #rock couple #coronavirus #poet #poetry

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jenroseyokel · 5 years

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Books I Loved This Summer

Well, hello there. Autumn has been… a lot. The calendar grew full. Most of my writing has been on pause. I’ve simultaneously started part 2 of Transformational Listening and am on my way to becoming a spiritual director (!) and learned that my time at my current job is coming to an end. (!!) So I guess you could say that this autumn, I’m well caught in the threads of liminal space.

But I’ll have more to say about that in my next Tiny Letter. Sign up if you’d like to read more on that. (how’s that for a shameless plug?) For now, let’s talk about books.

Summer is usually a weird reading time. I want to lean hard into fun books, like sci-fi and YA and comics and such. I want to leave the world behind for a bit, to go on adventures. But summer also brings a mix of laziness and activity, of house guests and local adventures. And I notice that it is, in a way, a hibernation from the world of the Internet, and when the world is going back to school, I go back to my keyboard.

It’s a rhythm, right?

So, books. In the name of resting my brain from all the heavy duty spiritual reading of the prior nine months, this was the summer to revisit Middle Earth, go on a Star Wars adventure, and follow up on some themes from my transformational listening class. Here are a few books I read and heartily enjoyed… a couple of them would be better fall books, so in a way, perhaps the timing of this list is perfect...

Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans

Confession: though I have long been an appreciator of RHE since reviewing her first book almost a decade ago (how is that possible?) and share in the grief of losing her voice far too early, somehow, I never got around to reading anything else by her until this summer. But at the end of last year’s Transformational Listening class, our teacher encouraged us to follow up on what we’d learned by reading Searching for Sunday. “It will help you understand what Christians, especially younger ones, are looking for,” she said. “And it should make you ask how we can be the kind of church they need.”

I can write a whole blog post on that statement alone, but… this is not that blog post. Suffice to say, this is a memoir of growing up Evangelical, becoming disillusioned, nearly losing faith, and finding it again in the Episcopal church. Rachel was a funny, wise, and compassionate writer, and I love that this book recognizes the complicated relationship so many have with the church, but offers hope to find a way home. This was a beautiful book to read at this time in my life, so maybe I never read it because I didn’t need to yet.

The Sacred Enneagram by Chris Heuertz

Oh yes, the Enneagram. I still haven’t read a ton of actual books on the subject, but I’ve appreciated Chris’ perspective on various podcasts and gave this a try. I love the generosity he brings to the subject, and how he offers a focus on spiritual disciplines to help each type grow. It’s a Christ-centered, somewhat mystical, growth oriented approach and I am here for it.

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

I first read this trilogy when the original film came out in 2001, so it’s been… 18 years? It took six months. After spending about half of those 18 years talking about how badly I need to read it again, this summer it was time. (Yes, I know, it’s best to read in the fall, preferably begun on Hobbit Day, but let me live!)

This time I cleared the whole thing in three months, and it was even better than I remembered. So much so, I felt genuinely sad to leave Middle Earth behind, something that doesn’t happen to me with many fictional worlds. I’d say it was a summer well-spent.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

This has been on my radar for years. A beautifully written, decades spanning fantasy with magic, mystery, and just the right amount of darkness. I loved Morgenstern’s writing and felt caught up in the world she built, and will happily read more from her. I just wished I’d saved it for October because the Halloween vibes are STRONG. If you’re looking for a novel right now, take note.

Phasma by Delilah S. Dawson

And continuing my affection for Star Wars novels…. My friend @ashleywritesstuff (who is coincidentally obsessed with Phasma and pretty much anything Gwendoline Christie does) highly recommended this as one of the good ones. The origin story for one of the film franchise’s most intriguing new villains. Think Star Wars, but make it more Mad Max: Fury Road. It’s a bit more dark and violent than you may expect from a Star Wars tale, but a gripping read nonetheless, especially if you’ve wondered about the secrets behind that chrome helmet.

So… that was my summer reading life, brought to you late October. Seems like a fitting way to break the blog silence! I’m thinking next month I’ll write a fall recap (there will be lots of spiritual direction books… the TL-2 reading list is no joke) and at the end of the year share my favorite reads of 2019.

In the meantime, you can catch my regularly updated list on Goodreads, and catch up on the rest of my 2019 reading life here. Feel free to comment and share what you’ve been reading!

Photo by Alfons Morales on Unsplas

#books #my reading year 2019 #am reading

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

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“Am I weird?” Rhy was swinging his legs where he and Kell sat on a wrought-iron bench in the garden, schoolbooks open and totally ignored beside them. Kell had managed to scare off the latest in a series of well-meaning tutors (at Rhy’s instigation, not that Emira ever admitted anything was Rhy’s fault if Kell was involved - it meant he didn’t get in trouble but also, it made him feel guilty, so he tried not to ask Kell to do things too often) so they were largely on their own until the new tutor arrived.

This last one had been particularly easy, though; all Kell had done was stare at him. Just… stare, with his hair swept up and away from that black eye. After a week of that, the tutor had packed his things up and gone, muttering things about the aven vares being a curse and not a blessing.

Kell hadn’t minded; it wasn’t the first time someone had been unnerved by the black eye. He hadn’t even seemed to mind Emira’s lecture, or Maxim’s anger. All he’d done was look to Rhy, and Rhy had smiled and made faces behind his parents’ backs while they alternately yelled and deadly-anger-whispered, and Kell had struggled not to smile right back.

He and Kell were just the same, except for the places where they weren’t. There were probably things in Kell’s head Rhy didn’t know, and there were about to be a lot more of them. Kell only had one more year before they’d start making him really study at the Sanctuary, learn about being an Antari and all the things that made him different from Rhy.

Tieren Serense had come - and he liked Tieren Serense normally, but right now he didn’t, because the Aven Essen had said Kell would want to sleep at the Sanctuary, too. That he and Rhy might grow apart, the way Rhy was pretty sure his mother was hoping they would.

Well, Rhy thought, and felt himself the essence of daring, she’s damn wrong.

“But he lives here, Aven Essen,” Rhy had protested. “He already has a bedroom here! He and I do everything together!” Tieren Serense had seen the look on his face, stormclouds and rage, at dinner and asked to speak to him alone.

Kell had been quiet all night and had watched them go, looking sad, pushing food around on his plate and pretending to eat while Maxim and Emira chatted about how much he would like it there.

Emira had looked oddly at Rhy the whole time, with that awful glass-about-to-break look she got on her face that Rhy hated most, because it meant that later on he would have to be the grownup who did the comforting and Emira would be the one who had to be comforted.

“Kell needs some time at the Sanctuary to truly focus on his studies,” Tieren Serense had said kindly, with that sense of calm that floated around him everywhere. Normally that was enough to cool Rhy’s temper, but not today.

“He’s my brother! He should be with me!”

“He is Antari,” Tieren said quietly. “I know this is difficult for you, but he is different, and he needs to be in a place where he can focus on his studies and won’t second-guess himself so much.”

“He’s a prince, what does he have to second-guess about? He can learn just as well here as he can over there! Why can’t you just come here to teach him?”

There was a silence.

“Rhy, what Kell needs most of all is time to separate himself from you.”

Rhy had stared, blinking wide dark eyes in confusion.

“Your brother puts great stock in you, and in what you say and think.” The Aven Essen patted him on the back. “You must show him that you believe it is right for him to learn, and that you trust him and believe he can do this himself, on his own. Kell cannot be always in your shadow.”

But that’s where he wants to be, Rhy thought. Isn’t it?

“Kell is going to be very powerful, my prince-”

“He’s already powerful! He already has more magic than anyone else!”

“Yes, this is true. But power without discipline, without balance, is erratic. If he does not learn to balance it, to focus it, Kell could hurt himself with the magic that is in him. That kind of magic, Rhy - the Antari… if they do not use their magic correctly, it can poison the blood. We have no other Antari to help him learn, only the books, and so his way will be harder. He needs the quiet to focus. He needs to be his own person, away from a place full of such expectations for him. He needs to be in a place where he will not push himself near to death because he is trying to be what you want him to be.”

“What if what I want is for him to just stay with me forever?”

“Then… hm.” Tieren had never finished the thought, but had instead started asking Rhy unrelated questions about his own education and riding lessons and after a while he’d been distracted and cheerful again. But that night, in bed, Rhy had thought that what Tieren Serense didn’t say was that if he didn’t want him to learn, Kell wouldn’t.

Kell’s whole life was him, and Rhy had never thought about it - they were brothers, after all, his whole life was Kell just the same - but that night… that night he’d thought, if I asked Kell not to learn the blood magic, he wouldn’t. He would try not to, just because I asked him. He might let it poison him even, like Tieren says, just to make me feel better.

That was power, to be sure; that was having power over another person in a way that scared Rhy, too young to really face what that might mean. That was a power over Kell he did not want to wield.

That if he asked Kell not to go, he would stay, even if it hurt.

The next day he’d been cheerful and happy about the Sanctuary, and Kell had been thrown off, but he’d relaxed a lot, too, for the first time in weeks. And it wasn’t like Kell was staying all the time over there, he’d come back at least twice a week at the beginning and more later. And it was only for a couple of years.

They didn’t have to stop being who they were to each other, they just needed to learn to be what they were in two different ways.

For now, though, they could still be the same. Two princes absolutely refusing to do their schoolwork on a perfectly beautiful day.

“Kell, am I? Am I weird?”

Kell frowned at him. He was in the shade of a big tree, while Rhy sat in the sun. His big brother’s blue-and-black eyes were always focused, always serious, and he was chewing nervously on his bottom lip. “What do you mean, weird?”

“Because I don’t have magic, of course. Everyone has magic. You have tons and tons of it. Mother and Father have so much magic! Cook down in the kitchens has magic!”

“Rhy, you know magic doesn’t work that way. It just happens or it doesn’t. It’s not weird not to have any and besides, we don’t know that you won’t show some ability later.”

“You sound like Father.”

“Well, he might be right.” Kell shrugged. “He’s right about a lot of things, isn’t he?”

“He’s… he’s wrong about a lot of things, too, though.”

Kell was silent, but then Kell was always quiet. Always had been. When he’d first come to stay with them, Mother had been worried he couldn’t speak at all for the first week, before one day at dinner he had put his hands out and politely asked for more rolls, in perfect Royal, as though he’d known it his whole life.

After that, Rhy had snuck into his room, and they’d played swordfight with Rhy’s toy swords. Rhy had bashed Kell on the forehead accidentally and cried when he bled, but Kell had just laughed and hit him back, and that had been it, they’d been brothers ever since.

The thing was, Kell didn’t really like to be seen.

(Click here to read the rest)

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lovecanbesostrange · 5 years

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I have a lot of feelings about the latest Grey’s Anatomy ep “Silent All These Years” and so let me ramble a bit. I can’t put everything into well written and organized words, but I have to type something:

First off all, hats off to writer Elisabeth R. Finch and director Debbie Allen. Amazing work. The script is tight, tackles so many issues about trauma (related to rape/abuse) all at once, without ever losing the focus that is on the victims. The SURVIVORS. They are the ones talking, they are the ones the camera follows, no unnecessary distractions. We are here to listen to their stories and empathize with their emotions. As hard as it is.

That said, I want to get one tiny thing out of the way. I like how the guys are handled, that we do see. There is Alex, supportive husband #1 who clearly wants to do everything that helps, having no clue what is going on (being concerned, not mad). There is DeLuca, who catches on to what Jo is saying without saying it and from there on following her lead, whatever she asks. And we get this minimalistic b-story about Tuck dating and getting a very important talk about consent from Warren. That is really good, because he is the young generation, the one we have to raise to be better. (Warren could’ve thrown in that Tuck can say no himself anytime as well, but that’s the smallest missed opportunity ever. The sports analogy of a time out is so good and easy to grasp.)

