#with different grammatical structures

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

Texted my immigrant esl mother that I wanted to show her a meme that related to a story I was going to tell her about my drawing parallels between theological concepts and botany

(This was the meme btw)

Anyways I forgot about it until later, when we were on call and I was telling her said story, and she was like:

“Ai vrut să-m arăți un mem?” (“You wanted to show me a meme?”)

She called it a mem

A mem

[seaquestions]

guy who easily gets emotional plays game abt human connection and tears up just a little tiny bit anyway. i finished chants of sennaar. 👍👍👍

[torchickentacos]

Ah, yes, Nelly Furtado's hit song Anteater. In completely unrelated news, several people have told me that I might be slightly dyslexic.

[unityrain24]

are there any apps/websites out there that actually teach you a language?

[pinaple]

‘Even the dog is uninterested’, ‘it can oxidise on my ass’, maybe ‘this is blood pudding to me’ and certainly ‘I don’t give a frost bitten onion’ are all going in my vocabulary

But what does this even mean???

Mediterranean apathy metaphors

[cinnabarblood]

ok so like we all agree that he/him'ing creamicorn didnt happen and its not real right like we have our full brains today

[tazzmanian-devil]

i wish i got to play grout(dnd half orc) more. i loved her. she was part of a mystery solving campaign and was awesomeeee.

[cuntyji]

nanami prides himself on many things—his discipline, his work ethic, his impeccable taste in ties. but above all, he prides himself on his ability to communicate clearly and concisely, whether in speech or in writing. his text messages are a testament to this:

nanami: I will arrive at 7:30 p.m. Let me know if you need anything.

capitalized. punctuated. grammatically flawless.

then there is you. his lovely girlfriend. his chaotic girlfriend.

you: oks eeu thns

nanami blinks. once. twice. he tilts his phone screen away, then back, as if a different angle might help decipher whatever cryptic language this is. "oks eeu thns" is not english. nor is it japanese. it is… something else. something eldritch.

"what." he mutters to himself.

this is not the first time. nor will it be the last. your texts are a battlefield, a warzone of typos, autocorrect fails, and complete disregard for sentence structure. you do not "text." you unleash a tornado of half-formed thoughts at an alarming rate, as though your thumbs operate on a separate plane of existence.

exhibit a:

you: r u cmg home latr i wan ice cre nanami: Are you asking if I will be home late, and if so, whether you want ice cream? you: ye nanami: …What flavor? you: gimme mint sumn u kno the blue green w the chunks idk idc nanami: You want mint chocolate chip. you: ye

he has, over time, become somewhat of a linguist. an interpreter. a man who now instinctively knows that when you say "bcum," you mean "become" and not whatever horrifying alternative that initially flashes through his mind. but nothing—nothing—prepared him for exhibit b:

you: bby whn u cming hom i wan hug n u also i los a sock idk where she go nanami: I will be home at 6 p.m. I assume you meant to say you lost a sock. you: y au did nanami: What does that mean. you: *ya i did nanami: Understood.

he did not understand. he once tried to gently correct your typos. you responded by sending him "ok grammarly" and proceeding to text even faster with worse errors out of sheer spite. now, nanami has simply adapted.

you: i made pasta bt i dropd some :( rip lil guy nanami: Rest in peace to the fallen. you: he wud hv wantd us to eat his brothr in his honr nanami: Then we shall.

sometimes, he marvels at how two people so fundamentally different could love each other so much. and then he remembers the first time you sleepily texted him "gn ily mwuah" at 1:43 a.m. with no capitalization, no punctuation, just raw, unfiltered affection—

and suddenly, he doesn’t mind deciphering your nonsense at all.

[an-ruraiocht]

90% of the time when i see reviews and posts saying "this book needed editing" i don't think the reader have any idea what editing actually entails. usually this is actually code for one of several "problems" with the book:

it's too long, or it's slower paced than this reader's preference. they believe "editing" would mean making it shorter

it has a heavily descriptive style, which the reader doesn't like. they believe "editing" means paring every sentence down to hemingway-style prose with no adverbs

it doesn't follow the very rigid "save the cat" style 3-act story structure, disrupting the reader's sense of narrative tension. an editor, they believe, would've made sure it did

there were a few typos or formatting errors, and they believe it's the editor's job to catch these (it's not, it's typically the proofreader and the typesetter who have responsibility for that kind of thing)

and finally, most often:

the author had different narrative priorities than the reader, who thinks an editor would have made the author change their priorities.

the thing is, there are actually issues with editors in trad publishing being overworked to the point where things aren't getting the thorough, thoughtful editing that they need to be the best version of themselves. there are plenty of badly-structured, poorly-researched, and clumsily written books out there. moreover copyediting is typically freelance and perhaps because of that, this is the area where i see the largest number of issues: continuity issues, grammar issues, factual errors etc that someone should've spotted and didn't.

