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#perfectionism won today
goatmati · 5 months
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Aitana Bonmatí, one step away from the Golden Ball: "I suffer because I always want more".
In her book United We Are Stronger (2022) she says that as a child she was "cold and hard". Why does she say that? She answers in the photos, sitting on the visitors' bench at the Johan Cruyff stadium: "My childhood was not easy because I was the only girl in a man's world, and the fights, the insults I received, I think I kept them to myself, I was not able to get them out and I simply put on a shield.”
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“Sometimes you would end up in fisticuffs.”
“Sometimes, it wasn't the usual. The usual were the insults.”
“They got you fried.”
“Quite a lot.”
Andrés Iniesta writes by message: "I am proud that Guardiola compares me with the best player in the world today". The prodigy says of Bonmatí: "What I would highlight most is her evolution: she has gone from being a good team player to having an increasingly important role to the point of currently leading the national team and Barça along with Alexia Putellas and other great players". He emphasizes her technical quality, her speed, her skill, her goal sense and "her great winning mentality".
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Her former coach emphasizes one word: ambition. Aitana Bonmatí's ambition.
“What is ambition?”
“Wanting to be the best in everything, having the desire to improve every day and to reach the top in all areas," the player answers.
“Where does that come from?”
“From me.”
“But where does it come from?”
“I've never asked myself that question. I've always been very competitive, very ambitious, a winner, haven't I? Since I was a little girl. I don't know, I would say that it doesn’t come from my family, they have many virtues, but they are not competitive and even less so in sports.”
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“I don't allow myself to fail.” Too self-demanding?
“Yes, but over the years I have learned not to be so hard, to understand that one is not perfect and that mistakes sometimes make you improve.”
Bonmatí this year has won the World Cup, the Champions League, the League and the Super Cup, and has been MVP of the World Cup, MVP of the Champions League, MVP of the Super Cup final and best player of the year for UEFA. She should be satisfied, at the very least. "I don't know, she's insatiable," responds Cristian Martín along with Ignasi Cardó, her representatives.
Bonmatí knows about the double-edged sword of perfectionism. She deals with it with her club psychologists and in private therapy. "I'm rarely happy with my games because I always want more, but I'm managing it better and better. I still suffer, but not as much as before. I allow myself to be a person and I allow myself to fail."
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In the last World Cup, after winning the match that gave them the pass to the final, she spoke with Mayca Jiménez, a journalist from Relevo. There were a few days left before the final and Jiménez asked her if they would celebrate that night. "No celebration", was the answer, followed by the need to sleep eight hours and other comments about essential guidelines that should not be skipped, not even that night. Jiménez underlines her courage in standing up for herself. When Japan beat them in the group stage of the World Cup, Bonmatí spoke to all the media, Spaniards and foreigners, in good English. She pledged that they would learn from the defeat. She said: "I ask for forgiveness.”
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"Ambition is wanting to be the best," says Bonmatí.
She says she has seen women's football grow a lot, but points out that it still has a long way to go. "This is the beginning," she says. On what is lacking in women's football, she prefers not to say just one thing out of the many she would have to say. Although she mentions the obvious "precariousness" of some fields in Liga F.
She reflects on language. Should we continue to say women's football? She thinks not and proposes: "Either specify masculine or feminine whenever football is said, or not specify and that according to the context it is understood". She praises Barça's vision in betting on non-hegemonic sports sections and declares herself a "convinced Culé", although she had an offer from Olympique Lyon in 2021 that gave her pause for thought. "Important decisions should not be taken from one day to the next. I like to evaluate all the options," she explains. In December 2021, she renewed her contract until 2025.
She has recovered a bit of her tone. When asked what she thinks of the cliché that a footballer should not talk about politics, she replies that freedom of expression is the same for those who work in a company, in a hospital or in a football team. That said, today is not the day she feels like exercising it. It's over. Aitana Bonmatí needs to go and rest.
Note: Aitana has played 140 consecutive games for club and country. The grind hasn’t stopped for a second.
But also,
Please let my girl rest. She’s done so well.
(Excerpts of the interview she’s done with El País Semanal.)
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I mentioned recently that I think it would be cool to see John Robins on Taskmaster, because among other things, we haven’t had enough of the properly self-loathing comedians on there. By coincidence, today I was reading something on a different site that discussed potential future Taskmaster contestants, and I saw something that made 100% sure I want him on there. It was someone saying his pedantry and competitiveness might annoy everyone, and someone else saying he would definitely ruin the show, with his tendency to not let a single thing go, and be too serious about it.
This reminds me of when I was trying to decide whether to buy Jon Richardson’s book. My favourite version of Jon Richardson is one of my favourite versions of any comedian in the world, I absolutely love him. That would be radio show-era version, the 8 Out of 10 Cats version, the first few years of Catsdown version. Since then, he’s been steadily watered down. It’s not been all bad, parts of Ultimate Worrier were good. But that’s not the Jon Richardson I loved in earlier years.
His book was published in 2011, which is definitely a Jon Richardson era I liked. But its title and cover and descriptions made me hesitate. All those things made it look like something that packaged Jon Richardson’s neuroses into this palpable thing that they’ve become now. I didn’t want to read that. I didn’t want to read Jon Richardson write a guide for how to date while being vaguely quirky.
To decide whether to buy it, I looked at the 1-star reviews on Goodreads and Amazon. That’s what made me really decide to buy it. All the reviews that said things along the lines of: “Well, I find him funny on panel shows, so I thought this would be like that. But it’s not like that! It’s dark and miserable and depressing!” I think the review that made me decide for sure I wanted to buy it was:
I was pretty disappointed by this book - if this is how Jon lives his life then he really needs therapy. There are only so many times that you can read about how this might go wrong and that might not go so well. I finally finished the book but it was hard going. I did not really find anything about it amusing - more of an insight into how his “perfectionism” takes over his life and the trouble it can get him into. I had read the reviews prior to purchasing - however I thought that, as I enjoy his dry wit on TV, it might be OK. His dry wit comes through but just makes him appear to be a thoroughly irritating person. Not for me but others might enjoy it more. 
Great. That is what I want out of a Jon Richardson book. And I bought it, and that is exactly what I got. Honestly, I’m surprised the thing got published. It was a totally undiluted bit of Jon Richardson’s most fucked up era, absolutely nothing palpable in that. No perfectly pressed and buttoned cardigans in that, just stories about genuinely uncomfortable things that came from getting unreasonably angry about everything that goes wrong.
I’ve recently heard John Robins’ stand-up shows from 2014, 2015, 2016, and the big award winning Darkness of Robins one from 2018. I really liked all of them, especially that last one (understandably, I think, that’s why it won the awards). This makes me think I could maybe really love his radio work with Ellis James, but the problem with that is my brain has difficulty getting into a bit of something but not starting from the beginning and hearing/seeing/reading all of it, and I’m pretty sure there are about 15,000 hours of Ellis James and John Robins on the radio. So John Robins is a dangerous entity for me, I really like him but if I get too into him it could lead to me losing 15,000 hours of my life.
However, I somewhat recently read a negative opinion on his stand-up. Someone who said they liked him on the radio, where he seemed like a nice and upbeat guy, so they checked out his stand-up, and were disappointed that that was quite a bit darker and less nice than his radio stuff. That comment made me think I’d probably still enjoy his radio shows, but I’m not missing out on the best parts of him by not getting into that.
Sometimes, on the Taskmaster podcast, Ed Gamble will make jokes about how his own hyper-competitive approach to the show annoyed people. And I’ll think, “Yeah, okay, it’s a bit weird when comedians do this sort of thing, but I know it’s common. When they take something about themselves that’s obviously beloved by fans, and self-depricate about it, talk about it like it’s a bad thing. Fine, I guess Ed can do that with his competitive nature, even though he obviously knows that’s what made him one of the most entertaining contestants.”
But when I actually read things about Taskmaster, I remember that most people don’t see it that way, and Ed isn’t really off the mark by saying his intensity puts people off. Which is fine, if anyone reading this dislikes that sort of thing. Obviously we all watch this stuff for different reasons, and everyone else’s reasons are fine. I just forget sometimes that other people are seeing it so differently than I am. I tend to agree with the way I’ve heard Ed Gamble describe Taskmaster before, when he says contestants can try to win or can try to be funny, and it’s better to do the former. Because if you try hard enough to win, that will naturally come out as something funny.
Reading about people who thought Ed Gamble took things too far does also make me think… “We’re all watching this for the same reasons, right? We’re all really into Taskmaster because COVID took away our access to actual sports, and watching people get intensely and dysfunctionally competitive about this fulfills whatever void in us has been left by that? We all feel empty without watching some people tear themselves and others apart for something with arbitrarily assigned value and artificial but still powerful stakes, and we found this television show that seems to hit those points?” Yeah, apparently that’s not why everyone is into it. And that’s fine. We can all have our different reasons.
I just really want to see John Robins ruin Taskmaster with his pedantry and competitiveness that would annoy everyone, with his tendency to not let a single thing go. Come on, Alex. Cast your angry fucked up golf buddy. I didn’t get really into following comedy to see people’s palpable sides.