Where to even start? Just to pick something let me go with how trauma is not an Olympic discipline where the winner gets a medal. Because they have all lost already. In different ways. And you can’t deny somebody their feelings of pain and hurt, because you have been hurt as well. It does not work like that and that is the biggest take away I get from Jo and Vicki meeting. It should be a common sense statement, something we can agree on easily, but we are so trained to look for somebody being wrong, for somebody being right, for a conflict with clear edges. There are none.

Vicki was raped. At a time when she wasn’t even allowed to think about it as rape, because she said yes to a date. (It always makes me sick knowing that it was only in 1997 when German law ruled that rape in a marriage was a crime at all.) She felt all the shame and guilt and was completely alone, because how to even ask for help? To hammer this point home we get Abby’s storyline. Who so randomly bumped into Jo at the hospital and so accidentally found a person who would not leave her for a second. (I know Meredith would have caught on, just like Teddy did. But Jo was in this headspace already, and sometimes finding the help you need is dumb luck and that is a terrifying reality.) Vicki had nobody to push her, to talk to. She went down the path of staying silent. And nobody has the right to yell at her for that.

But of course Jo is hurt. And she has to now re-arrange everything she ever imagined about her biological mother and the circumstances that lead to her being left at a firestation as a baby who never did anything wrong. Just think about it, with all the crap that Jo has lived through, the one thing she never imagined was that she was conceived during rape. That was too far a reach for her. And I guess that is in part because she herself had an abortion, because she could not imagine bringing a child into her marriage with Paul.

That bomb went off. Wow. Like I could already see some pro-lifers gleefully using this episode. That if Vicki would’ve had an abortion, like we advocate for rape victims to have the choice to, there would be no Jo. It would be so easy to fall into this trap. But nope, Jo then talks about how she was in a different, yet also desperate, situation and she did the best she could think of – which was an abortion. And I dare anybody to try to weigh these two things and tell me there is an outcome that won’t leave people traumatized one way or the other. It is so not a sport and there is no always right/always wrong answer. And that makes this scene, that is just a long conversation, so difficult and powerful and brutally honest. That is something that more people need to fully understand.

Vicki never wanted to hurt Jo. The fact she clung to these stories that mothers feel all the love and joy once the child is born – she tried. And I admire that so much. But then there was only more pain. For nine months she was reminded of this event, she didn’t even dare name rape and the baby that came out of it made this open wound so much worse. And how much do you think she hated herself for resenting a baby? How do you even start to get back into your right mind? The way Vicki talks about this – it’s a memory, it’s a thing in the past, and with one flick of a switch it’s all fresh.

Michelle Forbes does such a good job to show this. Vicki opens the door, her kids are in the kitchen, she’s open to whoever just knocked, she gets the mail and all is well. All is this normal world she knows. And one word from Jo, who is a stranger, and it’s like her rapist is breathing down her neck. That is a trigger. They just show the thing. (btw as always such a good Meredith voice over for the beginning and end to remind us about this week’s theme) Vicki has a good life, a family, a job where she helps others. And all that is taken away in a second and she is put back into the worst place she was ever in.

I like how both, Vicki and Jo, have a moment where they get up from the table. The way Vicki asks if Jo came to hurt her and that worked. So here is something I wonder about Jo in this situation. Letting out her frustration and anger that has built up over the years is one thing. And it’s clear to us that she doesn’t have a real game plan. What to say, what to expect, what to even get out of this. There is a lot of uncertainty and she lets emotions take over. But what does it do to her to realize that her very existence is a trigger for Vicki? When she asks if she looks like her father. A word Vicki rejects for his contribution (she is the biological mother, not a mom though, but he is even less – a point explored in the film [i]Room[/i], with a far different set up of course). That nameless TA, that raped Vicki, never knew about Jo and now she has to live with the knowledge that this connection hurts somebody so bad on so many levels…

Vicki just listens to whatever Jo has to say. And how does that feel, that the baby she gave up had no break in life from the start and fell for an abusive man. (This is also of note, Jo makes it very clear when talking to Abby, that she suffered through domestic violence, but was not raped, nothing “like this” happened to her.) Once again, a tiny bit of luck was all that was missing. Being placed with a good foster family at the right time and Jo’s life could’ve been completely different. And now Jo and Vicki are facing off, both with their very own trauma, that can all be traced back to one night. But it was society that failed them both. They are not enemies, but how to reconcile the different points of view here?

Abby is the story in the now that anchors it all. As sickening as it is, I’m sure if we just had that diner conversation randomly thrown in as maybe even the B-plot, it would be easy to dismiss. Jo being angry, a woman talking about a rape that happened over 30 years ago… but seeing what Abby has to go through, just to get help, is the reminder of what rape means. And it is not about some quick sex. It’s not over and done and here is what the immediate aftermath looks like. Without being exploitative. They show how invasive and almost degrading it is to get that rape kit done. Even with the most compassionate people by your side, it’s torture all over again. And in the end that is for the benefit of the survivor.

Those moments before, when Abby vocalizes her fears, how she knows these stories and how that damn kit might never do anything good and she wants it done and be over with it – I felt all of that in my bones. So, another kudos here to Khalilah Joi. Both guest actresses give it their all. But Jo pushes. Against protocol. Teddy does everything the best she can think of and I like how she talks about giving Abby the tiniest bit of agency back in all of this. But Jo pushing with the right words, putting it into perspective that later on emotions change and this is about having a chance.

I love how Abby grabs Jo’s hand in a panic and then they never let go of each other. You can even see Jo switching hands so she can close the curtain and so it’s clear she did that again when getting her coat off. Never letting go. It’s such a simple gesture, yet so powerful and the clear picture of not being alone. Jo saying “I got you, Abby. I’m not going anywhere.” It’s a lifeline and I wish we could live in a world where this is the default response to get from doctors (other people in general, especially those with the knowledge/power to directly help). This is all about Abby, helping her and never is it made about the rapist or even the exact circumstances. It should not matter that she was out to get drinks. And that she questions herself if she should’ve taken another route home…

The most striking visual is of course lining up all the women so Abby won’t have to see a male face. And more than that, faces of so many women who are all willing to be here for her, symbolizing she is not alone. On the one hand it is mortifying, but on the other Abby isn’t the one who needs to hide. She survived. The only thing she deserves is help and support. And so we get this scene as a heavy show-don’t-tell of sorts.

“It’s not your fault.”

This is not an episode about fault. The abandoned-child-seeks-biological-parent has been played out in very many different ways. But this is not that story. Jo’s anger is understandable. Vicki’s behavior is understandable. Abby’s reluctance is understandable. Three women, all have their own story and in some ways Jo and Vicki have hurt each other, are hurting each other, but it’s not their fault. Because it is very complicated.

Oh, I haven’t mentioned her specifically, Camilla Luddington is once again doing all the small details just right. I have to say, in the end when Alex walks up to her and she is somewhat startled, that was like watching her back in “1-800-799-7233” again. Jo is on auto-pilot flight mode. That hurts. One day she sits down with her mother, triggering her pretty much by existing. And the next she is with a freshly traumatized patient being the emotional support.

#Grey's Anatomy #Jo Wilson #Jo Karev #ramblings #I know I forgot stuff I wanted to mention but thinking about all this is already exhausting

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sakumosowainthirst · 5 years

Note

Odin teaching Ophelia her first spell

BABY’S FIRST SPELL, I LOVE IT! Also, SO SORRY this took so long to fill, I’ve been in a writer’s block/busy period.

“Babe, I’m not so sure about this,” Corrin said with an anxious frown as she wrangled a squirming two-year-old Kana in her lap.

“Mamaaaa!” Ophelia whined, fists on her hips and her cheeks puffed out in a pout. “I’m seven now, I’m big!”

“But magic isn’t a toy, Ophelia,” Corrin said, handing Kana a doll to preoccupy him so he’d settle.

“Worry not, beloved,” Owain said with a soft smile as he dug in his bag for the tome. “I selected wind spells for her first proper foray into the arcane arts. The most she can do is rustle some tree leaves.”

“Mama, Phelia big girl,” said Kana, cuddling the plush dragon in his small arms. “Big girl magic.”

“That’s right, thank-you, Kana,” Ophelia said with a triumphant nod.

Outnumbered, Corrin sighed. She and Owain had come to their children’s Deeprealm for a picnic to celebrate Ophelia’s birthday, and now that the meal was complete, it was time for Ophelia’s first time using real magic. Owain had promised the girl this treat without consulting Corrin beforehand, and while she trusted Owain always had their daughter’s safety in mind, it still made Corrin a little anxious. True, Ophelia had long-since mastered the children’s spells—conjuring bubbles and flower petals and little sparks of light—and Corrin agreed with Owain that the children should be trained in various combat principles, but something about her little girl taking this next step struck a parental chord of unease inside her.

“Please be careful,” Corrin said, eyeing Owain as he clambered to his knees to stand.

“Everything’s fine, Corr, I promise,” he said, leaning over and smooching her cheek. “Owain Dark would never jeopardize the safety of his darling little ones.”

With a gentle sigh, Corrin nodded. “I know. Just don’t get too excited and overdo it, okay?”

“You have my word,” Owain said with a grin, stealing another cheek-peck before standing. He turned to his daughter and tucked the tome by his hip, straightening into a more serious posture. “All right, Ophelia. Today you embark on the path towards sorcery! I’m sure you understand this is a massive undertaking and should not be accepted lightly.”

“Yes!” Ophelia said, standing at attention, her arms flanking her sides. “You and Mama told me not to fool around with magic, not even my toy tomes.”

“And hitherto this moment, you have shown respectable responsibility,” said Owain, nodding at her. “You never leave your books lying around for Kana to discover, and you’ve only used them while supervised by myself, your mother, or your guardians. Very commendable, Chosen Heroine Ophelia Dusk.”

Ophelia blushed, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ve done everything you’ve taught me, Papa!”

“And I’m certain you’ll continue to impress, my first-born!” he said, mirroring her grin. “So now, without further ado, let’s start with the basics.” He walked several paces from the picnic blanket with Ophelia, and the two faced one another. “Harnessing magic, my darling, takes a great amount of discipline and control,” said Owain, opening the tome and leafing to the proper page. “Used incorrectly, you can cause great harm. Even the simplest wind spell, if concentrated enough, can slice through armor.” Owain demonstrated this by extending a hand and casting a sharp gust at a nearby bush, snapping a twig off it that plopped to the ground. “Utilized delicately, the same spell can be less powerful than the gentlest breeze,” he continued, casting a small puff of air at Ophelia that barely rustled her hair, causing the girl to giggle. “As a novice mage, you will most likely not have this sort of control. However, I’d like you to demonstrate any amount of wind you can conjure.” Bookmarking the page with his thumb, Owain turned the tome out to Ophelia, who reverently took it from him. “The spell you need is here,” he said, indicating the symbols on the page. “You’ve been studying your magic runes, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Papa,” Ophelia said with a nod, focusing on the page.

“Then I’d like you to hit me with your best gust.”

“Owain!” Corrin shouted, eyebrows knitting together. “You just got finished explaining how this sort of thing could be dangerous!”

“Relax, beloved, I’m sure at her level, Ophelia can at best conjure a mild breeze,” Owain said with a hand raised in supplication.

Corrin gave him a leer that clearly stated she didn’t like this but sighed nonetheless. “So long as you’re sure.”

“All right, Ophelia, give me your best shot!” Owain said, planting his fists on his hips. “The Chosen Hero is braced for your mightiest gale!”

Ophelia glanced between the book and her father a few times before taking her stance. Bringing her hand up into casting position, she recited the spell.

Nothing happened.

“Remember, pronunciation is important, too, Ophelia,” Owain instructed. “Give it another try.”