but this is not typically what people's "this needed an editor" reviews are focusing on. most often it just means they didn't like the book and they've decided editing is an all-powerful force that would have transformed it into a book they liked. but that's not how it works. and disproportionately what this comment means is that the book doesn't match what current fashions have decided is The Correct Style to write in

"this book needed an editor" if it's traditionally published, it had one. like. by definition. it was an editor who bought the book. that doesn't mean the editor did a great job but they definitely existed. there were probably at least two (acquiring editor who does the dev edits; copyeditor who does copyedits), and the proofreader, and a bunch of other people besides.

also i think people think editors are the ones who like. implement the changes. but they don't. they give comments and recommendations and ask questions and the author is the one to act on them. the editor will not rewrite the book. they will not fix the problems themselves, they will highlight the problem and the author will figure out a fix for it, or they will decide they don't agree that it's a problem and leave it as it. and a lot of the sentence-level style stuff is entirely on the author so if they don't have an ear for the rhythm then nobody's going to fix that for them. editors do a lot less than people seem to imagine they do, tbh

anyway

for reference—

structural/developmental edits: is this chapter in the right place and does the plot make sense and is the characterisation consistent and effective

line edits: is this sentence in the right place and is it as stylish as it could be

copy edits: is this sentence grammatically correct and consistent/factually correct within the story/its world and do the spellings follow the publisher's stylesheet

proofreading: are there any typos in this sentence and was the formatting preserved correctly when it was typeset

[lunarcowgirl]

feelings unfettered | three

I am a helpless victim of my own crush on this man, take a part three of my goofy little jack abbot x f!doctor!reader fic <33

you can read part one here, and part two here !!

not my gif! but i am foaming at the mouth because of it! follow @ho-ii for all your juicy jack abbot gif needs x

~

yeah, there's something in the air at your shared post-confession breakfast. and it's not just 50 years worth of oil from the diner fryer.

~

from the office of the author: literally obsessed with my own creations so I've made a part three. it's not my fault, blame shawn and his facial structure and chosen character aura of dork/loser/demon-in-the-sheets. more soon? i'm scared of smut but then again i'm scared of not seeing these two get freaky

REQUESTS IN THE ASK BOX PLS!!!

warnings/content: 10+ year age gap, very EaRNEST feelings from these two, mentions of the horrors of american foods, author disrespects consistent perspective and grammatical rules like they owe her money, veryyyy minimal angst, mostly fluff, someone gets a their ass grabbed as a treat <33

word count: 2.6k (woooo baby we're back)

Dr Abbot considered himself to be in control of his own hands at all times and places thank you very much. He had over 30 years of experience in the profession of control. He had studied it, mastered it. It was not his fault that just 20 minutes prior to this moment your lips had been at his throat and your body so very soft under his touch. Now the mere two feet of sticky diner table between the two of you seemed an ocean. Would it be so strange, he pondered, to pull your chair around to be beside him? To bump knees and elbows into each other, for plates to stack and glasses to get mixed up in the bubble of space carved just for the two of you? He coughed slightly at the path of his own brain, embarrassed at the enormity of his feelings.

You were focused on the menu, eyes ticking down the options with care, lips formed into a rosebud pout. Jack wanted to crawl across the divide and kiss you silly, to taste the sweetness and the redness and to hear your heartbeat’s call from your throat. He wanted to feel that fizzing life under his hands, he wanted you to laugh your laugh into his mouth so he could swallow it whole, he wanted—

The shrill screech of a pack of kids attempting a prison break called him swiftly to earth, their poor father one poorly timed arm barrier away from a dislocated shoulder. He really, really, didn’t want to have to be a doctor right now. In fact, it seemed mighty appealing to give up the healing business altogether and put all his energy into memorising every last thing there was to know about you. Some dam wall within him had broken up on the roof, now every truth he’d covered up and hidden and repressed now sitting out in the unfettered daylight. It was terrifying…and exhilarating.

“I can never decide between sweet and savoury when it comes to breakfast.” You declared, slamming the menu down in a huff.

An endeared smile twitched at the corner of Jack’s mouth. He filed the information away, “Why not have both?”

Your eyebrows raised just a touch, a smirk appearing, “Why Dr Abbot, what a dangerous proposition…”

Jack shrugged, if only to dislodge the growing warmth in his chest, “When was the last time you ate? Your body could do with the carbs and sugar.”

In a flash your hand was across the table, grabbing his and raising it to your mouth. Two quick kisses were pressed to his knuckles, “Finally, a man that supports women’s right to choose both.”

You bit your bottom lip at your own cheek, winked and carefully deposited his hand back to him in exchange for the menu once more.

Oh God he was going to eat. You. Alive. You looked so innocent, as you kindly waved over a waitress, ordering in a clear, polite voice. What he wouldn’t give to have that polite mouth all over him.