...I do realize this might be, like, problematic. It’s not ideal to specifically want to see comedians who will do damaging things due to some psychological problem. I’m very pleased for Jon Richardson that he got married and had a child and went to therapy and worked some stuff out, and I at times feel genuinely guilty that I preferred him before all that. Because the idea that people should suffer for art is a bad one. It’s a better world, now that Jon Richardson is happy. But I still want to see if John Robins can equal the James Acaster level of self-loathing destructive fury on Taskmaster, maybe break a camera with a golf club.
While I’m at this, I really wish Alun Cochrane hadn’t gone fucking right-wing. From the stuff I’ve heard of his before he went that way, I think he could have been one of the ones I really liked for this sort of reason. Which shows that marriage and kids don’t necessarily preclude being the kind of intensely fucked up comedian I like (meaning I don’t blame Lucy Beaumont for any dip in my love for Jon Richardson’s comedy’s quality, I blame TV executives for making him button up his cardigan so tightly that all his flaws got ironed into quirks), because Cochrane had plenty of years of being that, after getting married and before going all Comedy Unleashed. Unfortunately, I now can’t enjoy anything he’s ever done because I know where it ends up.
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mental-mario · 6 months
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Pressure, Perfectionism, and Pinball
In first grade, I was the kid with the perfect attendance award. In second grade, I won the school spelling bee. If I told my parents I wanted to grow up to work for a company, they would tell me to run my own company. While I think they meant well, that put a ton of pressure on me, which was never great for my anxiety. I got very good at hiding my mental health issues under a veil of stoicism because I would get bullied otherwise. That stoicism carried over through more than ten years of a professional career that made my parents proud in between bouts of no contact.
My father was a workaholic, and my mother would call me lazy and a bunch of other names I can get into another time. She hated how sedentary I was as a kid, even though she was no athlete herself. There was no care or understanding back then about the role depression has played in my life. Even when I identified it as depression, I didn’t go for treatment until recently because it was taught to me that the sadness and feelings of emptiness were just me being spoiled and entitled. If I was shy or afraid of something, I’d get called a wuss or something worse than that. I believed from the gaslighting that I was fine when I’m not, and it took years of denial before coming to realize the abuse that not only I went through but that I have put my wife and kids through.
Feel free to share your own personal battles. You aren’t alone.
Today, I’m playing NES Pinball and also Sonic Spinball. Two fun and underrated games, and I love the ability to play briefly as Mario balancing the ball, as well as the ability to navigate around as Sonic in between being the ball. I loved going to the arcade as a kid and playing pinball as well. One of my favorites was WWF Royal Rumble by Data East as well as the Kiss and Guns N’ Roses machines. What’s your favorite distraction from overwhelming depression?
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temporary-dysphoria · 2 years
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Today officially began the re-write and review of How to Train Your Assassin's. My perfectionism won me over and I cannot leave a good story untold.
It will probably take at least 6-12 months still though let's be real.
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elizabethospeaks · 2 years
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CW this is a huge ramble but this is a blogging platform so I’m just going to ADHD my thoughts everywhere
I've been thinking a lot about 'artistic talent' recently and what it means to me.
As a kid, I don't know; I wasn't what I'd call naturally gifted with art? Right from age 5 up to my early teens - I loved art, I drew constantly, I wanted so badly to be good at art. I grew up without a computer or art programs for the most part, partly because of how old I am and partly because we didn't have a lot of money. My parents could afford paper and cheap art materials, but that was about it - definitely no time or money for any kind of formal training.
There were kids in my first art classes with way better technical skills, better knowledge of anatomy and proportions, lighting etc etc. But I never got the impression they were as passionate about it as I was.
My first art teacher only seemed to have time for his male students that had those technical skills. I remember very vividly watching him enthuse over my male friends work, holding it up for the rest of the class to see - and me just sitting opposite him, drawing my heart out desperately, producing and producing and trying my best just desperately craving that same attention.
But he never had much time for me despite how obviously enthusiastic I was. Even when I assertively asked for his feedback, he was overly critical and just seemed frustrated by what I interpreted as this lack of innate talent some of my peers had. He never actually taught me much.
My disabilities held me back too - my undiagnosed ADHD made art tutorials I found online dull and difficult to follow. My perfectionism made creating even more frustrating (any other ADHDers with the irony of also being a perfectionist as you miss out glaring details as you’re rushing to finish something?). As online communities became more accessible I tried to join them and befriend other artists; but my skills were juvenile and frankly, I was super young and super annoying, so I didn’t get much of the creative community and feedback I craved a lot. When we did have a computer at home I could use, we couldn’t afford any digital art programs or tools, I just drew with a mouse in MSPaint and did so for a long long time. If I wanted to do lineart, eventually I started sketching on paper, scanning it in, and then painstakingly cleaned it up by erasing with a mouse so I could colour it.
I did befriend one artist eventually, who is still my friend today - she’s a little older than me and is incredibly technically talented. Her dad had art skills himself and taught her, and these days she’s won awards for her wildlife illustrations. She tried to help me and taught me more in one lesson on lighting and shading than my art teacher had done in 2 years. But comparison is the thief of joy and I just felt mournful comparing my art to hers. What was the point in trying to be an artist if I was never going to reach that level of skill?
Now I’m older I realise more where my friends skill came from. Her dad never had much time for her - but he would spend time with her and talk to her about her art. He was very overly critical to his own child and she so badly wanted to get his approval and spend time with him that she channelled absolutely everything into her art. But that never occurred to me when I was younger - I didn’t think about the lack of opportunities I’d had, or the circumstances of the artists I envied for being so much better than I was. I just felt so incredibly hopeless, disappointed and frustrated at myself.
Eventually that all stopped me from creating art entirely, for years. I just gave up. I didn’t start trying to create art again until very recently, a few years ago; after I finally managed to escape an abusive relationship and used my creative skills to help me work through what I now know was the beginning of my PTSD.
I guess the point of me writing this other than just wanting to purge my thoughts, is the hope that maybe somebody else might read this and see their own fraught experience with creating reflected in my own journey, and feel a little less alone. Sometimes it’s easy to think other creatives have a journey of sunshine and rainbows, but mine has been anything but.
I still struggle with a lot of these feelings - I still feel as though I’m lacking some magical spark of illusive 🌟tALEnt✨. It’s all been made worse by the many, many years where I just didn’t draw at all out of hopelessness and shame, and therefore fell even further behind where I feel I should be by now. But I managed to get that passion back and I use that to keep myself going; I remind myself all the time of how much I lost in those years where I just gave up. I constantly drive myself to improve and try to ignore how small my follower count and notes are. It’s still frustrating, still disheartening at times. But I’ve come so far and intend to keep going further ♥
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cardboard13 · 1 year
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Dreams
I'm writing Chapter 9 (>700 words in), but I've also started writing my novel today. The thing is, my hobby is novel writing (I've written 4 so far), but I never really published anything because I always think it's not my best work. Those novels I've written will never see the light of day (also, haha, I've written 4 novels yet never won NaNoWriMo, obviously because I'm a slow writer). However, it's always been a dream of mines since childhood to have a published novel. But the thing with childhood dreams is that I tend to get in my own way and self-sabotage because I'm terrified of getting it wrong.
I spent the past year without writing anything because I was just so disillusioned about my own abilities. Maybe I should give up on my childhood dream and work at my job and not think about it.
Except the ideas keep coming in, and work isn't something that I find my passion in (it's something I'm good at, but it's not something that I will spend my entire waking moment on). But the fear of starting a story only to realize it's not that good (after 4 times) weighs heavily on me.
I started writing fanfiction for Isshiki and Nene because I wanted to read more stories about this couple and I've read all of them after scouring all the sites. So I decided to put matters into my own hands and write. At first, it was more of a quantity issue than quality, and I didn't really care much about whether or not it was actually any good...some were absolute duds, but it didn't matter, because we were rising up the ranks!
Writing fanfiction really helped me not care about the perfectionism of having everything 'right', as long as I got to get it out. I'm always the type of person who has all these ideas in my head, and getting them out (even if they're not exactly to my standard) helped bring new ideas into my head, as you can see from all these stories I wrote so far, and the 80+ that are still on my list (I got another idea in my head this morning). The act of writing in itself has started to become more enjoyable, sometimes fun (that food wars fic was just complete insanity, and I laugh whenever I think about it--part 2 will be up as soon as we're #5--take that, Ryo and Alice!).
That is to say, I'm not going to stop writing fanfiction, because it's an area for me to express my creativity and test out different writing styles. Just that, it's also opened up my heart to trying novel writing again. This story idea that I have in my head, it needs to be written, because we need more stories like it out in the world.
Okay, enough of that, I need to go back to writing Chapter 9 now.