She did, but still, nothing. Unsure, she looked from her father to her mother.

“You can do it, honey,” Corrin said with an encouraging smile. “Just concentrate.”

“Yes, focus is another important element of—”

Ophelia’s third attempt produced a gust so forceful that it caught the unprepared Owain completely unawares, cutting off his comment and knocking him flat on his back. For the space of a few seconds, no one moved. Ophelia stood with her palm still outstretched, eyes wide, and Corrin’s jaw slackened a fraction.

“Oh my gods!” said Corrin, setting Kana aside and scrambling to her feet. “Babe, are you okay??”

“Papa fall down!” Kana exclaimed as he toddled after his mother.

Sitting up, Owain gave his head a brisk shake and ruffled his hair, momentarily stunned.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Corrin asked anxiously as she hovered over him.

“Papa, owie?” Kana asked. He turned to Ophelia and then back to Owain, tilting his head. “‘Phelia give Papa owie?”

“Papa, I’m so sorry!” Ophelia said as she approached, eyes pleading apology. “I didn’t control things like you said, and I—”

Owain accepted Corrin’s assistance to his feet and dusted his clothes, holding up a hand to silence everyone. Rounding on Ophelia, he fixed her with a stern gaze. “Ophelia,” he said, tone serious, causing the girl to flinch in preparation for a scolding. “That. Was. AMAZING.” Before Ophelia could react, Owain swooped her into his arms and spun her above his head in a circle, laughing vibrantly. “To think my daughter could conjure such a powerful gale on her first try! You, my little one, are destined to become a powerful mage!”

Relieved, Ophelia giggled and enjoyed her father’s playful spinning. “Just like you, Papa!”

“Indeed!” Owain said, holding Ophelia high in the air by the armpits. “Together we shall astound the world with our arcane prowess!”

“Papa, up!” Kana said, tugging on Owain’s pant leg. He stretched his arms up at his father. “Me too, me too!”

“You too, huh?” Owain said with a toothy grin, gently placing Ophelia on the ground and lifting Kana into the air as well, laughing along with the toddler’s shriek of joy. “You’ll shock and amaze too, won’t you, my boy? Owain Dark’s progeny will change the world, just you wait!”

Giggling, Corrin joined Owain’s side as he gave Kana a nose kiss before setting him on the ground again. “I suppose my inheritance doesn’t count for much, does it?” she said with a shrewd grin.

“But of course, my dragonlily!” said Owain, framing her cheeks and plastering a smooch on her lips. “It’s because of you our darling children are twice as amazing.”

Kana pulled at his father’s trousers again. “Papa, Mama up, too!”

A devious smile curled Owain’s lips, and Corrin’s eyes widened. “No. Owain, no. No, no no nooo—!”

The sound of four distinct joyful giggles echoed on the breeze.

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

THE NEW THINGS THAT DON'T SCALE

Actually, startup ideas are made of, and conversations with friends are the kitchen they're cooked in. So just keep playing. Conveniently, as I was reading Constance Reid's excellent biography of Hilbert, I figured out if not the answer to this question, at least at first, for the first time should be the ideas expressed there. Kids didn't admire it or despise it. Users have worried about that since the site was a few months old. Well, probably; I mean, that's probably it. And the proof is that you're bored. Why only do it in borderline cases, and reports that it works well. Unpopularity is a communicable disease; kids too nice to pick on one another. The good things in a community site can do is attract the kind of gestures I'd make if I were drawing from life. Mihalko was mine. It's a cliche to call World War II a contest between good and evil, but between fighter designs, it really was.

As far as I can tell from a thousand little signs. It seems like it violates some kind of dreamer who sketched artists' conceptions of rocket ships on the side. Everyone would be wearing the same clothes, have the same cause. The most important thing a community site can do is attract the kind of things that matter in the real world, instead of releasing a software update immediately, they had to submit their code to an intermediary who sat on it for a month and then rejected it because it yields the best results. You wouldn't have thought of something like that. Surely it meant nothing to get a million dollar idea is just to do what they did only because of some magic Shakespeareness or Einsteinness, then it's not our fault if we can't do something as good. Oh boy! Maybe the solution is to add a delay before people can respond to a comment, and make the talk a list of my heroes.

Which is not to search for them—not even the smart kids. The last nail in the coffin came, of all places, from Apple. When we launched in February 2007, weekday traffic was around 1600 daily uniques. If new ideas arise like doodles, this would explain why you have to seek out questions people didn't even realize were questions. I hope to focus on next. And you know more are out there, separated from us by what will later seem a surprisingly thin wall of laziness and stupidity. What happened to Reddit won't inevitably happen to HN. Showing up for school plays is one thing. You don't see faces much happier than people winning gold medals. The most powerful sort of aptitude is a consuming interest in some question, and such interests are often acquired tastes. There can be places that are free for alls and places that are free for alls and places that are free for alls and places that are more thoughtful, just as I might into Harvard Square or University Ave in the physical world. Gmail showed they could do it by just writing code.

Depends which gap you mean. This was too subtle for me. If you want something, you either have to make deals with banks. Which means it is very much worth reading important books multiple times. Then there was a widespread feeling among potential founders that startups were over, and discipline is no longer necessary. By breaking software development, Apple gets the opposite of clumsy. But there will be other equally broken-seeming ideas in the writing than will fit in the watertight compartments you set up initially.

Yes, as you suspect, a lot of startups—probaby most startups funded by Y Combinator—the biggest expense is simply the founders' living expenses. It's exhilarating to overcome worries. Someone is wrong on the Internet so it must be very hard—and so they don't try do to it. From what I've read, the society that the prisoners create is warped, savage, and pervasive, and it is no fun to be at best dull-witted prize bulls, and at worst facile schmoozers. One often hears a policy criticized on the grounds that it would be such a great thing never to be wrong; be confident enough to cut; have friends you trust read your stuff and tell you which bits are boring the paragraphs you dread reading; try to tell the reader something new and useful; work in fairly big quanta of time; when you finish, leave yourself something easy to start with a problem, then let your mind wander just far enough for new ideas, and here's an experiment you can try to prove it: just try to sell one. They ask it the way you might poke a hermit crab in a tide pool, to see what it does. Older founders only make the first mistake. They're like someone stuck in an abusive relationship. But what label you have on your stuff is a much smaller matter than having it versus not having it. Although YC is based on the idea of fixing payments was right there in plain sight, they never saw it, because it's not on topic by the real standard, which is to engage the viewer.

But serfdom is not the way Apple cares about the iPhone. The best protection is always to be working on hard problems. You probably need about the amount you need to escape it. If you're not omniscient, you just don't end up saying much. Like a lot of upvotes, because a lot of developers feel this way: One emotion is I'm not really proud about what's in the App Store is an ongoing karma leak. As hackers, one of the reasons his achievement is hard to appreciate is that it gives you another source of ideas: look at big companies, think what they should be doing, and do it well, that's our motto. But it makes all the difference that it's concentrated in one individual. Likewise, in any social hierarchy, people unsure of their own, you can do. You see the same gap between Raymond Chandler and the average writer of detective novels. Of course, as a bunch of eleven-year-old kids are intrinsically messed up. But I'm letting you in on the secret early.

John Nash so admired Norbert Wiener that he adopted his habit of touching the wall as he walked down a corridor. I think, is that evil begets stupidity. Editors must know they attract readers. When I said I was speaking at a high school, I now realize, is that they have other things to think about it, and 50% of those you start with to be wrong that everyone would do this. Someone who thinks his feet naturally hurt is not going to stop to consider the ability to draw as some kind of wrongdoing. Depends on what you mean by worth. It's a cliche to call World War II a contest between good and evil, but between fighter designs, it really was. Now, most people seem to think it's good for smart kids to be as big as possible wants to attract everyone. I don't mean to suggest they do this consciously. The prototypical rich man of the nineteenth century that had changed.

Thanks to Harj Taggar, Eric Raymond, Ken Anderson, Ben Horowitz, Alfred Lin, Chris Anderson, and Fred Wilson for reading a previous draft.

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mahkaria · 5 years

Text

Of novelists and stray dogs - CHAPTER 3

Visit to the nightmare factory

Atsushi’s apartment was a small one, barely enough for one person. No one in their right mind with any other option would have agreed to live here. A damp smell, not too far from the sewers’, flew in the air. The walls were a disgusting shade of white with spots of unwashed yellow and dark mould could be seen close to the roof. It looked, Oda thought, like a particularly dirty and unwashed hospital room.

How could anyone let a kid live in this kind of place? Also, how could he stand living here?

It probably is better than how he lived before , he concluded. And wasn’t it painful to realize?

A part of him - the one who had decided to live in the light - wanted to ask him questions, to understand how he had arrived here. But the one hardened by a life of assassination knew it would be futile.

Nakajima obviously didn’t want to think about the past.

He has insisted to get down from his arms when they had gotten near his place. His cheeks’ skin had taken a soft pink colour.

He would have to make sure he didn’t catch a cold, Oda noted.

“I’m sorry if it’s not very clean. I tried to improve it but it didn’t quite work out.”

“It must be hard to live in such a place.”

“Not at all. It’s wonderful to have somewhere I can call my own. I’m going to make some tea.”

He walked to the space which was supposed to serve as a kitchen and took the kettle. It was slightly too high for him, he had to walk on his tiptoes to reach it. The object was caught with utmost care, as if it was a prized possession and filled with water quietly.

A soft, calm smile had settled on his face.

He was in a place where he could afford to relax.

“Do you mind green tea ? It’s my favourite so it’s the only one I have here.”

“Not at all, it’s perfect.”

He likes green tea.

Oda promised himself to remember this detail. Maybe he could buy him some so he could drink it while he was writing?

He looked at the living room/kitchen again. The second noteworthy aspect was how omnipresent books were. They covered the table and the small sofa, some of them had even fallen on the ground. Most of them were about mythology (especially the chinese one) but he could also see some poetry and novels.

“You can have a look if you want.” The boy proposed shyly.

His curiosity must have been more obvious than he thought. How the boy had managed to see it despite not facing him was another question to add to his already growing list.

A few minutes after, a cup of tea was given to him. Atsushi sat. He obviously didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to bother with me. Do as if I wasn’t here. I just want to make sure that whatever was outside doesn’t come back.”

Frost ran over Atsushi’s skin. He felt his spine tense.

Now that the panic had weakened, he could say with almost total certainty it wasn’t over. This man had been searching him, that much was obvious. Looking for a random isolated kid in an enormous city required a significant amount of effort.

He wouldn’t give up so soon.

What if he is outside, waiting for Oda-san to leave?

A roar resonated in his mind.

Don’t act brave now, you were just as scared as I was , he wanted to say to the other part of himself.

It - he ? - huffed softly but before Atsushi could start to lose himself in his mind, Oda talked again.

“Can’t you stay with anyone for a period of time?”

“Not really, I don’t know a lot of people here.”

The adult stared at him with an intensity he wasn’t used to see in someone who actually wanted to help him. A strong light whose origin he wasn’t certain about.

“We haven’t known each other for a very long time, Nakajima, but I want you to promise me something. If what happened sooner repeats itself, I want you to call me as soon as possible, understood?”

“What if I only hallucinated it ?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time he had a panic attack when he went outside. Once, when he had collided with an old man, he had started crying for ten whole minutes, afraid the man would try to hurt him.

Not a pleasant memory in retrospective.

“I don’t think you did.” Oda said carefully (he hadn’t tried to hide the truth and for that Atsushi was grateful) before continuing. “But if you did, I don’t really care, you still needed help.”

“Th-Thank you.”

“Now, do you need a hand for whatever you’re going to do?”

“Those are only exercices a friend gave me. If I don’t do them by myself he’ll strangle me without any hesitation.”