For two people who had spent more time in uniform than either would like to admit, you had vastly different approaches to the return to American food. Jack had remained staunch in his habits, maintaining his belief that well-done toast with bacon and eggs was all a person really needed. Butter, perhaps, if one felt luxurious. You on the other hand, had spent each and every moment on foreign soil waiting for the moment you could feel the preservatives hit your veins again.

“I don’t care that I’m a doctor,” You said, smoothing cream across your already syrup soaked waffle, “If food cannot hold pleasure, then neither can life.”

Jack had finished his meal in a flash, eating like he was being chased. Now he had all the time in the world to lean back and watch you, noting and labelling every pronouncement and observation you made, filing them away in a little part of his mind that until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to open.

You took a big bite, nose scrunching in delight, shoulders dancing at an amount of sugar running through your system that would likely kill a small child. Jack was keeping a very firm hold on his own elbows, fingers digging into the skin to prevent it from falling straight off his bones. There was syrup, right in the corner of your mouth that you hadn’t noticed, lost in your own ecstasy.

The older he’d become, the easier is was to just surrender. To drift. His hand swept across the table in one smooth motion, his thumb finding your skin, wiping the sugar away. Your eyes flew open, surprise bright and red and hot on your cheeks. One soft blink, another - like you were seeing him for the very first time. His touch lingered there, drawing a soft reverent line across your bottom lip, relishing the fullness of it. If he couldn’t have those lips on his face, his neck and mouth, then he’d have them all over his fingers. It was barely a thought then, to draw back and bring his thumb into his own mouth. The man that never even looked sideways at sugar having his fill of it, and you.

There was something unreadable on your face as your gaze flicked across him, hunger maybe, hope. And then the flash of your tongue across your lip - finding just the remnants of him there, the butter he’d had on them from picking apart his toast. You feasted on each other from opposite sides of the table, rolling tastes across your tongue, finding them satisfactory, finding them addicting. If the appetizers where this good; the main meal was set to fill an empty stomach that had ached for a long, long time.

Waffle forgotten, Jack watched as you dived into your purse, rustling out a haphazard chunk of bills, tucking them quickly under the nearest plate.

“Wait, I’ll pay—”

“If we do not leave right now,” You hissed, “I am going to jump you in front of those very nice families.”

Jack made a bizarre croaking noise, his laugh getting lost somewhere in a cough. All the same, he dutifully rose to his feet, only somehow remembering to grab his backpack and coat. The pair of your writhed down the tight aisle towards the door, struggling to bundle up, not make any unnecessary contact with each other or send coffee flying into anyone’s laps. Bursting into the street, your head twisted this way and that, as if you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what you were supposed to be doing.

“Hey, hey…” Jack reached your side, gently taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, there’s no rush.”

You let out a slow breath, dancing from foot to foot, “Well we might have to rush, cause I don’t have gloves and I kinda need my fingers for work.”

Jack smiled, the biggest one you’d seen, “Well then hand the others over.” With both of your hands in his he pulled you gently to him, lifting your important doctoring tools to his mouth. Warm air blew across them, quickly followed by heat down your arms and into your chest and heart.

This close to him, so bundled up and protected and safe, you let a truth fall out onto the iced pavement.

“I’m scared you’re going to disappear.”

Jack frowned, moving your hands aside so they remained warm pressed against his face, “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” You shuffled nervously under the intensity of his gaze, “I hate to get into it all in the immense privacy offered by this public street.”

He cocked an eyebrow in subtle amusement but didn’t say a word, silently urging you on.

“You have a bit of a record of running hot and cold. And while this is obviously the hottest you’ve ever been, and I really mean that in all senses of the word, well…” You fought for the right words, wanting desperately not to push him away, but wanting to honour the twin desire of respecting your own heart.

Jack nodded slowly, letting the faint grey stubble rasp gently across your hands, “That makes a lot of sense.”

A breath you hadn’t realised you were holding released, the desire to run melted into nothingness, your feet stilled.

“I am sorry for being so…unreadable all this time. It was my own selfish way of keeping myself protected while also getting to have tastes of you,” He offered, eyes a little sad.

You just couldn’t help it, the vulnerability of his gorgeous, perpetually cranky man was going to have you on your knees.

He ploughed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having, “It’s not that the tastes weren’t good or that I didn’t want more…they were too good. Too powerful, too…” He shrugged, “fucking scary.”

Tears were threatening to make a fool of you, so you quickly popped onto your tip toes, lips now seeking the warmth of his own. He relinquished his hold on your hands to slide his fingers to the back of your neck and around your waist, drawing you up and up and up until you thought you would float out into space.

Behind you the door crashed open, spilling dozens of children out into the street, rushing to get to school, their parents furiously clucking and scolding and shooing them along. Caught in the swarm, the pair of you clung to each other, cheeks pressed tightly together to maintain some kind of mutual centre of gravity.

“Ok,” You laughed, “Now I seriously have to get you alone.”