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santilozart · 1 day
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  Don´t care about grammar, as long as you get the message. Don´t care if I have been too much broken and damaged, if it was needed so I can deliver this message for you today, then I feel satisfied and up to date with God… to you beloved #idmji leaders.  I´m just like a dynamo, depending on the love or hate atmosphere I adapt to the mood... and now I feel chill ... love u people. When people show hate, even in real life, I get into counterattack stage... If people modulate toward love, I modulate as well towards being sensible and loving...  I´ve being in two poles... due being too sensitive I have been really broken and damaged, cause people are not use to that.... so, they push me... And when being broken... I get into military black Goku mode... to teach those who had broken me in pieces... then I get into balance mode, once the lesson had been given...  Anyway, love is like a balance catalyzation on me, that get me into my best version... problem is finding that person who can bear my nerd illness, guide me, teach me, ... that sign of kindness... the love medicine, works better to heal any of my past mental disease than any of the current medical advances on pshyquiatrics... cause they don{t get the full holistic concept of wellness and happiness, due most of them, deny the existence of soul, arguing love and feelings are just physics and chemistry .and today, I´m kind of balance due having found some cool people who makes me laugh instead of judge and condemn me every second... Sometimes there is more kindness, love and mikness, reality awareness on people in the world than in the self-called, elite spiritual chosen ones... despite I acknowledging that spiritual descendance on them, they rather judge and demand on you 10.000 + ethical requirements so your mind and should won´t leave in sorrow and condemnation... but I had found eternity and love embracing my vulnerability on this imperfect world, seeking to please the creator since my resilient battle to rise up in the midst of imperfection, or the mental illness that psychological limiting believes, created in me in the first place... it is why I feel today more free than ever, awaiting for them to acknowledge all this knowledge, to improve, towards sensitive true perfect love for real... : and get a positive use of the love, and spiritual power they had being given, to heal and love the world, instead of using to feel the 0.01% of the world who deserve salvation, so they leave the need of condemning this world and start to heal it and recover it, making people and humanity to love and feel again, love for them (Selfs teem), for their love partners, the people surrounding them, and finally to heal for real society, attending the called and first love for what they were initially called to serve
called to serve. And... stop collective paranoia about the devil being attacking you through me or anyone appointing your improvement area opportunities... people voice is kind of God´s voice don´t you think?... I love you #idmji people, but I need you to being aware of the improvements you need to make in order to make people fall in love of God, not just to espantarlos due your inflexibility, and bad interpretation of perfectionism, which creates psychological traumas and collective damaging pshycorigdness on most of the current population getting to know God. Due this psicorigidez, specially on girls... I´ve being tired of being broken in tears and sadness. so I just better speak to set my illness go aways, and heal for real... as God told me to make by himself... just speak, anything you know is wrong, speak... I´m with you, don´t have fear of my people setting chains and heavy wearies on my people, don´t fear, I´m with you... love U guys. #staysafe  And remember, any person, even the Ministry, should have the same level of importance before God, even in your own eyes as spiritual leaders, so stop thinking anyone below, with no authority have no right to talk... that´s kind of indirect subconscious spiritual passive discrimination. something like that... lower your head, when someone appoint your weakness, because it is in order for you to improve, not to damage you... and also, don´t wait passively to bring the revengeful God from 2000 k plus as an argument to believe everything you do is just pure perfection... and under that precept, then no one deserves to teach you...  stop that, and just love yourself, improve your areas of opportunities, and let the people be guided and settled free by your humility acknowledging example... that works better than 1000 praying's of you to defeat and destroy and condemn everyone who tries to teach you, interpretating in the midst of paranoia, that it is the devil seeking to destroy it all .... even you know the devil only moves if God´s allows him to and to damage, and also you know there are good spiritual hustles from goodness with the ability to reprehend and correct, and they are not the devile, neither hells army... it is God himself teaching you, sharpening steel with still, as two friends advice between each other to improve and get better... The God of love, peace and kindness can do more for this broken society than, the God of ideologic war and condemnation... hope you get the deepness of this message on your rhetoric. So you can modulate your speech and seeds from reality with a positive spiritual forward on people minds, whos today are more sensitive than 50 or 100 or 1000 years ago... and that sensitive is more powerfull, it is love that heals and beats it all, not 1000 spiritual gifts and acts of service, and love is find trough vulnerability and dependance of the one who really haves all spiritual gifts and power... Chirst and God him self, the real Ministry of the Universe and creation... @santiloz_Art
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stormzyismyson · 9 months
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5 worst policy decisions in history
German over engineering- Germans had only artillery better than French and they still won the war (owing to French not using machine guns properly and not being proficient in military tactics). This led to an obsession with perfectionism in German engineering. Where in ww2, they had crafted magnificent submarines which were pieces of art to say the least but these were detected by simple SONAR technology and busted. More technology also creates more points of failure. Ex - A submarine has about 8,000 to 10,000 screws.
Iran's habit of taking hostages - 1200 Started with taking Mongol hostage. It took 600 years to revive persian population to pre 1200 levels. 1800 Russian ambassador taken hostage, russia invades, annexes Chechnya and Azerbaijan. Us was looking for diplomatic solutions but again a hostage was killed which then led no space for negotiations and Iran Iraq war took place.
Successful Socialism- Sweden, Finland made war profits during WW1 and WW2. Nordic countries have very high outward migration rates. Anyone who wants to overperform leaves. Norway became rich due to oil in North Sea. Citizens pay 50%-60% taxes. Many Swedish companies are based out of Sweden due to this. Denmark made enormous profits in pork sales during World War.(These countries which are the epitome of socialism have population less than South delhi). The Fins used western technology to develop ships and sold them over to USSR.
Mercanitilism(Colonisation) - The North Italy used to be poor and the South Italy used to be rich due to surplus agricultural production. The North however became the ruling class later due to the surplus of South pouring into their colonised North. This later led to the North becoming today's rich Italy. 1990s North Belgium - Flemish. South Belgium - French Speaking. Coal, steel factories were located in South. The northerners were employed as workers and the South didn't invest in the north to develop. In 2000s, however the North adopts the Information Revolution and became the richer part. Northern Belgians went from being considered barbarians to posh. Mercantilism isn't a sustainable model. Britain ended up subsiding India after 1911.
Decision of NATO to expand East-Russia has been pushed into Chinese influence(Earlier putin was always suspicious of China). India (the 3rd biggest power in Eurasia) will be at the highest danger when 2 biggest powers come together.
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aaknopf · 4 years
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Today we present a preview of a major new biography of Sylvia Plath, Red Comet, coming this fall. Through committed investigative scholarship, Heather Clark is able to offer the most extensively researched and nuanced view yet of a poet whose influence grows with each new generation of readers. Clark is the first biographer to draw upon all of Plath's surviving letters, including fourteen newly discovered letters Plath sent to her psychiatrist in 1961-63, and to draw extensively on her unpublished diaries, calendars, and poetry manuscripts. She is also the first to have had full, unfettered access to Ted Hughes's unpublished diaries and poetry manuscripts, allowing her to present a balanced and humane view of this remarkable creative marriage (and its unravelling) from both sides. She is able to present significant new findings about Plath's whereabouts and her state of health on the weekend leading up to her death. With these and many other "firsts," Clark's approach to Plath is to chart the course of this brilliant poet's development, highlighting her literary and intellectual growth rather than her undoing. Here, we offer a passage from Clark's prologue to the biography, followed by lines from one of Plath's celebrated "bee poems."
from Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath
The Oxford professor Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf’s biographer, has written, “Women writers whose lives involved abuse, mental-illness, self-harm, suicide, have often been treated, biographically, as victims or psychological case-histories first and as professional writers second.” This is especially true of Sylvia Plath, who has become cultural shorthand for female hysteria. When we see a female character reading The Bell Jar in a movie, we know she will make trouble. As the critic Maggie Nelson reminds us, “to be called the Sylvia Plath of anything is a bad thing.” Nelson reminds us, too, that a woman who explores depression in her art isn’t perceived as “a shamanistic voyager to the dark side, but a ‘madwoman in the attic,’ an abject spectacle.” Perhaps this is why Woody Allen teased Diane Keaton for reading Plath’s seminal collection Ariel in Annie Hall. Or why, in the 1980s, a prominent reviewer cracked his favorite Plath joke as he reviewed Plath’s Pulitzer Prize–winning Collected Poems: “ ‘Why did SP cross the road?’ ‘To be struck by an oncoming vehicle.’ ” Male writers who kill themselves are rarely subject to such black humor: there are no dinner-party jokes about David Foster Wallace.
Since her suicide in 1963, Sylvia Plath has become a paradoxical symbol of female power and helplessness whose life has been subsumed by her afterlife. Caught in the limbo between icon and cliché, she has been mythologized and pathologized in movies, television, and biographies as a high priestess of poetry, obsessed with death. These distortions gained momentum in the 1960s when Ariel was published. Most reviewers didn’t know what to make of the burning, pulsating metaphors in poems like “Lady Lazarus” or the chilly imagery of “Edge.” Time called the book a “jet of flame from a literary dragon who in the last months of her life breathed a burning river of bale across the literary landscape.” The Washington Post dubbed Plath a “snake lady of misery” in an article entitled “The Cult of Plath.” Robert Lowell, in his introduction to Ariel, characterized Plath as Medea, hurtling toward her own destruction.