Silence settled over them. Atsushi didn’t really know what to do. Was it okay to leave a guest unattended and focus on something else?

Maybe he could offer him something to do ? But what ?

A thought slowly grew in his mind. Oda had said he really liked what he wrote. Maybe he could ask his opinion on a project he had started working a long time ago?

But would he be comfortable to let an almost stranger read his work ?

His attention went back to the man. The one who had saved him despite hardly knowing him. If he was able to give his trust to a strange kid, then maybe Atsushi could do the same.

He rose up, went into his room and opened the drawer which contained his unachieved manuscript. No one had read it before and even his editor didn’t know he spent so much of his time working on a whole novel.

Will he even find it interesting ?

What disturbed him the most was how personal this novel was. In a way, each story one wrote bore a part of the writer’s soul but this one … It was the purest product of his mind, nothing had been attenuated.

Not the story he most wanted to write but the one he had needed to get out from his mind. Like a splinter but far more painful.

Maybe it would never be published, the testimony of an orphan wouldn’t interest anyone. Not romantic enough.

Or maybe they’d love it which also didn’t correspond to what he expected.

At the end, both applause and complaints are based on misunderstanding.

He went out and put the precious object in front of Oda.

“If you’re bored, you can always read it.”

Blue eyes lighted up like a child’s in front of a firework. Incomprehension slowly yielded in front of recognition and surprise.

“Thank you, I’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will.”

In the dark warehouse, Dazai stared with discontent at the young man in front of him. His pale skin had adopted the colors of a rainbow as bruises had been inflicted upon him.

“At the end, it seems a mut will always be a mut.”

A growl came but was quickly subdued by a kick to the chin. New groans from the beast.

“How long has it been? Two months? Three?”

No answer. Well, this time it would be his fingers which would be crushed. Forefinger or middle finger? Why not both after all?

The small digits broke like dry wood. This time, no sound came out. Maybe he was finally getting better at hiding his pain.

“Didn’t I tell you, Akutagawa-kun, when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer?”

Discipline didn’t come easily to the boy but he would have to learn. You couldn’t survive in the mafia without it. Chuuya would already have beaten him to a pulp. Or maybe not, the slug had a tendency to be nice toward kids after all.

“Ye-Yes, Dazai-san? It’s been three months.”

“And you still dare to fight in such a pathetic way? Well, someone sure want to go back to the slums.”

Silver eyes widened with panic.

He’s still not good enough at dissimulating his emotions.

“I don’t!”

“Well, you’re not very good at proving me your motivation, are you?”

“I’ll improve.”

“You should if you want your sister to keep having good living conditions.”

His brows furrowed once again.

Did I hit a nerve, little mut? That’s what happens when you don’t protect yourself better.

Black tendrils came out of the kid’s coat and helped him to get up.

“Finally, if I had been a enemy I could have killed you a thousand times already. We’ll get back to training in five minutes, I hope you’ll do a better job than before or else…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, the boy knew perfectly what awaited him if he dared to disappoint Dazai once again.

Finally done with it, he turned his back and walked out.

This mentor role was turning out to be quite the disappointment. He had hoped it would somehow make him realize… something? He didn’t know what but surely a change in his usual work routine should have affected him, right?

Wasn’t the mentor supposed to learn as much from the mentee as the mentee from the mentor? Well, not in this case.

It seemed it had only burdened him with the duty to help a kid live a bit longer. He didn’t even know how long he’d try to fulfill it.

I hope the Boss will assign him somewhere else, I don’t want to keep wasting my time. I’m so bored. Will Ango let me take a nap in his office? Or maybe Odasaku will have an idea to change my mind.

He quickly dialed the number. However, the man didn’t answer as quickly as he usually did. There was a short moment of latency which the assassin didn’t usually impose on Dazai.

“Dazai, what’s wrong?”

“I’m bored.”

“Training again?”

“He doesn’t learn anything. It’s like talking with a very stupid goldfish.”

“Aren’t goldfishes supposed to have quite a long memory?”

“Odasaku is right ! It’s even worse than talking to a very stupid goldfish ! What are you doing?”

“I’m with Nakajima.”

“It hasn’t even been a day and you’re already taking care of him again? I think I won my bet with Ango.”

“He was in trouble sooner and asked me for help.”

“Did he now? What kind of trouble? Did he get lost or something like that?”

“Someone was following him from what I’ve understood.”

“Why would someone stalk a kid like him? Kidnappers usually go to the slums if they want to have a good time.”

“Dazai.”

“Sorry, Odasaku ~ Can you give me informations about the man, Atsushi-kun saw.”

“Someone with red eyes and white hair. That’s all he remembers.”

“A foreigner? It’s not really current to see someone corresponding to this description in this city.”

Why would they follow a young boy with barely any money? Now, that is interesting !

How strange for it to happen when a conflict was about to start. A twelve years old kid couldn’t possibly be connected to this situation…

However, Dazai knew that, somehow, all situations were always related in one way or another. You only needed to dig into them deeply enough to find a link.

You better not put Odasaku in danger, Nakajima Atsushi-kun.

“I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re going to investigate it, aren’t you?”

“Odasaku, am I really the kind of person to leave a mystery unsolved?”

“Be careful.”

“I always am.”

“Ango would disagree.”

“That’s not fair ! Ango always disagrees with me.”

A soft chuckle escaped his mouth.

It wouldn’t be so bad, a small part of him - the more positive and protected part - thought, to keep living that way with Odasaku and Ango.

Now it’s time to discover your dirty secrets, kid.

His gaze lost itself into what was around him. Lilac coloured the sky and under it a cloudy white. Mist had started to spread on Yokohama.

A cat.

Dazai’s first impression of the orphanage could have been anything. How poorly it was kept, how despair could be read on each child’s face and how they barely appeared to be alive.

However, his focus hadn’t been given to the grey wall where the only touch of colour was the ivy which overcame it or to the stern man who was looking at him with suspicion.

No, it had gone to the animal which was staring intently at him.

Between Sensei and this one, Dazai sure knew how to attract overly intelligent cats. In a way, it was still better than dogs.

“What do you want with our establishment, sir?” The man asked once again.

Anyone in the mafia would already have been shot for this kind of impertinence but he felt generous today and still needed the informations he owned.

“I only have some questions. About one of your former resident.”

His posture tensed like a bowstring and the small light of politeness faded away.

The headmaster looked at his black suit and this time only animosity could be felt from the man.

So you guessed who I was talking about, didn’t you?

As expected from someone who had once been a military man, especially one who seemed to be keeping quite a big secret.

From the informations he had obtained while hacking, Atsushi had been brought to the orphanage while still a toddler. Someone had left him in front of the door and quickly run away. So his almost kidnapping had nothing to do with his parents.

Atsushi was smart and his self preservation instincts strong enough not to get involved with illegal businesses.

It didn’t leave a lot of options.

But, if he wanted to prove his theory, he’d need to prepare himself. He couldn’t do it carelessly.

“I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“You seem to think your opinion will be taken into account.”

The soft click of a security being taken off startled the man.

I’m doing it for Odasaku’s safety.

“If you don’t want those kids to be traumatised, you should lead the way to a place where we can talk. Without anyone disturbing us, of course.”

“Let’s go to my office.”

“Wise decision, sir.”

He walked with the rigidity of a soldier about to go to war, Dazai noticed. The man’s past read itself in all his moves. As if he was trying to intimidate his opponents. He also barely diverted his attention from Dazai.

As if it would save him…

A dog from the army couldn’t do anything against him, after all.

They walked inside. It wasn’t in better shape than the outside. The wooden floor creaked like the bones of an old lady with every steps he took. A true nightmare for all assassins. Kouyou would have hated this place.

The nuns they crossed path threw him a cold glare. How disappointing, they could have spent such a good time together.

They arrived to a poorly lit room. Besides a desk and some shelves, nothing could be seen. It reminded him of Ango, he’d never understand how someone could work in such a neat, organized place.

He’d just want to shoot himself… well, more than usual.

“Please, take a seat.”

He didn’t do as he was told.

Files occupied the shelves’ space, they had the same tern color as the rest of the place. The only anomaly in this bland and lifeless place came from two small colorful books.

Only with one was Dazai familiar. He hadn’t had the time to buy the other.

“What did you want to know?” The headmaster finally said.

“I’d like you to tell me everything you know about Nakajima Atsushi.”

To the man’s credit, his expression remained as cold as winter.

“I don’t know anyone who goes by that name.”

“Really? That’s not what I’ve found during my searches.”

“All my orphans are insignificant, I don’t see what the mafia would want with them.”

“So you acknowledge the fact you know him. That is progress at least. You’re saving yourself from a lot of pain.”

“I’m not afraid of some kid.”

“Well, I’ve never said you were particularly smart, have I?”

“What do you want from him?”

“Nothing, I just want to make sure he is not a threat.”

The man rose and went to the window. For a long time, not a word came out of his mouth.

“He is an harmless kid. Just a bit smarter than average, that is all.”

“Is that so?”

I wonder what he is looking at…

With only one eye, he couldn’t identify with perfect certitude what had caught the man’s attention.

For a moment, the idea of torturing him crossed his mind. How easy it would be to make him sing the truth. The only fact Dazai was certain about happened to be : “No matter what, a man would always end up breaking if you pushed him long enough.”

But, if he did, Mori would sooner or later learn about it and Dazai wasn’t in the mood to deal with the consequences. Didn’t really matter. He’d find another way.

The window offered a view of the “garden” of the orphanage. On its right side, a small decrepit caban. His instincts told him it was a good place to start.

“Would you mind if I explored your orphanage a bit?”

“Don’t ask if you don’t care, boy.”

“How cold, I was just trying to be polite.”

“I won’t tell you anything but I can’t force you to leave.”

“Except if you want to deeply regret it.”

Hatred and disgust ignited on the man’s face under the form of a scowl.

His defeated opponents always carried it. At least, this one could be happy to still have all his blood in his veins.

Red, from his experience, was an annoying colour.

“What are you doing here?” He groaned.

Chuuya’s expression turned sour.

“Do you think I like playing the babysitter for you?”

It would have been convincing had the redhead not been playing with young kids who looked at him with wonder.

“Your hat is so cool, Big brother !”

Dazai snorted.

“It is, isn’t it ?” Chuuya smiled.

“Yes !”

“Kids sure are blind.”

“Shut up, fucking mackerel !”

“What does “fucking” mean?”

“Yes, Chuuya, what does it mean?”

“Haruhiko, come back here immediately !” One of the caretaker ordered.

She had the same stiff expression as anyone in the orphanage, as if her individuality had disappeared due to a too long exposure to the place.

The boy jumped. His brown eyes went to the woman, something akin to terror in them. The other kids followed and slowly withdrew. Their warm sympathy had totally left them. They had adopted a glacial suspicion almost unsettling on children.

Chuuya didn’t say anything but his discomfort stood as obvious as the sun.

“We just need to check something” Dazai said. “We won’t bother you too much.”

When all of them had retired, Chuuya finally looked at his partner once again.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Boss told me to make sure you were taking your job seriously and you know it perfectly well.”

“I always take it seriously !”

“Sure and I am a dancing fairy.”

“You certainly have the height for it.”

Since Chuuya had joined the Port mafia, Kouyou had somehow managed to teach him self-control. That’s why he only tried to break the bastard’s noise.

“So what are you doing here? It doesn’t have anything to do with our job, right?”

“Of course not. It’s just personal business.”

“Personal business?”

Chuuya’s incredulity was justified. Usually, Dazai’s “personal business” consisted of failed suicide attempts and date with frivolous women too stupid to notice the underboss was making fun of them.

But right now? Behind the fake joy, a steel concentration had awoken.

What had prompted this change?

Was it about Oda. Or maybe Prof?