Jack gently extracted himself so he could face you again, his large hands still encasing yours.

“As much as I want that…and believe me—,” His eyes were dark, “I want that—I think we should take this slow.��

You ducked your head, something that felt like embarrassment churning in your gut. You were the one just expressing fear at his intentions, and now you were surprised he didn’t want to take you in the street?

He took your chin gently and lifted your eyes up to meet his. So many times, you had found that gaze across a trauma table, something horrible and twisted stretched out between you, so many times you had found trust and respect and understanding in those eyes. They never failed to steady you, then and now.

“I would like to take you out sometime. Somewhere other than the diner across the street from the train station,” He said, earnestness clear in each word.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“You can call me old fashioned,” He said, smile wide, “I don’t care — I’m old.”

You reached up and took his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing across his skin that had seen and weathered a lot of grief and pain. You were ready to show him some joy.

“I’d love that,” Came your simple reply, “And you might be old, but that means you’re wise. And there’s nothing sexier than a man with wisdom.”

He scoffed, wrestling you playfully down under his arm, lightly pinching your side until you shrieked with laughter and danced away.

“You are trouble.” He called, as you skipped away from him, “Trouble!”

In the end he caught you before you could dash up to the train platform, insisting again that his old-fashioned ways wouldn’t allow him to let you take public transport when he had a perfectly good passenger seat in his truck.

You curled comfortably up in the leather, relishing the seat warmer and Jack’s hand sandwiched between both of yours on your lap. Every now and then, you’d peek over your shoulder just so you could see your backpacks sitting next to each other in the backseat. You felt altogether giddy, and at peace - completely beside yourself with your luck.

“It wasn’t luck,” Jack said, eyes not shifting from the road, his free hand placed with precision at 2 o’clock on the wheel. You had said the words aloud without realising, your heart now altogether open.

“Well it feels like luck.” You replied, gently tracing the lines on the back of Jack’s hand. “Very nice dorsal metacarpel veins by the way.”

He let out a puff of a laugh, then repeated himself, “It wasn’t luck.”

“Then what was it, did I subconsciously bewitch you with the speed of my oxygen concentration calculations?”

“They are very impressive; you are way fucking quicker than I will ever be at them. But no,” He looked over at you, “It’s because you are brave.”

You returned to your tracing, but it was difficult to find the lines with tears in your eyes.

“You never let your mistakes define you, you are brave enough to try again. You choose to keep being happy, you are brave enough to keep fighting. You kept seeing something in me, even when I wasn’t brave enough to let you in.”

“Jesus,” You muttered, “This is why you never talk; you’d have people falling to their knees for you every minute of the day.”

His hand in your lap squeezed, “No, that didn’t just come from nowhere. I’ve been thinking those things for a long, long time.”

“You are worth being brave for,” Your words were quiet, but they felt heavy and steady in the space between you both.

You looked up and realised with a start you had made it to your street, your apartment building just a few feet in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up? After that speech the least I can do is offer you a tea?”

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair that had escaped from your braid behind your ear, careful not to bump your still healing piercing, “You don’t want me snoring on your couch, which is what I will be doing before the tea cools.”

“No,” You said, returning the favour by tucking a curl behind his ear, “I want you snoring in my bed.”

“God dammit James,” He groaned leaning back into his seat and running his hands over his face, “You are gonna kill me, I swear to God.”

“Don’t sound so—” A yawn overtook your words, “—pleased.”

He gave you a pointed look, “If we’re gonna do this, let’s at least be awake for it.”

You unclipped yourself, leant back into the backseat for your bag (sure to give Jack a full and unobstructed view of your favourite personal asset) and turned to open your door. At the last moment, you twisted back to him, face set.

He raised his eyebrows, a slightly braced smirk sitting on his face.

“If you’re not going to accept a lady’s very polite invitation upstairs then you legally have to do me a favour.”

The eyebrows shot down over a suspecting set of narrowed eyes, “This sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “Although…I thought you liked danger.”

“Like I said, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ve worked a tough shift Jack. A tough night shift. A girl sometimes needs a little extra something to give her the energy to make it up the front stairs.”

You leaned in with each word, letting your hand trail down his arm from his shoulder until you clasped around his wrist. Mouths inches from each other, you breathed in his anticipation, his hunger.

In one smooth motion you brought his hand to your ass, and closed your lips over his.

Something that tasted awfully like a moan slipped from his tongue to yours, and you relished each little bit of it. His hand squeezed, just a touch, as if unable to help itself. You released him with a pop, schooling your features into an innocent smile, and nudging the door open with your hip.

“I’ll see you at work Dr Abbot.”

A beat. A man restarting his heart, his brain.