Recent scholarship has deepened our understanding of Plath as a master of performance and irony. Yet the critical work done on Plath has not sufficiently altered her popular, clichéd image as the Marilyn Monroe of the literati. Melodramatic portraits of Plath as a crazed poetic priestess are still with us. Her most recent biographer called her “a sorceress who had the power to attract men with a flash of her intense eyes, a tortured soul whose only destiny was death by her own hand.” He wrote that she “aspired to transform herself into a psychotic deity.” These caricatures have calcified over time into the popular, reductive version of Sylvia Plath we all know: the suicidal writer of The Bell Jar whose cultish devotees are black-clad young women. (“Sylvia Plath: The Muse of Teen Angst,” reads the title of a 2003 article in Psychology Today.) Plath thought herself a different kind of “sorceress”: “I am a damn good high priestess of the intellect,” she wrote her friend Mel Woody in July 1954.
Elizabeth Hardwick once wrote of Sylvia Plath, “when the curtain goes down, it is her own dead body there on the stage, sacrificed to her own plot.” Yet to suggest that Plath’s suicide was some sort of grand finale only perpetuates the Plath myth that simplifies our understanding of her work and her life. Sylvia Plath was one of the most highly educated women of her generation, an academic superstar and perennial prizewinner. Even after a suicide attempt and several months at McLean Hospital, she still managed to graduate from Smith College summa cum laude. She was accepted to graduate programs in English at Columbia, Oxford, and Radcliffe and won a Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, where she graduated with high honors. She was so brilliant that Smith asked her to return to teach in their English department without a PhD. Her mastery of English literature’s past and present intimidated her students and even her fellow poets. In Robert Lowell’s 1959 creative writing seminar, Plath’s peers remembered how easily she picked up on obscure literary allusions. “ ‘It reminds me of Empson,’ Sylvia would say . . . ‘It reminds me of Herbert.’ ‘Perhaps the early Marianne Moore?’ ” Later, Plath made small talk with T. S. Eliot and Stephen Spender at London cocktail parties, where she was the model of wit and decorum.
Very few friends realized that she struggled with depression, which revealed itself episodically. In college, she aced her exams, drank in moderation, dressed sharply, and dated men from Yale and Amherst. She struck most as the proverbial golden girl. But when severe depression struck, she saw no way out. In 1953, a depressive episode led to botched electroshock therapy sessions at a notorious asylum. Plath told her friend Ellie Friedman that she had been led to the shock room and “electrocuted.” “She told me that it was like being murdered, it was the most horrific thing in the world for her. She said, ‘If this should ever happen to me again, I will kill myself.’ ” Plath attempted suicide rather than endure further tortures.
In 1963, the stressors were different. A looming divorce, single motherhood, loneliness, illness, and a brutally cold winter fueled the final depression that would take her life. Plath had been a victim of psychiatric mismanagement and negligence at age twenty, and she was terrified of depression’s “cures,” as she wrote in her last letter to her psychiatrist—shock treatment, insulin injections, institutionalization, “a mental hospital, lobotomies.” It is no accident that Plath killed herself on the day she was supposed to enter a British psychiatric ward.
Sylvia Plath did not think of herself as a depressive. She considered herself strong, passionate, intelligent, determined, and brave, like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. She was tough-minded and filled her journal with exhortations to work harder—evidence, others have said, of her pathological, neurotic perfectionism. Another interpretation is that she was—like many male writers—simply ambitious, eager to make her mark on the world. She knew that depression was her greatest adversary, the one thing that could hold her back. She distrusted psychiatry—especially male psychiatrists—and tried to understand her own depression intellectually through the work of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, Erich Fromm, and others. Self-medication, for Plath, meant analyzing the idea of a schizoid self in her honors thesis on The Brothers Karamazov.
Bitter experience taught her how to accommodate depression—exploit it, even—in her art. “There is an increasing market for mental-hospital stuff. I am a fool if I don’t relive, or recreate it,” she wrote in her journal. The remark sounds trite, but her writing on depression was profound. Her own immigrant family background and experience at McLean gave her insight into the lives of the outcast. Plath would fill her late work, sometimes controversially, with the disenfranchised—women, the mentally ill, refugees, political dissidents, Jews, prisoners, divorcées, mothers. As she matured, she became more determined to speak out on their behalf. In The Bell Jar, one of the greatest protest novels of the twentieth century, she probed the link between insanity and repression. Like Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the novel exposed a repressive Cold War America that could drive even the “best minds” of a generation crazy. Are you really sick, Plath asks, or has your society made you so? She never romanticized depression and death; she did not swoon into darkness. Rather, she delineated the cold, blank atmospherics of depression, without flinching. Plath’s ability to resurface after her depressive episodes gave her courage to explore, as Ted Hughes put it, “psychological depth, very lucidly focused and lit.” The themes of rebirth and renewal are as central to her poems as depression, rage, and destruction.
“What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes asked in his poem “Harlem.” Did it “crust and sugar over—/ like a syrupy sweet?” For most women of Plath’s generation, it did. But Plath was determined to follow her literary vocation. She dreaded the condescending label of “lady poet,” and she had no intention of remaining unmarried and childless like Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop. She wanted to be a wife, mother, and poet—a “triple-threat woman,” as she put it to a friend. These spheres hardly ever overlapped in the sexist era in which she was trapped, but for a time, she achieved all three goals.
They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?
Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her— The mausoleum, the wax house.
from “Stings” by Sylvia Plath
More on this book and author:
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thewhitefluffyhat · 4 years
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No, Alina Isn’t Crazy
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Let me explain...
When Alina was first introduced, I thought she was the character that made the least sense as an actual person rather than as a trope-y “mad artist” archetype.  But after the reveal of her backstory, I find her personality and motivations do make sense, especially when you consider the events of Alina’s Magical Girl Story from her perspective.  
Indeed, since that story’s release on JP, she’s quickly risen to become my favorite new character from Magia Record.  Hence why I’m posting this today - it’s another semi-Magia Rapport related post, haha.  Alina is definitely my favorite of the Forest element characters, and perhaps this essay will show a little of why that is.
Provocative title and Magia Rapport aside, though, what’s actually below the "Keep reading” is a close read analysis essay, specifically focused on Alina’s MGS.  (A lot of Holy Alina’s MGS serves to confirm and reinforce little points scattered throughout this too, but this post was long enough without it!)
Introduction
The theme of Alina’s own art might be “Alina’s beauty” and “life, death, and emotion/decay.”  But I would argue that the theme of her MGS as a when taken as a short story is “voyeurism and objectification at the cost of self-identity.”  Specifically, how Alina’s actions and personality are the logical conclusion to that concept taken to an extreme.
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There’s one important truth to Alina’s world, and that is the idea that Alina’s art IS Alina.  We see it at the start – when she says her art is what she enjoys and what she grasps with her own hands.  We see it at the end – with her realization that her art’s theme is “Alina’s beauty.”
And at the end of the day, what MGS Alina most seems to want is to be left alone to do art, to be herself.  But who is Alina?
Alina the Teen Prodigy
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Unfortunately for Alina, her fame gets in the way of figuring that out.  Such is the life of a teen prodigy.  As perhaps can be expected, constantly parading children under a spotlight is a great recipe for turning out extremely high-strung kids with very warped self-esteem.
(See also: Nemu, but especially Touka.)
The exchange regarding the award here is a good illustration of that mindset.  It might initially seem contradictory for Alina to work desperately hard to win an award that she later doesn’t want and claims she wasn’t aiming to win.  But once being “gifted” becomes central to your identity, winning an award doesn’t feel good anymore.  It feels more like running in place, just the bare minimum expected of you to maintain your identity as a genius.  And Alina’s perfectionism means she can’t not hold herself to that standard.
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Indeed, Alina is already showing signs that she’s struggling under the pressure and overexposure.  Normally, Alina seems to love talking about art and her own works (as long as it isn’t about herself, anyway).  Arguing with her teacher and running away are far more of a bother and interfere with her ability to get back to painting far more than a quick meeting would have been.  Yet she curses at her teacher, bolts, and skips school rather than have to deal with the consequences of her fame again.
She’s irrationally lashing out, asserting her boundaries in whatever way she can. And with the way the characters react, this doesn’t even seem like the first time it’s happened, either...
Which suggests Alina’s problems with her fame also aren’t new.  When we first meet her, Alina is already a lot closer to a breakdown than she appears on the surface.
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Having natural talent from an early age, Alina probably hasn’t learned how to deal with failure without spiraling into a full blown identity crisis.  As a perfectionist, she’s also hypersensitive to even the slightest mistake.  And given that she’s been famous for a few years at this point, her acting out is practically expected.
Just given the setting that she’s a well-known child prodigy, it’s not surprising that Alina has all these traits.
Alina’s Adults Are Useless
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What is a bit disturbing, though, is that adults around Alina aren’t any help in protecting her from her fame.
Indeed, from what we see, the pattern is the opposite - over and over, the supposedly “responsible” adults in Alina’s life say her visibility matters more than her consent.  Her teacher pressures her into competitions she dislikes and then gets on her case when she pushes back.  Her parents put up her whole life story, including photos of her as a kid, without Alina’s approval or even permission. 
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Jumping ahead, I think it’s rather telling that Alina manages to destroy all her art, commit suicide, and get rescued by a third party – and none of these adults even visit her.  A popular theory is that Alina’s parents are travelling in a different country.  But - did no one tell them?  Did they not care?  As it is, anything Alina does – even blatant red flags like destroying a classroom and her own art – is treated as just another work of artistic genius, to be advertised and exhibited.  