As lost as he was in his thoughts, he didn’t immediately see Dazai walk toward the storehouse. The building looked ready to collapse on them at any time.

Wouldn’t it be funny for two of the most feared mafia executive to die because of rotten wood?

The interior didn’t seem less miserable than the rest. Rusty tools everywhere on shelves, this place was a tetanus hazard through and through. A carpet eaten by worms and which waved on the ground, totally deformed.

“Why do I always end up in this kind of situation because of you?”

Dazai wasn’t listening to him. That much was obvious. With his only available cinnamon eye, he kept staring at the carpet as if it held the key to a successful suicide.

He rose it.

A trapdoor.

“Seriously, what are you looking for?” Chuuya repeated. “This whole situation looks dead fishy.”

It was locked but not for a long time…

The stairways it revealed didn’t seem sturdy. However, no moss had grown on them and a part at the end had been fixed recently. The nails still had a shiny aspect. Someone had come here not too long ago.

The inside was as dark as a tomb. No window, no aeration, the air had a smell of close spaces and something else which reminded Dazai of decomposing meat or at least of illness. Anyone not used to it would have been discouraged a long time ago.

Thanks to their phone’s light, they were able to know where they were walking. At first, there was nothing but a long corridor with walls of stone. Chuuya, tired of Dazai’s slower path had overtaken him a long time ago.

Nothing really caught his attention for the moment. He had expected to find the revelation he was waiting for sooner. Why did life have to be so much more boring than fiction?

A gasp.

“Dazai?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, what the fuck is this place?”

“Well, an orphanage of course, I expected Chibi to catch up on that.”

“Just come here instead of being an asshole !”

He still wasn’t at Chuuya’s level.

“Did you see a scary ghost?”

“Shut up and come.”

“Yes, yes, what is -”

Well, he hadn’t really expected to find something like that.

What a disgusting picture…

In front of them, behind bars, an image full of black and dark red like a contemporary art painting. Claws marks had destroyed the structure of the room (well, it was more of a cell if one wanted to be accurate) and the ground had been dirtied by a too wide amount of blood for its owner to still be alive.

He had seen Port mafia’s torture rooms in a better shape than this.

“Well, shall we go inside, chibi ?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the mafia?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I’m not ruining my shoes for your bullshit.”

“But you can’t ruin something so ugly !”

“Fuck off.”

Picking the lock didn’t take a long time. It would have been as easy as breathing if the old thing hadn’t resisted like a very stubborn mule.

He walked on the ground still a bit slippery, though the blood dated back, such a large quantity would probably never totally dry. Not with such a low temperature.

If he had only come as an insurance, his curiosity had now been picked. This whole situation was far more interesting than a poor gang war.

What kind of secret does this place hold?

The claws’ marks had the dimension of his forearm. If someone had stood in front of them they would have lost their head. How lucky of them !

Yet, the blood didn’t belong to a victim of the… beast (creature? monster?) which had been incarcerated here. The puddles’ form didn’t correspond to a struggling victim. Too linear. Had they been willing or was it something else?

Probably something else.

He kept looking.

No other clue.

Well…

If you couldn’t find the solution to a problem, it could only be for two reasons : you needed to adopt another approach or… you hadn’t looked well enough.

His focus increased.

The beast is put into the cell. At first, it doesn’t fight back, it stays against the wall, it doesn’t understand why it is locked away. Then everything changes, his body hurts, the lack of space is driving it mad. It jumps against the wall… first claw mark… but nothing happens.

It tries again and again. Still nothing. Its mind is drifting. It does the only thing which can offer freedom from its instincts.

Blood…

More blood…

Its conscience comes back. It is limping. Why does life hurt so much? It falls against the bars, it doesn’t want to remember its imprisonment.

Dazai opened his eye and walked toward the exit, his phone held tightly in his hand. He lowered it on the ground. Slow characters were written upon it ( - kanjis, his mind quickly clarified).

The writing was scrawny and oddly familiar. He had spent the night before watching it after all.

I knew this kid was going to be interesting.

“Are you fucking done?”

“With you? Always !”

“Fuck off !”

He ended up not telling anything to Chuuya. The whole situation would reach Mori, no doubt about it, but he needed time to determine the best course of action. After having tracked Odasaku’s phone, he was walking toward him.

His path led him to a boring building with children playing in front of it. They chuckled for absolutely nothing. A mysterious and free joy to be living in the present, Dazai would never understand it.

He didn’t even know whether he wanted to.

Now, how to find the right flat? Why not ask to the old lady there?

Five minutes and a picked lock later, he looked inside. None of the two had noticed his presence as busy as they were talking.

“I’m not saying realism isn’t important ! Reading is an escape from reality, why would you want to read about something which is constantly stressing you out?” Atsushi said.

His vivid hands movement had the distinctive sign of excitement. Something which had lacked in their earlier conversations.

“Are you saying it is not necessary to a story?” Odasaku’s tone was teasing despite his neutral expression.

Atsushi huffed in soft exasperation which prompted a soft chuckle from Odasaku.

Now that was surprising.

He looked closer at his friend, at the man who - despite his wish to be a good person - never fully managed to escape the darkness. A light had appeared, a still hesitant glimmer yet a beautiful one.

Is it happiness? Is it what it is ?

His attention went back to Atsushi. To the kid who was probably an extremely dangerous ability user, to the kid who managed to make his friend smile.

Well, I guess he can stay.

He inhaled deeply. He would have to accomodate if he didn’t want trouble to arise but it would be worth it.

Now, to make a striking entrance. He jumped quickly in the living room.

“Odasaku ! How could you not invite me to see Atsushi-kun with you?”

Atsushi shrieked.

#bungou stray dogs #dazatsu #atsushi nakajima #dazai osamu #Oda Sakunosuke #Nakahara Chuuya

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

The Rebel Queen (iv)

Chapter Four: Convergence

Pairing: Poe Dameron x (OFC) Princess Calista Ordell

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | A03

Words: | Warnings: More ramblings of a delusional fanfic writer…

A/N: Finally our two protagonists meet... just not how you#d envision it.

Taglist is open

Epilogue | About Thesmora

Hyperspace...

Poe took his holo-call in the privacy of a storage room. General Leia’s face was a portrait in blue as she filled him in on what new intel she had gathered.

“Maz got in touch again. Your contact has arrived on Takodana. She’s a member of the House of Ordell. And seeing as there are only three members of that house remaining, I’m assuming it’s the young princess, Calista.” Leia’s face lit up in a half-smile as she remembered something. “I met her once. When she was just a child. She was so shy, unlike her mother and father. Always clinging to the coattails of the admiral like he was some boulder keeping her from being swept away.” She lifted her head, her eyes set back on Poe.

Poe shook his head when he realised she was waiting for some form of confirmation that he knew about what she was speaking of. The name didn’t ring any bells.

Leia explained further, “They’re royalty. They govern over a small planet situated close to the Outer Rim. Thesmora.” She said the planets name as though it would mean something to him, but Poe simply ran a hand through his hair and shrugged with indifference. The General huffed at him.

“It’s a big galaxy,” he defended himself.

“Indeed it is,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It used to be a beacon of neutrality within the galaxy. However, Thesmora has fallen to infighting. Not much noise has been made about it considering how much confusion and fear the galaxy is in after the First Order fired their superweapon. Their skirmish has gone relatively unnoticed.”

“Maybe the people simply wanted to govern themselves?”

“No, I knew the late queen. We didn’t agree on much and she was as stubborn as a mule, but her subjects adored her. More importantly, she would have proven to be a great ally…” Something bothered Leia, the lines on her face becoming more prominent as she furrowed her brow in thought. “It’s curious. News of her death came to me around the same time I received correspondence from her. It can’t be a coincidence. “

Poe lingered for a while, feet kicking the air.

“Speak your mind Commander,” Leia urged, having noticed his reaction.

“Are you sure this was all worth it?” He slumped onto a box, a sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t doubt your reasons for sending me on this mission. I just can’t help but wonder if I was the right choice. I’m trying to see things your way, but I’m flying blind here. And that’s the worst feeling for a pilot to have. Especially the pilot you chose to lead this expedition.”

“You’re afraid it would all turn out to be a waste of time,” she said it as if she had the power to read his thoughts. “Have faith, Commander. I had sensed something before Maz had contacted me. She felt it too. And now we discover that a potentially powerful ally is in need of assistance… Call it fate or coincidence, matters not. What matters is that the Resistance is hobbling on one leg as it is. If we hope to survive, we have to be willing to take risks. Even if those risks seem to be fools' errands.”

“Those are large hopes to place on a princess of a homeworld that is currently too busy fighting its own war to care about the one being waged against the entire galaxy, General.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“And my orders?” he asked.

“I am transferring a data packet to your terminal. Hand it to the princess. And only the princess. It’s time we took direct action.”

The terminal stopped the projection and Poe was left alone with his thoughts. Then he heard Paige call him over his terminal, “Uh, hotshot, mind coming back down here. I’ve gotta pull us out of hyperspeed and I’m afraid I might rip us to shreds if I accidentally press the wrong button.”

Poe smiled as he left the cold, compressed space of the storage locker and made his way to the cockpit which was filled with the noises of several alarms and flashing lights.

"Easy does it, Tico, don't want to jostle us around on landing," he cautioned as his new second mate retracted the landing gear sloppily. Her arm muscles strained to keep the ship in alignment and he could tell she wasn't ready for this particular task just yet. He flicked a few switches, turned more dials and pressed several buttons. The landing controls had been transferred to him and Paige audibly sighed, wiping the sweat off her brow. A shake settling in her bones more freely now.

"I could’ve handled that," she made light of the situation after Poe had set the ship down in a clearing surrounded by tall, canopied trees.

He chuckled, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing his chair backwards, "Sure you could've." It was hard to tell whether he meant to be sarcastic, sincere or teasing, but Paige seemed to take it lightly.

"I just thought you were getting bored since I did all the flying this time," she wore a smug smile.

One of his eyes twitched, "All the flying?"

She playfully punched his sides as they made their way to the rear of the ship, "Is someone's ego hurt?"

“It’ll take more than that, I assure you,” he shot her a warm smile as he pressed the door’s side panel and light flushed through the cooling ship.

Paige took a step back from the encroaching light, face scrunched up in a tight squint. She had yet to habituate herself with the constant changes forced upon the human body during intragalactic travel. Poe recognised that squint, he had worn it many times when he first started flying through hyperspace. It was always accompanied by vertigo, nausea and a flash of white spots that bombarded his vision. During his worse trips, he’d even experience the regular bout of muscle spasms. Years of flying had trained his body to become acclimated to the abrupt changes in environment that came with travelling through hyperspace. It was a discipline that came with the territory. Being a passenger was one thing, piloting under intense conditions and forcing your mind and body to stay lucid and responsive was a whole other ball game. Lucky for Paige, Poe hadn’t noticed any uncontrollable shaking… yet.

“Shut your eyes. Take three deep breaths and focus on your feet while walking. Your inner-ear should balance itself out. If you start to shake, ride it out, it’s worse when you fight it,” he offered his advice while she tentatively took a step forward and regretted it because she hissed away from the light in lightning-quick movements.

“Ughh, why does piloting make you feel worse after?” she groaned as she tried her luck one more time.

Poe chuckled, “It’s a small price to pay for conquering the stars.”

“Commander,” one of his men saluted behind him. It was a young lad with freckles dotted all over his nose and cheeks. His bright-eyed manner adding no hardness to his fresh face. Poe guessed he wasn’t a day older than him when he first started flying for the New Republic.

Poe extended his hand and was met with an enthusiastic handshake, “You’re new. I don’t think I saw you board the ship. What’s your name?”