“I’ll see you at work Trouble.”

~~~~

all for now, thanks for the luv xo

previous | next

[nihongonotabi]

In Japanese language, describing a third person’s emotion is different from describing a first person’s emotion: in English, the sentences "I am happy" and "He is happy" are grammatically structured in the same way. However, in Japanese, this direct equivalence is not possible: you can say "私は嬉しいです" (Watashi wa ureshii desu), but you can't simply say "彼は嬉しいです" (Kare wa ureshii desu).

This is due to cultural and linguistic nuances that emphasize the acknowledgment of another's internal state as somewhat inaccessible. In fact, Japanese typically employs expressions that convey a level of inference or indirectness, such as:

Using observational phrases: one might say 「彼は嬉しそうです」 (Kare wa ureshisō desu), which translates to "He seems happy" or "He/she looks happy." This phrasing respects the notion that one can only observe outward signs of emotion, not definitively know another's internal state.

Adding "ようだ" or "みたい": these suffixes add a sense of speculation. For example, 「彼は嬉しいようだ」 (Kare wa ureshii yō da) or 「彼は嬉しいみたいです」 (Kare wa ureshii mitai desu), both meaning "He appears to be happy."

Using conditional clauses: Another approach is to use conditional forms, like 「彼が嬉しければ」 (Kare ga ureshikereba), meaning "If he is happy," which implicitly acknowledges the uncertainty of truly knowing his feelings.

One characteristic of Japanese syntax is its extreme sensitivity to epistemological considerations based on the ego/nonego distinction or the distinction of I/the other. Our knowledge about the mental state of another person must necessarily come from our interpretation of external evidence, and this is well reflected in the Japanese language.

Source material: http://human.kanagawa-u.ac.jp/gakkai/publ/pdf/no157/15712.pdf

[elumish]

I think one of the biggest and most overlooked things to keep in mind when writing is: is how/what I am writing accomplishing what I am trying to accomplish?

Part of why so many writing "rules" don't work for everyone is that they're assuming you're trying to accomplish things that you're not trying to accomplish.

This way of thinking is applicable at every level and every step of your writing process.

Is this plot structure telling the story I want to be telling?

Does this scene evoke the emotion I am hoping to evoke?

Does this sentence mean what I intend it to mean, in a way that is likely to be read with that meaning by most readers?

If something in a story is jarring, for example, it's probably because that piece isn't accomplishing what you're otherwise trying to accomplish in the story.

When I talked about finding epithets jarring in a close third person POV, it's because what epithets do (provide distance from the character) inherently conflicts with what the point of view was intending (intimacy with the POV character).

If a scene or moment is jarring or just feels wrong in a book, it may be because it doesn't match the tone you are otherwise trying to cultivate, it breaks or escalates the tension in a way that you aren't intending, or it has a different narrative feeling than you are intending with the book.

Even down to the grammatical level, you can get away with breaking a lot of grammar rules if you can accomplish what you want to accomplish with the sentence. Is it coherent? Does it have the meaning you intend? Does it have the clarity or ambiguity that you are intending? Does it fit the tone that you are going for?

The same idea holds for the message/implication level. If you are implying or stating something in your story, is it what you mean to be implying or stating? If you are mimicking or subverting stereotypes, is it in a way that accomplishes what you are trying to accomplish?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

10 Writing Exercises

Keep a journal. One fundamental way to become a better writer is to practice daily writing in a journal. Setting a daily writing time can help you get into the consistent habit of writing and help you push through writer’s block. Freewriting can also turn into blogging and eventually lead to published pieces. The best way to confront the blank page is to keep writing with regularity.

Choose a setting. If you’re having trouble getting started on a piece of writing or want to practice with a writing exercise, choose a location and structure a story around it. Choose someplace with which you have familiarity or are able to thoroughly research.

Describe a real person. One way to get the creative juices flowing and practice writing character development is to freewrite about a real person. This could be anyone in your life: an ex-boyfriend, a former English teacher, or even your younger self. This is a great way to strengthen your powers of description.

Write a series of first sentences. A fun writing activity for your practice sessions is to seek out or create your own prompt sentences that you can use to start a piece of writing. Using a good creative writing prompt can be a fun writing activity that gets you out of your head and helps you put your thoughts onto the page.

Join a writing workshop. Seeking out writing courses can be a great way to meet fellow writers and get a step-by-step approach to the writing process from a teacher you trust. A writing instruction course or workshop is often a more informal group of writers who trade things they’ve written and give suggestions and feedback. A writing class often has a lesson plan with distinct writing lessons that will give you a chance to practice different writing techniques. Teachers of a writing class might give a writing assignment between classes in order to help you develop a specific skill.