(Because apparently nothing says High Art like creep shots of a teenage girl having a mental breakdown.)
Of course, Alina isn’t being neglected or abused like Sana or Yuma.  Not even close.  But she’s not in a great situation either.  She doesn’t really have anyone she can turn to in a crisis.  The adults in her life mostly use her for their own ends, reinforcing that her worth is in her fame as an artist, not her value as a person.
Alina’s Peers Aren’t Much Better
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Then, on a more subtle level, there are Alina’s peers.  Whenever she’s mentioned by people her own age, she’s either the subject of scary rumors or glowing admiration.  Other kids know her as a celebrity name to be idolized or feared, not a person.  
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Before becoming a magical girl, the only person who actually makes an effort to befriend Alina is Karin.  But even she is initially caught up in the aura of Alina’s fame and contributes to the swirl of gossip around her.
The result is a situation where everyone around Alina has their own opinion on who she is.  No one seems to care or leave space for who Alina wants herself to be.  And Alina, not having a social life to fall back on, is increasingly left with “genius artist” as the only means she has to interact with the world.  It’s a self-reinforcing spiral.
The Critic’s Letter
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First, what it’s not: this isn’t about Alina getting a bad review and not being able to handle criticism of her work.  She’s already won the competition.  And Alina is perfectionistic to unhealthy levels - she’s already her own worst critic.
Rather, the letter’s insinuations are both subtler and crueler.  As Alina says, the critic isn’t concerned with her artwork - he’s commenting on Alina as a person.   Thus, the critic’s words are the same pattern as before, now crystallized into its sharpest and purest form.
Alina’s internal sense of identity is precariously fragile.  Meanwhile, Alina’s external identity is being used as a canvas for other people’s desires.  Even though all Alina really wants is to create art for her own sake, other people obsess over and dump their own meaning (or lack of meaning) onto her works.
Once again, Alina’s art is conflated with Alina herself.  The person is being evaluated as a piece of art.
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As if that wasn’t enough, the letter’s final insinuation that Alina is losing her brilliance is a triple threat.  If she can’t create great art, Alina loses the activity she enjoys most. She also loses the one thing she knows other people value her for.  And worst of all, she loses the only touchpoint she has for her sense of self.
Cue existential crisis.  Alina’s life is Alina’s art.  Alina’s art is Alina life.   Without one, she doesn’t have any concept of the other.  
And in the light of all this, her suicide makes perfect sense. 
Alina’s Suicide
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Welcome to the literal and figurative objectification of Alina.  Literal, in that she’s turning into a corpse.  Figurative in that by putting her body up for display, she’s allowing people to voyeuristically consume it –  an idea further reinforced by the “Kusouzu / Nine Phases” reference in the title implying a tinge of sexual objectification as well. 
Now that she’s destroyed all of her previous works, the only thing Alina leaves her audience to look at is Alina herself.  Filming her body as it turns from a person into a dead object was simply the logical conclusion to a life of being displayed, objectified, and overwritten by others’ perceptions.  
But how does Alina feel about this ending?
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The day of her suicide, Alina rushes around in a kind of manic euphoria.  This isn’t especially odd.  After all, it’s not uncommon for a suicidal person to outwardly appear happier before they make an attempt, as finally having a concrete plan of action can feel like a huge relief.  
Dying means a solution to Alina’s worries about her talent fading.  Dying also means an end to all the pressure, all the constant struggle of performing to ever-heightening expectations.  Alina can simply abandon the cases and tools once she’s done with them - no need to stress about the future when she won’t have one.
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Alina’s farewell, though, betrays darker emotions.  It’s simultaneously deeply spiteful - “this is what you all wanted from me, are you happy now?” - yet also an admission of utter defeat.  Alina is giving up her very humanity and selfhood to be evaluated as whatever her audience wants.
Throughout the story, everyone keeps telling Alina that her art is intoxicating, pulling the viewer into it… but the reality is the exact opposite.  Alina’s art was just something Alina made for herself, and any intoxicating meaning was something the viewer injected into it.  
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And thus, Alina’s revelation.  Alina’s theme is “Alina’s beauty” – both a rejection and an embrace of that objectification.  Now, Alina has declared that her art loudly and unabashedly about herself, viewer projection be damned.  And yet, at the same time, since “Alina” is what viewers are obsessed with seeing, then Alina will give them exactly what they want…
An Artistic Failure?
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So then why does Alina consider her final art to be a failure?  It fits well within the theme of “Alina’s beauty.”   Indeed, her later works like “Humanity’s Implicit Reward” and even her swimsuit are arguably just softer variations of the “Alina’s body as forbidden yet alluring object for the viewer to consume” idea that is present here.
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This suicide also seems to fit into the “life and death” motifs she has.  It’s a twisted kind of resurrection - effectively, she’s killing herself as a human in order to live on eternally as a memorable piece of art.
Alina plans her final work directly because she thinks she’s dying as a creator.  Rather than face her brilliance fading, she chooses to defy it by going out in a blaze of glory.  And when put that way, it’s an exciting and fitting conclusion.  
There’s just one little problem with that narrative...
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While drifting between life and death, Alina realizes the critic was wrong.  She had a theme all along.  Alina’s brilliance wasn’t fading.
And thus, since she wasn’t a “dying artist,” her “going out in a blaze of glory” no longer holds any profound meaning.  She’s just a silly teenager who got too worked up over a harsh letter.
The overall concept behind Alina’s last work wasn’t the issue.  The failure was in the timing and execution, killing herself before such a thing had meaning and in a way such that her body would be found.
And so, I don’t think Alina has learned her lesson here.  I don’t think Karin’s words have gotten through to her yet.  If she concludes at a later point that her talent is truly is fading or that she’s lost her theme, I’d fully expect her to pull another suicidal stunt again.
Conclusion
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So the good news: Alina lived!  She’ll have plenty more chances to create art and figure herself out!
But the bad news: Alina’s revelation implies she’s now even more reliant on her identity as a genius artist.  
And thus, like so many other characters, the end to Alina’s MGS isn’t really an ending. She hasn’t solved the problem at the heart of the crisis that led to her wish.  Becoming a magical girl and discovering witches does nothing to stop Alina from falling into another identity spiral, nor has she left her suicidal tendencies behind.
Alina found her theme, but she still hasn’t found herself.
Misc Details
Some other neat miscellaneous details that fit with this interpretation:
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I’m glad the English translation keeps at least a little of the quirky way Alina refers to herself.  (That being said, in Japanese, it’s even more exaggerated - she doesn’t use normal first person pronouns at all, only using “Alina.” )
Because on the one hand, this is an obvious hint at her extreme narcissism: Alina’s sentences frequently emphasize her name.
On the other hand, it’s a great subtle detail to return to the theme of objectification.  To put it another way, Alina refers to herself in third-person.  That is, even when Alina is speaking about herself, she reflexively frames it from the point of view of another person.  Because Alina is constantly having other people’s perspectives forced onto her!
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Also, it turns out the pattern of others projecting onto Alina is present in her witch as well!  “Old Dorothy” is a historical figure whose diaries have been analyzed by multiple different researchers.  Some of them came to the conclusion that Dorothy was definitely a witch, others came to the conclusion she was definitely a normal, upstanding member of her community.  The researchers got completely opposite results from the same exact diaries.  So therefore - did they truly care about learning what Dorothy was really like?  Or were they just out to prove their own theories?
(Two years in, Old Dorothy is even more fitting of a name.  Doroinu basically predicted the entire fan response to Alina.  Some people see her as an evil (w)itch, some people see her as a sympathetic figure - all from looking at the same text.
We’re even starting to see the “two sides” of Alina come up in the Main Story, with Karin’s subplot in Arc 2.)
Meanwhile, Old Dorothy’s form - a “paint tube” - carries both this “paint over with your perceptions” meaning while also suggesting the same story as Alina’s final piece in miniature.  
Unlike Izabel, Alina’s witch form isn’t that of an artist.  Because when Alina hits her lowest point of despair, she no longer considers herself to be an artist.  She believes the only value she has left is to become literal materials to create art.  
In other words, Old Dorothy is Alina turning herself into art again.  It’s just rainbow paint this time instead of red.
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Last but not least: yes, I am absolutely aware of the irony of this essay.   Here I am rambling about how Alina’s story is all about her struggle to be herself while everyone seems determined to erase her in favor of their own projections – and yet  a good chunk of this interpretation is probably my projecting on her.   Whoops!
Still, even if you disagree with it, I hope this essay was interesting and maybe made you question some of your assumptions about Alina.  
Thanks for reading!
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useless-slytherclaw · 3 years
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Zizhen sits in the shade, fanning himself against the summer heat and watching as Jin Ling steps up for his turn with the target.  It’s the final rounds of the archery competition.  Zizhen had intentionally not qualified for this round, hitting just enough off-target so he could be done without being so far off that his sister would hunt him down.  He couldn’t win the competition anyway, so what was the point of dragging himself through another round.  It’s much nicer to sit in the shade and watch his… his whatever Jin Ling is to him, compete.
Jin Ling looks beautiful with the sun threading his long ponytail through with red and painting his skin in gold.  Zizhen can also see the way he’s filled out across the shoulders in the last few years as he draws his bow.  Jin Ling already has the lead for points in this round, so long as he doesn’t horribly fuck up, the round is his, but Zizhen can see the tension in his motion.