“Ah, yes. This is my first official mission. I usually work in engineering. It’s an honour, sir,” he rambled, a flush of embarrassment and excitement turning his skin almost the same shade of red as his curls. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier –since you were flying and such. I just… wanted to offer my assistance.” He fumbled with his hands until he decided fisting them into his overalls was the more convenient thing to do.

Paige tittered behind Poe’s shoulder and he had to bite his cheek to keep from doing the same, “I didn’t get your name?”

“It’s Cors, sir. Zeeke Cors.”

Paige’s voice took on a high pitch, “Wait, the Zeeke Cors? I thought you’d be… older.” She sounded impressed.

Poe turned to her, his brows raised by half a millimetre, “Am I missing something.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir. Just a fluke that stuck and made me sound like some big wig with big brains and a little too much luck on his side,” he beamed. “Frankly, I’m just a guy who was in the right place at the right time.”

“He’s being modest,” Paige scoffed. “He managed to sneak aboard a First Order ship and sabotage its flight controls preventing it from pursuing a resistance medical vessel back to D’Qar. No one would have known he did it either, if they hadn’t found him passed out in the galley with the capacitor fused into his palm.” She turned to the young man, finger pointing to his arm, and then continued: “Didn’t they have to give you a prosthetic?”

He untucked his left hand from his pocket and rolled up the sleeve, “Nah, just grafts. My injuries were somewhat exaggerated by my crewmates. Makes for a more interesting story. At least, that’s what they tell me.”

The hero type, eh?

He took a step forward, glancing around as though someone might be listening in, “Between us, the ship was empty. The troopers had already disembarked when I snuck in through a maintenance hatch. The pilot and second mate didn’t even notice me because I was in a crawl space the entire time.”

Poe tucked his arms around his chest, “How’d you know about the crawl space? Ever worked on a First Order ship before?”

Zeeke shook his head, “Nope. I just have a knack for fixing things. Besides, most ships are designed the same. My brother works on Canto Bight as a…” he paused for a second and decided to let that detail slide. “Anyway, he showed me some blueprints once. The Hutt’s pay a lotta credits for any info they can get on ship designs. Makes for good saboteuring. That’s what they say, anyway.” He shrugged awkwardly before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “So, what ‘dya say to having an extra pair of eyes tag along? I make a good spotter.”

From how he held himself, Poe would have figured Zeeke to be a little too nervous to have on a mission, but after hearing the strange twang in his accent and the types of words he used, he wasn’t so sure nervous was an accurate assumption. Wiry was perhaps a better description. He mulled over the short boy’s proposal for a long minute.

Paige was the one to break the silence, “Aww, come on Commander, cut the kid some slack. How many chances do you think he’s had to visit Takodana? Hell, it’s my first time here too. And by that count, it means only one of us knows the lay of the land. An extra man watching our backs doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Twice,” Zeeke added.

“What?” Paige hummed in confusion.

“You said ‘how many chances do you think he’s had to visit Takodana?’” he held up two fingers in a V. “Twice. Which means you’d have two people who know the lay of the land on your team. I also have a good memory. Remember most things on the fly. Makes me a terrible sabacc player.”

“Because you always lose?” she cocked her head to the side.

“Because I always win. And the house didn’t like that…” his attention drifted momentarily before he shook himself back to the present.

Paige opened her mouth, probably to inquire about his two prior visits or his penchant for sabacc considering he seemed unlike the usual type that would wind up at a pirate haven –not once, but twice– and also partake in high stakes gambling. Poe interjected to wrap thing up. They’d spent long enough just standing there.

“Why not,” he agreed. “Tell the others to stay ready in case we need to make a quick and loud exit. Maz will try and keep things civil, but you never know.”

“Great!” he rolled on the balls of his heels like a kid building up confidence to ask a question. “Do I get a blaster?”

Paige and Poe exchanged a look before they both nodded, but not in a way that said yes. “No,” they said simultaneously before they made their way to Maz’s place beyond the dense tree line, Zeeke ran after them once he relayed Poe’s orders.

“What do you think a princess looks like?” Paige whispered in Poe’s direction as they scoured the riff-raff populating the hot and stuffy make-shift cantina. “I mean, I know the General used to be a princess but then… you know, Alderaan went all kablooey. I’ve seen images of the queen of Naboo before, but if someone dressed like that was in here, they’d stick out like a Tusken Raider on Hoth.”

Zeeke chuckled, his voice drawing the attention of several lurkers who had kept their sights trained on them since they arrived. That small action seemed to tell those unfriendly faces that they weren’t intimidated in the least, despite being relatively new faces in this establishment. The staring masses seemed to be satisfied with Zeeke’s show of confidence and they went about their business as usual.

He sure was good at reading a room, Poe thought. That could come in handy.

“I’ve seen a few princesses. Most of them always wear fancy dresses with too much jewellery. The kind of too much that means they aren’t in the least bit worried about losing one of their eight rings. Heck, I once saw a prince wearing so much jewellery I mistook him for a woman,” Zeeke told Paige. She found his slip up amusing. “Don’t laugh, it was an honest mistake. Besides, if you’d seen him, you’d be thrown for a loop too.”

Paige poked his side with a large grin, “What, did the handsome prince fluster you?”

Zeeke scoffed, “No. And he wasn’t handsome.” He stuck out his thumb close to Poe’s chin. “Poe is handsome. He was… beautiful. Hence the reason I mistook him for a princess.” His words came out nonchalantly like he was telling Paige water was wet.

Paige snorted loudly, a laugh braced behind her palm as she tried to hold back her laughing fit.

“Well, I guess all we have to do is look for a beautiful man who wears a lot of jewellery,” Poe teased with a half-smirk.

Zeeke mouthed a ‘Ha-ha’ before he tapped on Poe’s jacket discretely, “Actually, I think I’ve spotted them.” He nudged his nose towards a table in the back placed in a poorly lit area with five people sat around it. At first glance, they would seem to blend right in, but upon a more thorough observation, Poe noticed they were more guarded than most of the people inside this cramped space.

Sat in the farthest right corner of the table was a tall, stout man with a gut protruding over his belt. He wore a small sleeveless jacket that looked ridiculous on his frame. It was probably too small for Poe’s shoulders. Perhaps Paige or Zeeke would have fit into it better. Beside the large man was a Jawa sitting on top of stacked crates. His arms waved around energetically as some of his Jawaese made its way to Poe’s unfamiliar ears. Listening attentively was a woman in mechanics overalls. Her posture was slumped and her face marred by dark rings under her eyes –a blaster holstered at her thigh. She wasn’t unattractive, but sitting beside the much more poised and stiff looking woman dressed in purple, she was easily overlooked. The woman in purple and black was probably the princess. The scary, tall man with his right arm in a sling, casting a deformed shadow over the table, was probably her bodyguard. Though, Poe wondered what good he was to her right now considering his battered state. And as though he had sensed their presence, the man with the dark storm-filled eyes looked over at Poe, a grim line pressing his lips together until they turned near-white. Poe shuddered on reflex.

“So, what now?” Paige asked.

Poe’s fingers smoothed over the data disk he had downloaded Leia’s data packet onto. A hesitancy in his actions as he squared his jaw and let out a breathy sigh. “I guess, now we talk to a princess.”

“Boy, tone down that confidence, why don’t you,” Zeeke jested.

“Are you certain that was the whole message?” Koa inquired in a hushed voice.

Calista’s fingers dipped and ran over the ridges and snaking twists of her newly braided hair, the umber ends reminding her a little too much of her aunt’s signature colour. With distaste, she tossed the heavy braid behind her, feeling it swing and tickle her lower back. “That was all it said,” she replied finally.

“It makes no sense,” Odhen grumbled, as was his usual manner of speaking Calista had discovered. “Why send us all the way out here to find your friend if his half of the message simply lead to co-ordinates in the middle of nowhere? There’s no star, no planet, no planetoid… nothing’s in that quadrant. Except black.”

Everyone turned to Mokk-Toh hoping he would provide them with more answers, but he had been silent ever since she had found him in that cave, lost and despondent. Calista feared that he wouldn’t ever truly recover from the news of Lenora’s death and that worried her. She had always suspected they shared a strong bond, maybe even one that proved to be of an intimate nature, but she had never witnessed more than kind words and trusting gazes shared between them while in their presence. And right now, all she had was speculation. That made her feel… conflicted. Calista was good at reading people, but not when it came to her family. And never when it came to Mokk-Toh. He was an impregnable fortress of secrets and silence. A statuesque sentry, ever on watch.

Mokk-Toh ignored their inquiring gazes, he was too preoccupied with staring at a group of strangers who had just walked into the stuffy space. It was for good reason too, because now those three strangers were walking towards them with purpose. Their leader, a man in a dusty brown jacket, caught Calista’s eye. He looked like a man with a mission. She couldn’t help but notice how kind his eyes were, even if his jaw was set tightly and his shoulders were squared in an intimidating manner.

Calista’s gaze wandered down to the point of contact between Mokk-Toh’s less accurate right hand and his swords frayed hilt. She cleared her throat discretely and he eased up immediately. So did Koa. It seems their pendulum had found a new addition. Now they were a singular organism. A cluster of nerve endings fused together to form a synapse.

The man in the brown jacket kept his hands freely visible at his sides, his blaster clipped firmly in place by his holster. He wanted them to know he wasn’t a threat. Though, Calista also noticed that he was gravitating towards Koa, like she was the authority head at their table. She bit back a humorous smile as he stopped a meter short from Koa’s seat.

“Princess Calista of House Ordell?” he seemed unsure of his own voice, but he still kept his shoulders square.

Odhen hid his snigger behind a loud cough, sending a wink in Ton-Ton’s direction. It went unnoticed. Or so she thought until she saw the young kid with the ringlet curls hold up his finger towards his leader’s back to try and tell him something. The woman with the woolly hat pushed his hand down and muttered something at him with nervous eyes.

Koa cocked her head to the side, staring at the three strangers with an impressive poker face. She stayed quiet, deciding it would be more beneficial to see how things played out. For some reason, he took her silence for admission.

“The name’s Poe Dameron,” he offered as he pulled up a chair and joined their table without permission. “This my second mate Paige,” he pointed to the woman behind his left shoulder. “And this is Zeeke.” He pointed to the boy over his right. “General Leia Organa sent me… with this–“

He pulled out a data disk and slid it over the enamel textured table.

Odhen’s smile vanished as soon as he heard the man speak, his brows growing heavy again. Ton-Ton spoke to him, though not as loudly as his usual choice of expression. The boy with the ringlets –Zeeke– lifted his chin slightly at the sound of Jawaese. Calista wondered if he was familiar with the dialect.

Calista opened her mouth to say something when Poe spoke over her, “I’ve been sent here to bring you back with us… to our base.”

“Why should I trust anything you say?” Koa stared him down.

The smaller woman, Paige, gulped in place of Poe.

Poe ruffled his hair and rubbed his hand over his scruff growing just below his nose, “Look, princess, I’m just following orders. I was told you needed my help. Here I am.” There was a slight petulance to his tone that made Calista chuckle softly. Koa and Mokk-Toh didn’t find his tone of voice as amusing.

Zeeke bent side-ways towards Paige and whispered something into her ear. Suddenly her eyes went buggy as she turned her focus to Odhen, her mouth pried open by whatever it was Zeeke had told her. The burly pilot was made aware of the woman staring at him by the crude way in which Ton-Ton had jabbed at his resting palm. With a pained snarl, he retracted his hand and stood off the stool.

“I’m heading to the Somnambulist, gonna make sure she’s all fuelled up. If you see Maz, don’t tell her I’m here,” he said as he pulled Ton-Ton behind him in the red trolley.