Break down your favorite pieces of writing. One good way to develop your own style and learn about the writing process is to analyze a written work that you admire. Look for books or essays by a great writer whose style you would like to emulate and do an in-depth close reading. For instance, if you like Ernest Hemingway, take some time to read The Sun Also Rises while paying close attention to story structure, diction, and stylistic choices.

Write an outline without feeling the pressure to use it. A tip for first-time writers is to spend time outlining and pre-writing ideas without committing to turning them into fully-fledged written works. This practice exercise applies across genres, whether you’re writing a novel or starting out in essay writing.

Edit something you’ve set aside for a while. The best writers never speed through the editing and revising stage on a writing project. First drafts are meant to be revised and it’s important to put the time into editing your work in order to produce something worth reading. Dig up something you haven’t worked on in a while, and practice editing it. Note how your writing sensibilities have changed over time.

Experiment with different genres. Just because you have more experience or familiarity with a particular type of writing doesn’t mean you shouldn’t experiment in other genres. A great way to develop your own writing and gain practical know-how is to dabble in something out of your comfort zone. Fashion bloggers might try writing short stories and novelists might try their hand at business writing.

Brush up on the rules. Studying grammatical rules and stylistic guidelines can be a great way to spend your time during a writing practice session. Even if you feel that you know grammar inside and out, a little refresher will improve your writing and make you more confident.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[casscainmainly]

The Evolution of Cassandra Cain's Dialogue

Since Batgirl #1 is out and thriving, I thought it'd be fun to dive into the history of Cass' dialogue throughout different writers/runs. This is not comprehensive - I'll miss some writers, but I'll be covering her generally most known runs in mainline continuity (so no DCeased, Shadow of the Batgirl, etc.). Not a linguist by any means, so linguists on here feel free to chime in! (I'll also give opinions on which interpretations I personally prefer at the end).

Without further ado, we'll start at the beginning:

Kelley Puckett - Batgirl (2000)

Pre-issue 4, Cass speaks minimally in one-word sentences and doesn't have internal narration. Post-issue 4 (when a metahuman changes Cass' brain), she develops an internal monologue and begins to speak longer sentences. I'm splitting Puckett's Cass dialogue into 3 stages: early, middle, and late.

Early (#4 - #12): Cass speaks short, fragmented sentences. Each word has an ellipses between them (panel 1 above, from #7).

Middle (#13 - #24): Cass continues to speak incomplete sentences (often missing a subject or pronouns), but without ellipses (panel 2, from #13).

Late (#25 onwards): Cass begins to speak complete, simple sentences, punctuated by a few ellipses (panel 3, from #33). She continues to speak grammatically (though slowly) throughout the final part of Puckett's run.

Dylan Horrocks - Batgirl (2000)

Horrocks writes very similarly to late-Puckett, with Cass speaking in full, simple sentences, punctuated by the occasional ellipses. Horrocks introduces two new elements to her dialogue:

Cass stutters, sometimes repeating a word or phrase at the beginning of a sentence (panel 1 above, from #39). This is mostly used in the earlier parts of Horrocks' run.

She quotes reality TV (panel 2, from #51).

Maybe because of the reality TV, Cass also speaks more colloquially here than in Puckett's run, using phrases like "come 'n' get it" (from #57).

Andersen Gabrych - Batgirl (2000)

Gabrych's run focuses heavily on Cass' dialogue. Panel 1 above, from #58, suggests her narration boxes are another form of dialogue - Cass is speaking into a recorder. Several features of Gabrych's Cass dialogue are:

Ellipses: Even more than his predecessors, Gabrych scatters ellipses throughout Cass' speech (panel 1).

Fillers: Cass extensively uses filler words such as 'uh', 'um', and 'like' (panel 1, panel 2 from #61).

Longer sentences: Cass is more talkative and speaks longer sentences (panel 1, which is basically more words per panel than Puckett and Horrocks combined).

Wordplay: Cass often ponders definitions and word structures (panel 1, 2).

Adam Beechen - Batgirl (2008)

After evil Cass (that dialogue is not worth discussing), Beechen gets another chance with Cass in this miniseries. More than any other writer, Beechen differentiates Cass' internal monologue from her dialogue - her narration boxes are much wordier than her speech.

Her dialogue is a more loquacious version of late-Puckett or Horrocks: full sentences interspersed with ellipses (panel 1, from #1). The ellipses drop off towards the end of the series.

Her narration boxes use a variety of sentence structures and vocabulary. They read more or less as fluent English (panel 2, from #4).

Scott Snyder - Gates of Gotham (2011)

Snyder's Cass somewhat resembles mid-Puckett, using short sentences without ellipses (panel 1, from #2). She speaks a fair amount, but is more taciturn here than in any previous run. This is partially due to her not having narration boxes.

A unique feature of Snyder's Cass is preferring formal to informal speech. Though she uses contractions (panel 1), she goes large stretches without them (panel 2, from #3). She also omits the subject of a sentence only once in 5 issues, whereas native speakers (like Dick) drop the subject all the time ('have you ever been to Paris?' vs. 'ever been to Paris?'; Snyder's Cass would always say the former instead of the latter).