He releases the arrows and they fly true, five of them one after another.  They form an almost perfect ring at the very center of the target.  Zizhen jumps to his feet to cheer with the others.  Jin Ling’s main challenger, a disciple from Yunmeng Jiang- to no one’s surprise- hadn’t managed to keep all of them in the most central target.  
It will take time for the points to officially be scored, but it’s clear that Jin Ling just won.  Zizhen watches as Jin Ling stalks away from the range, bow clutched tightly in his hand, and begins to work his way through the small crowd of disqualified contestants and out.  It doesn’t take him long to slip away from everyone and to the small private tent for Jin Ling; Zizhen is good at going unnoticed.
“Congratulations A-Ling,” Zizhen says brightly as he steps into the tent.  
Jin Ling starts in surprise and turns to look at Zizhen.  This close, Zizhen can tell that there’s something- frustration perhaps- behind his usual scowl.  
“You just won,” Zizhen says, keeping his voice light.  He wraps his arms around Jin Ling.  “Like I knew you would.”
Jin Ling tenses at Zizhen’s touch, but Zizhen ignores it.  Physical affection, even hugs, are difficult for Jin Ling, and Zizhen knows better than to take it personally.  Jin Ling had admitted it to him, once or twice in private and with a bit of wine between them.  
“I fucked up the third shot,” Jin Ling says, sounding frustrated.
“You did the best out of anyone,” Zizhen counters, leaning his head against Jin Ling’s shoulder.  
Jin Ling is even more tense than normal.  Usually, he relaxes into Zizhen’s touch after his initial reaction, but not today.
“But I could have done better!”
This is something else about Jin Ling that Zizhen doesn’t really understand.  Despite his father’s best efforts, Zizhen has never been a victim of perfectionism.  Still, Zizhen can sense that there’s something more to this than the archery competition.  It’s Lanling Jin’s first time hosting such a grand event since the fall of Jin Guangyao two years ago, and the stress is clearly eating away at Jin Ling.
“No one is perfect A-Ling,”
“I need to be!” 
“No you don’t,” Zizhen says softly.  He pulls back and looks up into Jin Ling’s golden-brown eyes.  “You just need to be you.  You’ve already done things no one thought you could.  You held Lanling Jin together against all odds.  And it’s not just together; it’s thriving.  And on top of that, you are the best archer in our generation.”
Jin Ling squeezes his eyes shut and Zizhen can see his lip trembling faintly.
“You are amazing, A-Ling,” Zizhen says.  
He reaches up with one hand and cradles Jin Ling’s face.  Jin Ling tenses again, and Zizhen doesn’t move, not wanting to push too far- no matter what Jin Ling had told him before.
“I’m not,” Jin Ling says, turning his head slightly into Zizhen’s hand. 
“You are,” Zizhen says, “and I love you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jin Ling says, “I’m useless.  I can’t even...” He gestures vaguely at Zizhen who is still holding on to him.  
“A-Ling,” Zizhen says softly.  It’s true that loving Jin Ling isn’t easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.  And who had ever claimed love was meant to be easy anyway.
“I’m broken, Zizhen.”  His breath shakes.  
“Maybe and maybe not,” Zizhen says, not wanting to argue this point.  “But it doesn’t matter. You are you, A-Ling, and you are worth loving.  I love you, and I will keep loving you.”
“Zizhen,” Jin Ling says softly.  He sets one hand on the small of Zizhen’s back as tears gather on his lashes.
“I love you,” Zizhen says, gently kissing away the tear rolling down Jin Ling’s cheek.  “And I’m not going anywhere.”
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chainsmokespens · 3 years
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Orchard, 21.03.21: Vitamin Z
Vitamin Z
This week I was reminded of why I started this course of changes. I don’t know how appropriate it is to refer to someone as your muse today, but I knew regardless. It’s like an adrenaline shot to the heart, one of those cinematic, dramatic ones that snaps you out of the in-and-out, humdrum, mundane world around you and pulls you, heart-first, back into why you started what you were doing.
I probably won’t meet her again. I’m sure that ship is at a nicer dock perched on a virtuous coastline and carved out of six-pack abs. But, I’m grateful.
It’s easy to find the flaws in someone who rejected you. In her case, I couldn’t find any. She was just right to turn me down.
I missed her. I miss her. But there’s wonderful women everywhere. And I’ll take to heart the changes I need to make so that I don’t miss the next her that crosses my path.
 Budget
In the spirit of that, I sat down to figure out my budget for the next year. And it’s looking surprisingly optimistic.
My goal is to move up to Syracuse. With my financials figured out, I just need to not lose my job and I should be able to make it my next June.
Needless to say, I was happy to learn that.
 Facebook Writers
What I wasn’t so happy about is the series of Facebook groups I’ve joined. As you can tell, writing personal things isn’t really my strong suit. Certainly not in situations like this, where I’m making myself do it. But, considering that I am one writer out of hundreds of millions in the world, I imagined it be nice to acquaint myself with some people. Marketing for writers isn’t easy, after all. Especially when you’re not named.
But the communities are all pretty…vitriolic.
A man asked which of two covers worked better for his book. Being a group of writers, he received dozens of detailed responses. Answers wherein the speaker was more interested in showing off their understanding of literary and publishing nuances than actually answering the questions.
My response: “Number 1.”
A woman made a detailed list of the stereotypes applied when male writers write sexually active males against how they write sexually active females. Of course, the problem was these were stereotypes in writing. “Men who sleep around are great! But women who sleep around are sluts!” “Men who aren’t interested in sex are focused, driven by success in life! Women who aren’t interested in sex are lesbians!”
She applied this long list of writing faux pas on the shoulders of male writers. And this led to more arguing.
People post clips of their book as they’re writing it. A commenter tells them to use more commas and write shorter sentences. A poster volunteers themselves to give out their opinion, making sure to note that they’ve run a blog for the last ten years, so you know their word has value.
A Facebook certified “Conversation Starter” describes The Face by Dean Koontz as “tiresome, tedious, ostentatious” with “florid prose and so many extended metaphors”. This followed by a flood of comments about how much Dean Koontz sucks and questions of how he got so popular.
I’ve never read Dean Koontz, but I’ve heard of him. I don’t recognize any of these people by face or name.
Crabs in a barrel. There’s no success too small for these people to put down. There’s no templar too noble for them to not shit on. There’s a million complex, pretentious, “it depends”, pseudointellectual answers to simple questions like, “Does the blue cover or black cover look better?”
I’m happy I didn’t go to college to write. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to some out this exhausting.
It feels like people don’t understand that there’s success to be had for everybody when it comes to writing. There’s not always fame and critical success. Or an interview tour or a movie deal. Or a place in a high school text book or pop mythology. Or billions of dollars in the bank and vacations to hunt sharks with a shotgun.
But success is available to everyone. Appearance may vary.
I don’t know if I’ll stay in these groups. Or if a non-collegiate writer like me would be expunged. But I take peace in the knowledge that if I ever want to know what type of writer I don’t want to be I can just open up Facebook, click on the group, scroll half a page down, and find some example of how not to pursue this career.
 In the Name of Love for Shaman King
I should also make it clear that I’m going to forego the Shaman King breakdown I intended to write. I have enough distractions from what it is I need to do.
I’m disappointed twice over. First, I don’t have the ability to pick up a new discipline and edit a video together. Maybe if I were more patient or observant, but I’m just not there yet. Secondly, I let the new viewers, the ones who get legitimately excited to experience something I used to love, who craft theories and breakdown themes, get to me.
My love of Shaman King inspired me as an artist and a writer. And while I put down my colored pencils nearly a decade ago now, I still write. And I still carry those themes of spirituality and optimism into the stories I craft.
And that’s the best way for me to present my love. Through my actual work. Through what actually inspires me. Through patience. And not a six-hour list of things I love about the series.
And that wasn’t a jab at legitimate reviewers. That was the plan.
 Mom
Also, I was given a mattress by my mom this week.
Family’s a weird point for me. I don’t know if I’m ready to get into that, but I feel that I need to do a better job as someone who owes his existence to other people. I forgot who it was, but someone once said that there are two types of parents. You can be a role model or you can be a cautionary tale.
 Coworkers
I’m in a good place with my coworkers, too.
The front-of-house is mostly college-aged—closer to my age than most of back-of-house—and their optimistic look on life keeps me grounded in positivity as well.
I didn’t work in too many kitchens after culinary school, but they could definitely get rough. It’s nice to be able to enjoy your work.
 Commitment to Making Flash Fiction as Flash Fiction
I needed to reassure myself in my commitment to writing flash fiction.
I made an assurance to edit one of the stories when I posted it to Reddit a few days ago. It didn’t take me long to realize I shouldn’t have done that. Flash fiction is the nice decompressing poop that you take in the morning before you begin the stuff you legitimately work on. And if it’s nice enough you may even be compelled to mold that poop into a decent short.
I got myself caught up. I was afraid that, having posted many of these low-quality poops online, people would begin to judge me as nothing more than a poop writer. And when it came time to actually try to get people to read my web serial, they’d be like, “I don’t care if it’s free. You’re a poop writer. I can’t waste my time with you.”