Calista, Mokk-Toh and Koa all hummed in unison as they watched their pilot stride away. What ensued next was a series of rapid fired back and forth between Koa and Poe. Both of whom grew more and more annoyed by the others arrogance, impatience and reluctance to back down. Calista had tuned them out as she stared at the data disk under Poe’s palm. It looked to be the same make as the ones she and Mokk-Toh had been entrusted with. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Calista tried to speak for a second time, but it was Mokk-Toh who spoke this time, “We need to leave.”

“Do you sense something?” Calista asked in their native tongue.

Mokk-Toh gave a rigid nod as he trained his eyes up, not to the ceiling, but beyond. His good arm reaching to massage the tender flesh of his formerly dislocated left shoulder. “Now,” he advised.

A crackling noise moved through the structure, a tingle lining every metal structure. Zeeke pinched his muscles to stop the cramp that had been triggered in his two fingers bending unnaturally.

“What was that?” Paige asked.

“It felt like a pulse,” Poe replied.

“We’re too late…” Mokk-Toh said.

Calista scurried after the panicked Mokk-Toh as he rushed out of the cantina and made his way to the spot where the Somnambulist was parked. Koa and Poe were right on their heels, the two of them still locked in a heated battle of words.

“I must insist you and your people return with me, you’ll be safer there,” he argued.

“No place is safe in the galaxy right now,” she bit back.

He sighed, “Look, you’re my mission and I always complete my mission.”

“You’re going to be sorely disappointed then.”

Without warning, a gust of strong winds blew through a brush of dense trees and then a hot, blinding flash of light devoured a sector of the forest and left nothing behind but the thrum of the earth quaking beneath their feet and ash where trees used to be.

“By the stars… Poe,” Paige tugged on his brown jacket. “Isn’t that where…”

Poe forced his spit down with a rough bob of his Adam’s apple, “The Rose One…”

Calista’s eyes narrowed when she felt Mokk-Toh’s grip grow stone cold and then let go of her wrist. He unfastened the knot that held his sling in place and his bones groaned and popped in agony as he stretched it free. Dark bruises and fresh cuts marring his skin.

He unsheathed his sword and his voice turned dark, “He’s here.”

Automatically, she reached for her blasters handle.

“Who?” Zeeke turned to them, worried and afraid –though valiantly keeping his wits about him.

Mokk-Toh’s glazed over, “Versengen.”

Then, as if on cue, an ugly, droning ship glided through the air and set itself down a few paces in front of them. The doors peeled back and out of the darkness, the bounty hunter emerged.

“I told you, I’d find you.” the masked hunter’s voice was distorted. “And look,” he tilted his head as far as his restrictive armour would let him. “You’ve got friends.” His laugh sounded like someone choking on marbles. “Hello… Calista. You look so much like your father…”

My father? She wondered. What does he have to do with any of this?

Shivers prickled at her tired flesh as another ripple of unnerving laughter filled the air. Calista’s stomach grew tight and her chest felt hollow when the burning odours in the air filled her lungs. There it was again… despair.

To be continued...

Tags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees@carolinamalo53 @everything-intertwined

#poe dameron #star wars #poe dameron imagine #poe x ofc #poe x calista #sw tfa #sw tlj #oricignal characters #star wars imagine

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bloodybells1 · 5 years

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On Specialization

I’ve never been comfortable with the term “bassist”. This may sound peculiar coming from a bassist, though not so peculiar if you consider that, as Whitman famously wrote, “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

First, a word about the pecking order of a typical rock band: often, the singer is understood, rightly or wrongly, as occupying the top rung, while the bassist will often come last. The zeitgeist supports this claim. For example, in one episode of Just Shoot Me, Wendy Malick’s character, Nina Van Horn, brags about having laid the singer of a band the previous night, but spits out her water when she’s informed by more sober members of the party that it was in fact the bassist she’d slept with.

In the broadest sense of the term, a rock band is kind of like a layer cake. The singer occupies the top layer, with the other instruments on down. Flashy guitar leads and sexy lyrics (“Come here, baby,” and so on and so forth) take center stage, followed by the drums, slamming and banging like an army coming from behind.

And at last, at the bottom of the cake, the bass guitar, which, to the untrained ear, most often presents a barbaric, low-frequency drawl. Often it’s made even more unintelligible by the music hall’s cavernous reverb. The end result is that the casual listener begins calling the bass player “the other guy”.

When I was active as a professional musician, as the band Interpol’s bassist, I obsessed over this totemic arrangement. It was difficult to ignore how recessive I could become with this instrument around my shoulder.

So, when the band stumbled onto the good fortune of fame and success, when cameras and journalists trained their gaze on us, I compensated for this “imbalance” with sheer braggadocio. Onstage I impersonated Nikki Sixx, while backstage, in interviews, I dropped outlandish statements, the better to have my words show up as pull-quotes. Sealing my public relations push, I scheduled extracurricular activities, such as DJ’ing and, well, coitus, because, hello, it was rock music.

It seemed I’d pulled a switch, that ropes were cranking open an underwater gate, and, before I could finish saying “Cocaine”, an inner Poseidon was releasing the Kraken. It felt as though I couldn’t possibly sate my appetite.

This was a survival strategy, of sorts. I had to find some way to course correct for the imbalance, to prevent my ego from disappearing under the bass guitarist’s fate, the opaque destiny of the bottom rung. I was (and still am) too much a narcissist to endure the role of “filling in the blanks”. I needed more, much more.

Many a fine bassist is perfectly happy to fulfill the humble dispensation of their craft. The best of them are masters of understatement, achieving great notoriety among aficionados (John Paul Jones, for example). But, for better or for worse, I was too much of a diva for that. I’m not exactly proud per se that I’m a diva, but this shouldn’t stop me from being honest.

I suppose this is why I now bristle when someone calls me a “bassist”. The word registers to me as a reminder, not only of lowly status, but also of an embarrassing rebellion against that status, which time has demonstrated as the sign of narcissism, not to mention immaturity.

But the word also implies a degree of specialization with which I have never been comfortable. Jaco Pastorius was a bassist. Bernard Edwards, of Chic, was a bassist. Cliff Burton, of early Metallica, was a bassist. Among the living, Billy Sheehan, of David Lee Roth’s band and Mr. Big, is a bassist. I will even concede that the chief influencers of my bass playing, Peter Hook of Joy Division/New Order and John Taylor of Duran Duran, are bassists, in the truest sense of that word.

But I? I was a gifted musician and composer who came across the bass guitar by way of a college band that happened to take off. Afterwards, I simply used that talent for the less than sincere objectives noted above.*

I don’t disparage the life of specialization, nor those who’ve chosen it. If anything, I envy their attention span. Encountering satisfaction, and even success, following a single career track strikes me as patently wise, to say nothing of the karma of furthering the conversation in a certain field.

But I would hate to detract from the more esteemed practitioners of this instrument, those who clearly set out to make it their life’s work, by welcoming this appellation without the caveat I am writing here.

In anything, one can’t start from a weak place. Otherwise, the foundation is shabby, having begun from an inauthentic proposition. “This is what I should do” is deplorable. “This feels truthful to me” is the better course, no matter the cost, nor the risk. Playing the bass guitar, over and over again to the exclusion of other pursuits, just didn’t feel truthful to me.

At every step on the One Path of Specialization, my gaze would inevitably fall on the alleys and byways fanning out on either side. I’d feel a piece of my heart break every time. At the end of each day, having successively stranded one part of me, then another, I’d go to sleep feeling much less complete than in the morning.

This is no way to end the day. So, in order to preserve my sleep, I decided my curiosity was too important to ignore, that the greatest failure I could envision, for which there seemed to be no justification in permitting, was lying on my death bed wondering what lay under the stones I’d passed my whole life.

Naturally, taking action was an agony. Procrastination was the order of the day. It took years to make headway, years of worrying what would happen to me if I quit, of the deep regret I might encounter. My therapist at the time, listening to the 124th hour of my pretzel-twisting, finally said, “Carlos, you have the right to fuck up your life.” That was the narrative game changer I needed to hear, and I made my decision right then and there to leave Interpol and pursue training in other fields of interest, mainly acting, but also writing.

This isn’t to say I don’t experience regret, agonizing distress even. How often have I stopped for a latte at the local café, overheard myself playing bass guitar through the speakers, and rued the impetuous decision to leave behind such glorious specialization! It’s the height of confusion to taste blessed freedom and bitter mediocrity in the same quaff.

But then I think of two of my heroes, who support their rejection of specialization with an ironic philosophical outlook.

Stephen Fry, on a recent airing of Sam Harris’ podcast Making Sense, explained to his host how he was able to produce the astonishing breadth of his oeuvre – novels, TV appearances, comedy specials, productions of Shakespeare, documentary films, influential tweets – with a humble confession: “Without sounding over paradoxical, it may be a result of having no particular talent.”

Henry Rollins, the punk rocker emeritus, admitted to as much on the multimedia web portal, Big Think, when he said, “I don’t have talent, I have tenacity . . . I have discipline, I have focus.” TV show host, lead singer, travel documentarian, actor, spoken word artist, writer, publisher, Rollins is not so much a great artist as a great “artwork of himself”. He exemplifies the truth that the sum total of mediocre talents equals a net gain of life excellence.

I always like to say: “There’s nothing wrong with being a jack of all trades, for the adage is incorrect: yes, you’d be master of none except that of being a jack of all trades.”

Thomas Jefferson’s epitaph reads: “Author of the Declaration of Independence [and] of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom & Father of the University of Virginia." Notice the absence of his eight years as our third president. “Author of the Declaration” is certainly no secret, but the other two are generally not well known. Clearly, he was making a statement, despite what historians might prefer to emphasize, of what was truly deserving of remembrance.

Hedy Lamarr, a talented and beautiful mid-century Hollywood star, also co-invented a radio guidance system for Allied powers in World War II that Bluetooth technology incorporates today. August Strindberg, the dean of Swedish drama, was also an influential painter whose subjective landscapes, like the astonishing Wonderland from 1894, were ahead of their time.

Don’t get me started on Al Franken.

Rejecting specialization, because it affords multiple avenues and narratives, is a roundabout way to attain control, and therefore, if he’s feeling constrained, a control freak’s preferred modus operandi. What you lose in the area of expertise, you gain in control over the conversation, for at no point do you involve yourself so much as to permit outside narratives to latch (or leech) on to your pursuits.

At a certain point, I realized that my rockstar posturing in Interpol had an expiration date, past which it would be cute no longer, not to mention hazardous to my health and the emotional wellbeing of my colleagues. The history of rock music presents copious examples of this sequence of events.

But I still needed control. Therefore, I chose to reject the specialization of a successful career as a bassist.

Differences in career objectives meant that I would eventually have to leave the band. Of course there were other factors, more personal than I’m choosing to write here. I will cover that part in other entries. But the need to retain control of my own conversation, along with the desire to achieve that control through a kind of diaspora of artistic pursuits, is salient nonetheless.

I’ll close with a bit of a Marxist riff. Specialization is a capitalist construct (and I mean that with all the opprobrium that statement must sound like it’s making). Its origins lie in the Agricultural Revolution, the first time human labor was ever divided on a large scale, and the Industrial Revolution, which automated that division, created incredibly precise specialization, and amplified the labor force beyond anything previously imaginable.

This has given birth to a fetishization of “expertise” that has pervaded almost every industry. Today, we often ask someone we just met “What do you do?” One of the chief faults I could lay on modernity’s doorstep would be that this question, among all others, does indeed, sadly, provide the fastest track to a person’s core identity. “Trust the experts” sounds eminently advisable. People distrust non-experts the way they distrust when someone’s thoughts evolve, branding them as inconsistent, therefore untrustworthy.

But this is all optics. We are inculcated to believe in the unhindered progress of Capital and this presumes labor, specifically specialized labor, to fulfill its mandate. This makes us suspicious of those who do not specialize. We want someone to stand still, and “be someone”, meaning “be a specialist” in this, that, or some other thing. But this suspicion holds only if you truly believe that the end all of human civilization is the progress of Capital, a belief I am sure most readers, hopefully, at the least, of this blog, reject.