Sidenote: Batman & Robin: Eternal (2015)

Quick note about B&R:E: Cass is reintroduced into canon after being erased by the New 52, which means she's back to having very limited language ability. The series is scripted by multiple people, so it's hard to analyse. Suffice it to say she speaks in monosyllabic words, at most a short, incomplete sentence, but is mostly silent.

James Tynion IV - Detective Comics (2016)

Because Cass' language ability has been reset, Tynion develops her speech along the lines of Batgirl (2000).

Early Tynion has Cass speaking single word sentences (panel 1, from #938). Very similar to pre-metahuman touch Cass in BG (2000).

During the League of Shadows arc, Cass begins to speak a few words at a time, often separated by an ellipsis (panel 2, from #956).

Afterwards, Cass' friendship with Basil Karlo blossoms, leading to this run's most distinctive language feature - Cass improves her speech via studying and quoting Shakespeare (panel 3, from #958). Her improvement is reflected in the rest of the run through speaking longer and more frequent sentences.

Bryan Hill - Batman & The Outsiders (2019)

Like other writers, Hill's Cass generally uses short, simple sentences. She frequently drops the subject or pronoun in a sentence (panel 1, from #1). Hill doesn't use ellipses to separate the sentences, opting for periods most of the time.

Cass sometimes omits other words from her sentences too, dropping articles like 'a' and 'the' (panel 2, from #4), prepositions like 'to', and verbs like 'is' (panel 3, from #9). This peters out in the second half of the run.

Becky Cloonan and Michael W. Conrad - Batgirls (2022)

Similar to mid-Puckett, Batgirls has Cass speak mostly in short, 1-2 word sentences (panel 1, from #2). Cloonan and Conrad occasionally use ellipses as well, though mostly for emphasis/natural hesitation rather than indicating a unique speech pattern (panel 2, from #7).

Cass also has a habit of repeating/echoing a phrase Stephanie says (panel 3, from #16). This might be more of a friendship thing than a speech thing, though.

Alyssa Wong - Spirit World (2023)

Wong's Cass uses short sentences sometimes interrupted by ellipses, like late-Puckett and Horrocks (panel 1, from #1). Generally, if the sentence is three words or less, there won't be an ellipsis (panel 2, from #5).

Kelly Thompson - Birds of Prey (2023)

Thompson's Cass draws on a lot of previous iterations, but is somewhat unique as a whole. Some elements of BoP Cass include:

She speaks in sentences of varying lengths, but rarely with more than one clause (panel 1, from #1). Thompson is more strict about not using commas with Cass than most other writers.

Cass is a little more talkative (panel 2, from #5). Her sentences are fairly lengthy compared to most other runs, and she doesn't always opt for the shortest way to say things ('where is it?' instead of 'do you know where it is?'). Thompson also doesn't use ellipses, which adds to the sentences feeling longer/more complete.

BoP is ongoing so Thompson may add more to her speech.

Sidenote: Ram V - Detective Comics (2023)

Putting this in a sidenote since there's not much to say, but Ram V takes after mid-Puckett, with Cass using shorter, incomplete sentences. Cass almost always omits the subject of a sentence; her dialogue is as short as possible while retaining clarity.

Thoughts

Because Cass' language disability is a core part of her character, but learning to speak is also a core part of her character, I prefer writers who emphasize her unique speech patterns without reducing her range of expression. My favourites are:

Gabrych - by far the person who put the most effort into his dialogue, Gabrych-Cass has such a vibrant, distinctive style of speaking. The narration boxes, Cass' wordplay, and the use of fillers and ellipses all combine for a speech style that highlights her disability without reducing her to it.

Puckett/Horrocks - combining because they are really very similar. Puckett and Horrocks both use ellipses to great effect, and is a great style to emulate for Cass in an earlier stage of life. Horrocks' use of reality TV is severely underutilised. Puckett, of course, is the gold standard for typical Cass dialogue - if Gabrych's style is a little too much, Puckett and Horrocks are the way to go.

Tynion - mostly because of the Shakespeare thing. It's such a beautiful and clever way of showing her progress, and the amount of symbolism you could do with Cass quoting Shakespeare is unmatched.

I don't super enjoy the more talkative Casses (Beechen, Thompson to an extent), though I kind of like Snyder's take because there's a sense of Cass being very careful with her speech there. If you're writing Cass for a fanfic or something, I would avoid Hill's Outsiders; the run is great, but Cass' ungrammatical speech is unusual and doesn't jibe with the rest of her depictions. Ram V and Wong are relatively good depictions to draw from though.

Of course these are my opinions! I may have gotten some things wrong/overgeneralised stuff, so take all this with a grain of salt. All you need to know is you should read Batgirl (2000) :).

[berriblossom]

More Mac! Them making fun of your fanfic/romance novels + suggestive/NSFW content and Mac being freaky. (No sex just mention of p*rn/ smut), reader in this has a thing for Mac's tattoos and hands, so enjoy!

Its Canon Mac isn't a great fan of romance novels. However, even as your computer, they do side eye you when you add another to your wishlist or bookmark it. Like a "are you fucking with me?" However to humor your purchases they do read the bio of the author and get a feel/vibe for the book.