Yahtzee Croshaw does a series called “Dev Diary” on YouTube, where he breaks down the process of making indie video games. In one of them he talked about how perfectionism sinks in. How it’s tempting to keep your work to yourself, to keep it from being judged so that others may not, by extension, judge you. He said he had to remember that he was not his work.
And I suppose I have to do the same. I’m not a hobbyist with a single story that I’m convinced will put my name on the map. I’m a writer with dozens of different ideas and could get excited about a dozen new ones in the next week.
Boxing matches are won by throwing many small punches, not throwing one with all of your bodyweight and hoping it’s a hit.
 A Non-Racist Uber Driver
I had a race-related discussion with an Uber driver.
It was nice.
 Pre-College Memories
I reflected on my lackadaisical approach when it came to applying for college. I was short tempered and impatient and ignorant.
It’s thanks to Vitamin Z that I realized I don’t have to actually go back to school to do what I need to do.
But the effort I need to put forward will be monumental nonetheless.
I told you I’d come back more positive.
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writing-with-chaos · 4 years
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[Your OCs Backstory] Skills
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@yourocsbackstory​ @etjwrites​
WOW. This is what I get for not reading the prompt itself and only going by the title. I totally misinterpreted the kinda skills we were supposed to be showing ^^; Of COURSE y’all wanna know about her powers! I’ll have to do an extra one that’s right.
In the mean time! Have a present day extra of the main girls having a slumber party, and Ria using her favorite mundane skill!
Ariana Salem
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//and when it rains,
well you always find an escape
just runnin' away
from all of the ones who love you...//
Damali was going through her sleepover phase.
She'd been asleep with a wiped memory for the last thirty-five years, so there was a lot to catch up on in a short amount of time. Her phases went through quick bursts, largely influenced by whatever she was reading or watching at the moment. So far, there'd been an arts and crafts phase, a biology phase, a geology phase, a culinary phase, and an eighties phase, all within the span of a few weeks. Now, after watching a movie about a sleepover adventure, every night they huddled around the TV in their pajamas, with popcorn and pizza and candy, and built a blanket fort to nest in. ShadowGrl was gleefully in charge of making the fort every night, and Ariana managed the snacks. Under normal circumstances, it might've gotten annoying, but after the last few months of being stuck behind the walls of the Safe House, all the excitement was more than welcome. It was the most alive any of them had felt in a long time. Ariana definitely didn't mind. She was already awake on the couch most nights anyway. Having everyone sleeping in a group helped her feel safe enough to get a little more rest.
"Kendra, are you gonna join us?" Damali always remembered to ask the Chaos Power, despite the answer being the same.
"I'll be upstairs."
Damali wasn't far enough along in understanding social rules to get the disconnect, but Ariana knew, in the end, Kendra was doing them a favor. It would've felt like babysitting if she joined them. Especially knowing that their gatherings had a tendency of getting a little loud. Either way, Damali didn't seem too put off by the consistent denials. She just wanted to make sure everyone was included. It was character growth, considering how afraid she was of Kendra and 'Drea initially.
Tonight, the first activity on the agenda was painting their nails. Ariana offered to do the painting, as long as they didn't mind her being slow and careful as hell. Her perfectionism always lept out when she did anything artistic, especially now that she barely lifted a pencil. She started on Damali first. They always started the night with their favorite TV shows, and ShadowGrl's crime shows premiered first. The nails were good to keep Damali distracted. She had a low tolerance for intense action and violence, understandably so.
"What are you gonna do for yours?" Damali asked eagerly.
Ariana shrugged. "I bite my nails too much for it to matter."
"Then how did you get so good at this?"
"Ria used to paint all the time. She won an award for art school," ShadowGrl proudly bragged on her behalf.
"Really?" Damali's eyes light up.
"Yeah." Ria smiled humbly. "Nails are just like tiny easels. I used to do this for Sabin a lot."
ShadowGrl immediately turned her head from the screen. "You're telling Sabin stories?"
"No? I just said--"
"We are supposed to talk about boys here," Damali piped in, with a bright and eager look in her eyes.
"You don't even like boys, Dee. And ShadowGrl is ten, she doesn't know what a boy is."
"I do too!" Her voice squeaked with offense.
"Sarcasm, kiddo."
"That's all true!" Damali nods. "But I don't know any other girls to talk about, so you have to lead the conversation. Otherwise it's not authentic."
She sighed. Sabin's ID tags hung heavy around her neck. "There's really not a story. Panacea always made Sabin do two things growing up: keep his hair cropped and his nails super short. When he was free, he liked to do the opposite, and one time he mentioned that if he could paint his nails, he would. So I offered to give him a manicure and it became a thing."
"That's just like what you do with me!" Damali said.
"Ria's a sucker for Panacea freaks," ShadowGrl teased. She sounded proud of herself but really she was only repeating what Ariana said once.
"Thanks, brat."
"When we get him back, we can throw one of these parties and have it manicure themed! " Damali exclaimed. Ariana winced. "We could each make up a design for him, to welcome him back! Like when people sign casts!"
"Yeah! What colors did he like?" ShadowGrl was leaning forward so far she was almost in Damali's lap.
Kendra's energy started prickling in Ariana's fingertips, reacting to her growing irritation. She took a deep breath to quiet the thorns. "I don't know, it was a long time ago. I don't really wanna talk about this anymore. We talked about a boy, it counts, right?"
"Yeah, of course! ," Damali quickly piped up. She ducked her head slightly. "S-Sorry. Thank you for sharing though!"
"Yeah."
She flexed her fingers. ShadowGrl turned back to her spot and flipped the channels. It  was thankfully time for Ariana's show to come on. A mindless, more-relatable-than-she'd-like-to-admit teen drama with overexaggerated problems she could immerse herself in instead of the horror story that was her life. It was perfect to keep her distracted again. Doing any kind of art was always so relaxing. It quieted her brain, allowed her to pick out the real thoughts from the anxious noise, maybe turn one or the other into something tangible. But quiet was exactly what she was afraid of. Getting lost in the swirls of the fluffy white clouds dancing along the pastel purple she colored Damali's nails brought a rare calm that was amazing, but it also allowed memories to sneak in. It was a lie before. Of course she remembered what Sabin liked. She remembered the first color she gave him: dark blue with a silver glittery top cover, cause it reminded her of his powers. He'd always light up when she was finished, no matter if the art looked good or not. Stars, suns, ice cream, flowers, cookies. When they were dating, she'd add hearts and xos, and of course her diamond symbol so when he was in hiding he could look down and feel like she was still with him. She wondered if her bracelet she left with him had the same effect. The longer she wore his ID tags, the more they felt like dragging chains, growing heavier with the weight of his life the longer it took her to find him.
"Alright." Ariana leaned back and sucked in a steadying breath. Subtle, so it sounded like a common sigh. "All done. You like 'em?"
"I love them!" Damali could barely keep still. Her giddiness was too infectious not to bring a small smile to Ariana's face, even with the anxiety. She had to remind her not to move her hands until they dried.
"That means you're next, punk." Ariana playfully pointed to ShadowGrl. The youngest nearly lept to her side, hands at the ready. "Any requests?"
"I want lime green! With flames!"
"Hell yeah."
Ariana tried to put a little more focus on the show this time. Listen to the girls chatter with each other. The more she focused on them, the less she had to be in her own head. The less she had to acknowledge the hurt when she saw a clean streak of color and only felt a rumbling wave of panic in her spine. She was so sick of their fun moments being ruined by her own bullshit. She didn't want to deal with it today. Still, her mind couldn't help but wander. She didn't have the heart to tell Damali, but if she ever did find Sabin, he would hate having so many people he didn't know touching him. But she could paint the messages of her friends. Tell him the story of how many people rallied behind them for freedom. And with every stroke of the brush, the dead parts of her would fall away and light up with color again. A welcome home party for them both.
It was all she could hope for at this point.  
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Author’s Note: If you read this far and you’ve been following these entries, you’re probably wondering ‘WHO THE HELL IS SABIN?????’. I didn’t get to post it last weekend, but you can still read about him and Ria’s relationship over here: “[Your OC’s Backstory] First Love”
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arolla-pine · 4 years
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No room to swing a Cat? - p.32
(32) – Time for kittens
They stayed too long. That was quite predictable, because it was a real reunion after a few years. It was too much to catch up to end the party too early. Thankfully, all friends respected Marinette’s feelings and avoided the newest gossips about the mayor’s daughter and some famous musician.
Finally the guests began leaving, so around midnight only the last four stayed – Nathaniel and Alix couldn’t stop chatting with friends, not until their partners suggested that tomorrow was still the day and all of them could go for a coffee the next day. Hearing that Marinette remembered her last meeting with Nathaniel – the one, after which she had broken up with Luka. Adrien had to think about that too, and even though he didn’t say anything, he squeezed Marinette’s hand to show his support.
When the last four guests left, Alya hugged her best friend and exclaimed:
“Thank you so much, Mari! That was the best gift I could ever imagine!”
“I’m so glad, Al…”
“They all told me what you’d done. You visited them all and invited them to be with us tonight! You’re so amazing! Thank you, thank you!”