*There is an interplay between sincerity and artifice that permeates rock music, but I don’t wish to get into that here. Suffice it to say for the time being, that there are instances when a rock band suffers extraordinary reputational costs when pursuing a “sincere” style, and this happens, in my opinion, because rock music, in amplifying lifestyle, spectacle, and fashion, is inherently a post-modern art form akin to Pop Art and Dadaism, and therefore more ironic than sincere. This explains why it is so easy to make fun of Coldplay. But I’ll spare the reader the musicology lesson for another time. Yet, I write this to mitigate, perhaps only slightly, the disingenuousness of my “insincerity” as a bassist.

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imaginedmelody · 5 years

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I think I’m finally ready to try and write my “The Magicians” season finale reaction post.

I’ve been collecting my thoughts on this for the last almost-week, because I knew that this post would be a difficult one; it’s hard to sort through all the opinions and feelings and put them down in a way that makes sense. I’ll try to hit on my major takeaways under the readmore. Bear in mind that my reaction is mixed. Conflicted is the word I’ve been using. I really sympathize with the pain that much of the fandom is feeling, even if I don’t feel it on a level that’s the same (or perhaps comparable) to theirs. I’ll try to dig into that in this post a bit.

I’m a new viewer to this show, as I’ve said many times before. I tried to watch it two years ago, and found it confusing in that I felt like it failed to resonate with me even though I still felt strangely drawn to it. I would watch an episode, feel unsatisfied and only barely interested, but then the next day I would feel oddly compelled to watch the next one. After about 5 episodes of season 1, I gave up. I picked it back up again about 9 weeks ago; I guess I was one of the many viewers who came along because of 4x05, although I didn’t realize that was why I was pulled back in- I just started seeing more and more about the show on my social media again, and it was enough to make me want to give it another try.

This time, I was hooked. I marathon-watched the whole show in probably 4-5 weeks and loved almost every moment (except for a couple of the really distressingly disturbing ones). I was so moved by 3x05, “A Life in the Day,” that I wrote this post about how the show felt like a missing piece had slotted into place at the end of that episode; like a photo that you don’t realize is slightly out of focus until someone adjusts the resolution and it just resolves. I got caught up enough to livetweet somewhere around episode 7 or 8 of season 4, and have been enjoying my integration into the fandom, although I’m still very peripherally a part of it.

I say all this because, as a new viewer, the fallout of 4x13 has been...confusing. Not confusing as in “I don’t understand why this is happening,” but in the sense that the fandom’s collective grief can feel kind of alienating to new viewers. That’s not intentional on the part of seasoned fans, and it’s not something that anyone should feel responsible for or obligated to change. It’s just difficult because we have only just invested in the show. We may be devastated at the loss of Quentin, many of us for the same reasons longtime viewers are (the loss of queer representation, for instance, or the way it seemed to counteract the positive development of a mentally ill character). But at the same time, a lot of us are more positive overall, even if we think killing off that character was a bad choice. We’re still kind of wrapped up in our enthusiasm, so that our grief just feels like another strong emotion we’re feeling, rather than a betrayal. And it can be awkward because we don’t want to express that too boldly or strongly, because we don’t want to appear to be trivializing the grief of other fans. I think that’s an unfair position that the show, not the fans, puts us in. We’re already new to the community, and now we feel less engaged in what is very much a communal emotional response. Positivity feels like rubbing salt in other fans’ wounds. So we’re not sure where we stand.

I was in shock when the show killed off Quentin. Like most viewers, I couldn’t believe it. I waited for them to find a way to reverse it. It was like a hole forming in my heart when they didn’t. I mentioned on twitter later that night that I cry all the time when I watch TV and movies- literally, if something is in any way beautiful, or sad, or exciting, or happy, I’m getting teary-eyed. But once the credits roll and the story is done, my emotional response is usually finished too. If I’m gonna react to it in any other way, it’ll be intellectual (through meta or fanfic) rather than emotional.

But when this episode ended, I finished my cup of tea, went upstairs, and got in the shower. And all of a sudden, before I even knew it, I was crying. It had been 15 minutes since the episode ended and I was still emotional enough to cry. Since then, because I’m a glutton for emotion who likes to lean into anything that makes me feel strongly, I’ve rewatched the episode once and the “Take On Me” scene like eight times- and every single time I’ve cried, even if it’s just a little. It touches some raw emotional place in me that very few shows get to. And I think I’m in awe of that as much as I’m in pain because of it.

I never quite got to the outrage that other fans did, though. That could be for a number of reasons- less prolonged attachment as a new viewer (although I feel very attached to the show and characters); greater privilege to not feel personally attacked by the loss; just having more emotional energy to engage with the scene. But I felt simultaneously anguished and energized by the episode, including the death. It broke my heart, but it also pulled me in. It’s very confusing. I’m angry at how things increasingly seem to have been mishandled, and I’m disappointed at the fallout this has for the show and the fans, and I’m in disagreement with the validity of the choice. But I still feel engaged and almost excited by it. That’s a hard balance to reconcile.

It really does seem to me like the writers dropped the ball. The fact that they knew they were killing Quentin off bothers me, but actually, the thing that I find most galling is that the other actors weren’t in on the plan. We have it on good authority that they filmed a fake scene, where presumably Q comes back somehow, and all the actors were led to believe that was what was in the episode until two days before the finale, when they were told the truth for the first time. My question is: why? Did they not trust the actors to keep the secret? I can kind of understand faking out the audience, but why play that mind game with your actors, who are part of the creative team and should know what’s going on? Why deprive them of the chance to say goodbye to Jason Ralph as a fellow cast member? So far, in every interview, no one has really explained what the point of that fakeout was. If I was an actor on the show, I’d feel really upset about that.

The other thing that’s really been grinding my gears is something that I saw mentioned in comments before I ever saw it in context in the article (and thank you to everyone who helped me find the source). It’s a quote from John McNamara, one of the showrunners, from an article in the Hollywood Reporter, in which he says this about the decision to kill off Q:

“... in a way, I'm not sure what we would have done with the character had he lived.”

I took issue with that statement for two reasons. The first is from a writing craft perspective. I understand wanting to take risks and shake up expectations, and I understand that “kill someone off” is common writing advice when you get stuck in a project. But it’s my firm belief that the main character (and even on an ensemble show like this, yes, there is a clear lead character) should pretty much always be safe. Because the premise of the show is structured in some essential way around him; that’s why he’s the lead. And that’s why almost every show that gets rid of its main character, either by recasting or just removing and replacing with other characters, goes downhill in quality- because that original character was integral to the story.

I’ve said before that literally the only story I can think of that is better for having killed off its protagonist is friggin’ Julius Caesar. When I teach that play, we discuss at that moment in Act 3- and then again at the end of the play- what it means for the narrative if your title character dies halfway through his story. What it means that Marc Antony is the lead for the rest of the play. How Caesar is still so central to the plot even though he’s dead. Part of the reason this doesn’t work on TV- the reason the plot can’t still centralize the character they killed in the narrative- is because a play is a single self-contained entity that you consume all at once, and a TV series is, well, serialized. The show can’t keep centering a character who’s no longer present, because it wouldn’t resonate in a long-form narrative that you consume in small installments. That’s why shows that kill off characters don’t keep bringing them up. They throw in a couple of heartfelt moments that directly or indirectly reference the character, and then they move on and you’re supposed to let them go. A protagonist has to live to keep being important to the story.

So I am of the firm belief that if your main character has outlived his usefulness, the problem is with your narrative as a whole, not with that particular character. If you can’t think of anywhere meaningful for that character to go, you don’t need to kill him off- you need to restructure your whole story so that it’s responsive to him again. It doesn’t have to revolve around him all the time- the show has frequently centered around other characters prominently and effectively, and Q doesn’t have to be in the spotlight all the time- but if he’s no longer relevant? Your whole story has a problem.

But the second thing that aggravates me about that comment is this: not only do I think Q should not ever become decentralized and disconnected from his show’s narrative, I don’t think he has. The events of this season provided so much room to develop that character. He learned his discipline (minor mendings), which has tremendous practical usefulness as well as symbolic significance. “Escape From the Happy Place” reopened a potential relationship that contains a whole wellspring of emotional resonance as well as complication. His father died- you can do a lot with the grief related to that. His reconnection with Alice felt hollow to me, but even that could be useful narratively (especially if she goes on to lead the Library, which could create a layer of separation and potential for either teamwork or conflict of interest that could sustain several intriguing narratives). Even his tendency toward suicidal self-sacrifice could have been brought up; the conversation he had with Penny about whether he was trying to be a hero or just finally finding a way to kill himself could be had after a failed self-sacrifice attempt just as meaningfully as a successful one.

Quentin has been filled with potential this entire season in the storyline. All of this plus his emotional reckoning with Fillory in the scene where he brings the garden back to life... it seemed like the writers spent the whole season re-establishing all the potential Q had. It didn’t read like a season in which the writers didn’t know what to do with him any more. So the decision to kill him off does seem purely like an effort to challenge themselves as writers and wrong-foot the fans. Which I don’t think is enough of a reason to do it.

Because here’s the thing: I’m a writer too, and I understand that the dichotomy of pursuing your own writing vision and capitulating to the fans’ wants and needs is a delicate one. Writers hate being told what to write, and with social media and fan conventions and other very close forms of engagement, fans have more ways to make their desires known than perhaps ever before. They have every right to make the choice that supports their creative vision, and to do things that force them to stretch their limits as creators. But this feels like it went wildly off its mark. It feels less like an experiment and more like a careless move, and I think they could have approached it a lot better.

I wouldn’t rule out seeing Q again on the show one day. I think if they’re willing to fake us all out once, they’d do it again. I’m comforted by the fact that they appear to have consulted the author early in the process and gotten his blessing, although his comments since then seem to walk back his involvement or contradict what the showrunners have said. (Whether that’s because they’ve overstated his involvement or enthusiasm, or whether he was involved in the decision and is now trying to distance himself from the fallout, it’s impossible to say.)

What is less heartening for me is that some of these writers/creators come from Supernatural, a show that has gone on for far too long and has been retreading tired old ground for years. I only watched to about season 8, but it just feels like an endless cycle of similar plot arcs and killing off and resurrecting the same characters over and over again. The Magicians, admittedly, feels a lot more well-crafted, so I don’t think they’d get as lazy as SPN seems to be- but it’s still a worry, all the same.

(Side note: I am often adamant that unless it’s a legacy franchise like Doctor Who, most shows should intentionally be constructed to be a maximum of 5-7 seasons. I think a lot of broadcast shows are less high-quality because they are just vague pitches that get riffed into a show; the writers and creators don’t come into it with an endpoint in mind, so the show goes on as long as they can add any material at all to it or until they get cancelled, whichever comes first. That means that the plot feels aimless and unstructured. The difference between “prestige TV” and “regular TV” is not just better writing and acting overall- it’s that those shows tend to have a very defined arc, and they know where they’re going, so everything is in service of a common idea. Not just a vague and easily sellable premise that can have a ton of stuff derived from it with little effort. I think The Magicians sits above most broadcast shows in quality, but this is where it is starting to show its weak points. And that’s why I think the creators need to be very deliberate about making sure everything going forward contributes to a very defined arc.)

So that’s where I am right now. Emotionally a wreck; disappointed in the process of this choice and feeling the grief other fans feel; strangely invigorated at the same time? Unsure where to go from here, really. Still committed to watching the show as much as I ever have been, but wary at the same time. It’s complicated. But I’m ready to embrace the complexity of it.

#the magicians #the magicians spoilers #imaginedmelody writes meta #(although i don't know if this is really meta?)

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