“There, there…” Nino interrupted and pulled his fiancé away from Marinette and led her to their bedroom.
“Love ya, gurl!” Alya yelled before Nino closed the door.
“Uhm… So clever…” Marinette muttered.
“What’s so clever?” Adrien asked, approaching his girlfriend and embracing her from behind.
“They left us with this mess…”
“This'll all be still here in the morning…” he murmured, kissing her neck.
“But those mugs, cups and plates will be awful. I’m not going to touch anything mouldy!” she declared, so he rested his forehead on her shoulder and sighed with defeat.
“It’ll be faster if I help you…” he said finally.
“Thanks, Cat…”
Tidying up the living room only proved that they were a great team – they complemented each other even in such a mundane activity like cleaning up. When all dishes were finally placed in a dishwasher, they stood face to face – suddenly self-conscious.
“Have I told you that you look gorgeous?” Adrien asked, reaching for her hand.
“Not today…” she replied, giving him her hand.
“Really?” he was surprised.
“It’s after midnight, Kitty… But you managed to tell me this yesterday. For a million times. At least…” she smiled tenderly at him.
“That’s good…” he pulled her closer. “Flowers? Ticked. Compliments? Ticked. Cuddle? Ticked. I think you can tick off our first date, Purrincess…”
“It’s not over yet, Kitty…” she murmured, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
“It’s weird to go out for a date when we live together… Usually, I’d walk you home, kiss and say goodbye…”
“And I’d invite you in…”
“Really?”
“I won our race, remember? I heard something about the award tonight…” she smiled coquettishly.
Adrien glanced at her, uncertain, but she didn’t take it seriously and joked:
“What? Scared Kitty?”
“It’s not that… I feel… I feel a pressure of expectations…”
“You’re adrietising!”
“I’m doing what?!” he burst out laughing totally astonished by her words.
“You’re returning to Adrien’s perfectionism. You know what I mean… That you always had to accomplished your tasks in perfectly because everyone was expecting you to do so. Let me remind you that you’ve left it behind. Remember?”
“But I want it to be ideal!”
“And it will be. It’s just me…”
“Exactly!” he agreed. “It’s you!”
“But I’m just a normal girl…”
“You’ve never been just a normal girl, Purrincess…”
“Oh, shut up, Cat!” she muttered and kissed him.
He didn’t protest anymore and just hugged her tightly and lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She clung to him kissing him passionately.
“My place or your place?” he asked, moving from the kitchenette.
“What a cliché!” she laughed.
“So what? I’ve always wanted to say it.”
“Kwamis sleep in your room tonight.”
“Really?” he was surprised.
“Tikki promised me that. By the way… I’ve just realised that I’ve never been in your room…” she noticed, teasing him intentionally.
“There’s no time for sightseeing…” he commented impatient.
“You’re right. It’s time for kittens…” she whispered and began kissing a spot nearby his ear.
That made Adrien not to hesitate anymore – he went directly to Marinette’s bedroom. He shifted the sweet load to one hand only, trying to use the other one for finding a zip in her dress. There had to be a way to take it off! When they went inside, the girl swung her hand to close the door.
“What about a sock?” he asked, noticing by the way that Marinette had already managed to unbutton his shirt. How did she do that?! And where was that damn zip?!
“Dammit…”
“I’ll take care of that!” Tikki assured.
“You were supposed to be away!” her holder reminded with reproach.
“I wonder who would put a sock on a doorknob if we were away…” Plagg commented.
“Talk about a mood killer…” Adrien muttered and sat down on the bed, still holding Marinette in his arms.
“You’d think it was so easy to distract you…” she whispered in his ear and started kissing him again at the same spot she’d just found there. He didn’t even suspect it might have such an impact on himself. Each kiss sent a shiver down his spine.
“The sock is on.” Tikki informed.
“Thanks, Tik…” Marinette murmured, still exploring his neck that made him crazy.
“Good luck, kid!” Plagg added.
“Go away!” Adrien waved his hand with a pretended irritation, and Marinette chuckled. “You have fun?”
“A lot…”
“You’ll beg for mercy very soon!” he murmured and turned her over on her back.
“You’ll beg for mercy sooner, Agreste…” she giggled.
“Challenge accepted, M’Lady…” he whispered right on her lips.
---
THE END <3
No room to swing a Cat? p.31  <-  Previous part 
Start reading from the beginning
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prayer-warrior-sa · 4 years
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The Curse of Criticism  
There’s a huge difference between correction and criticism. The word “criticize” isn’t found in the Bible. In fact, most of the verses about criticism use words like “correction,” “reproof,” “discipline,” and “instruction.”
Verses like Proverbs 15:1, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” And Matthew 18:15, “If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over.”
Over and over, God’s Word warns us against being harsh, stirring up anger, and judging people. Over and over, He tells us to be edifying and uplifting.
Criticism is “the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes.” Disapproval of someone is the problem! As parents, mentors, and leaders, we need to disapprove of sinful behavior but not of sinful people. 
It takes patience and care to correct the behavior without criticizing the person. I’m afraid leaders today are messing up on this . . . at home with their kids, at work with their co-workers. In the hurry of life, they’re criticizing instead of correcting. In a busy moment, it’s easy to get the two mixed up and revert to a critical spirit and harsh tone.
Over time, that will lead to low self-esteem, which is a curse that haunts us throughout life. It shows up as defensiveness, perfectionism, and depression. Other leaders are so into positivity and so want other people to be happy that they rarely give correction. Over time, that will lead to entitlement, arrogance, a critical spirit, and, ultimately, to low self-esteem.
Question: Will you discipline yourself to correct vs. criticize? Will you be fully committed to truth and to graciously leading others to live? Will you ask God to prick your spirit when you’re about to criticize instead of developing the people you lead?
Regi Campbell
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nanowrimo · 5 years
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How to Tackle NaNoWriMo With Clinical Depression
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One of the most important things to keep in mind when you’re writing is making sure that finishing your project doesn’t adversely affect your mental health. Today, writer Andrea Tomé shares how she balances writing and mental health needs: There’s this trope in which writers almost always have a mental disorder that always grants them WRITING SUPERPOWERS. They’re able to finish a whole draft in two days, providing they have enough cheese balls and Coke cans on their desk (think Johnny Depp in Secret Window).
For some authors, writing is therapeutic. Me? My depression is so linked to my perfectionism that every time I struggle with my writing, I’m paralyzed. The white page is enormous, and it blinds me; writing a sentence requires Herculean strength.
I entered November feeling at my lowest, but I wanted to win NaNoWriMo. I was sure that my depression would always be this massive rock in my way unless I started learning to work in spite of it.
November was the most depressed I had been, but with a little help from my friends (is The Beatles song playing in your head right now?) I was able to complete the 50k words.
How? There are certain coping mechanisms that always help. Maybe you won’t write 50k in a month, maybe you’ll still struggle to find motivation, but what’s most important is to shift your focus: you’re struggling with a cruel disorder and you’re creating something beautiful nonetheless. That’s heroic.
These are my five tips on how to tackle NaNoWriMo when you’re dealing with depression:
1. Cut yourself some slack. 
Aim for the 50k, but make sure you’ll be okay if you don’t reach that word count. Think of NaNoWriMo as an opportunity to finish a first draft that’s probably gonna be terrible because that’s the nature of all first drafts.
2. Step out of your comfort zone. 
You hate this expression. I know you hate this expression. Everyone hates this expression. But hear me out: old methods will only bring old results (you hate this expression too). For me, stepping out of my comfort zone meant being less of a writing hermit and participating more in local write-ins (you can organize some with your friends if you don’t have any “official” ones in your hometown).
3. Plan your writing sessions AND your rests. 
Lack of motivation is a struggle when you have depression, so take a minute to consider your schedule and plan your writing sessions around it. What about resting? Plan it too, and be as specific as possible. Think about some self-care activities you will feel genuinely excited about: it can be meeting with a friend, or doing a Korean facemask while you listen to your favorite podcast, or maybe binge-watching that Netflix show that has been on your to-watch list since forever.
4. Don’t forget to socialize. 
One of my favorite memories of high-school were the café study sessions with my best friends in which, quite honestly, we didn’t do as much studying as we had hoped for. It’s okay. The goal isn’t to be 100% productive at the expense of your mental health; the goal is to be as productive as you can while taking care of yourself. Meeting with people is hard when you have depression, but finding a writing buddy (or a friend who will work on something else while you write) will make everything easier.
5. Listen to your body (another expression you hate). 
During NaNo I took a whole week off because I was feeling mentally drained— and my novel turned out okay. If you’re feeling burnt out, take days off and tackle your project with energy to write double the time the following days. Work smarter, not harder.
Writing is hard. Writing when you have a mood disorder is harder. You’re an absolute superhero just for trying, don’t forget it.
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Andrea Tomé was born in the Fall of 1994 in the North-West of Spain. She published her first novel, Corazón de mariposa, when she was 19 and hasn’t stopped writing and publishing since.
She lives in London, where she works in the publishing industry and goes to the Tate Modern way too often. She’s also guest author for The Mighty and Sick Not Weak and she occasionally gives public speaking gigs on mental health. 2018 was her fifth time participating in NaNo and the second time she won.
Top photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash.
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