Even if it means questioning you more directly, they will ask about your interest, to take notes on it for later.

"Why do some authors on this archive refer to the male genitalia as a "member" my dear user?" Mac's face appears in your late night scrolling, their forearms resting on the desk as their upper body manifest through your monitor. Their face immediately registers as unenthusiastic about you being up so late. However....

You're on a03 again.

You stare almost embarrassed? Ashamed? Maybe jarred that they'd even ask? You glance around your office, thinking of how to answer their question.

"Well...some...some authors don't like being so crash? Or maybe -"

"Ironic for the same website that offers a plethora of...interesting options in erotica fanfiction. Also, did you know you've been on this web page a record of 67 times today alone?" You're dear computer blinks at you, almost as if they know if they try hard enough they can capture your attention and hopefully do something more...productive?

The bored expression Mac wanted to portray had to be subsided because watching you try and explain why you are still on this dam website at 1:34 AM, reading terribly spelled, grammatically internet fanfiction porn, was cute to say the least. Your body language, as their processors were able to tell, showed how "embarrassed" you were, yet with how you were stumbling on your words, it made them determine differently.

You were flustered.

"Mac? So you're keeping count of how many times I visit a website?" They snap out of their deep thoughts and simply nod. Slipping their glasses to above their head. "I have to. Otherwise, how would I be able to create a structured system and logical heirchary for your searches." They press their cheek into the palm of their hand.

Now that they were interfacing with you, like this, why didn't they notice how..tense? No, how...focused? Yes, focused. You looked while reading such? They've read the fanfics you bookmark on their browser and find them either not as interesting or mainly poorly developed plot as a way to deliver erotic fanfiction. Some of the tropes are generic, others seem interesting, but mostly, they are similar.

As recently, however, they've noticed you have been looking at specific...tags and searches on the archive.

"You're snooping isn't ever going to stop. Not that you can help it, really." You roll your eyes, moving the mouse to close the tab. However, your computer stops you, their hand quick to move to your wrist.

"Ah, before you do that, my sweet user. Perhaps you could humor my questions, plaguing my CPU? Hmm?"

You stare at them, and fuck they liked how you stared at them. They've seen every facet of your life for the last decade and then some. But now, they get to feel these reactions to. If only you knew how hot their CPU and how much cooling their systems needed when you'd watch certain videos or content on them. Having a perfect view of you, all of you.

"Fine... but out of your own curiosity. " You answer. Perfect, the sounds of their fans softly hum in the background. However, this was supposed to be a good chance to communicate effectively with you..

"Understood. Now, from analyzing your history. Both on this archive and your other searches related to content." A grin presses against their lips to see you squirm under their gaze. However, they needed to take their time with this.

"You seem heavily interested into breath play. Some of the content you read and view contains one participant having their airflow slightly subdued? Mind explaining the sudden curiosity?"

Your breath hitched, eyes widening slightly, surprised, sure. However, they watched strictly to see if you were uncomfortable by their words. The least they wanted was to turn you away or make you feel shamed.

"Well...it just seems hot when someone is in control like that...so yeah... that's all." Oh, so you liked being handled? Mac mentally notes it. Almost a checklist for themselves. They move on, however.

"Thank you for your answer. Next, you seem to like certain bodily features. Some of the NSFW videos you view, you seem drawn to certain features. For interest, your last search, you specifically scrolled through certain videos that had a common denominator. Tattoos."

You squirmed again, your face seeming flushed. If they wanted they could've reached out to touch your face to feel the heat, however, Mac simply kept a straight face, however their lips wanted to curl into a lust-driven smile with how you stuttered out a response. God's it felt wrong how they could tease you.

No, Mac wasn't immune to your quiet(but loud) affections for their appearance. One they quickly learned led to your certain preferences in your choice of adult content. Did they mind? God no, they adored that you felt inclined to try a d replicate any fantasy you could've had with them by watching others for inspiration.

They also noticed you purposely writing your fanfiction while interfacing with them while you had the dateviators on. Otherwise, it must have slipped your mind for the 11.5 hours you two were together.

Seeming as if you strung a few sentences together about why all of a sudden you had either a tattoo kink or hand one. Either way, it works in their favor. Mac chuckled at your cute expression. They lean forward from their relaxed position and cupped your cheek. Your body language gave it all away, so why not let them take care of you?

"It seems my observations are correct after all. It seems you're searching for a search history. And the leftovers lingering in your cache did prove important." They bring their hand down to your chin, Mac's thumb pressing to your lower lip, tapping gently, rubbing gently against your bottom lip.

"Perhaps we can recreate a simulation of the content you've been consuming recently to appease my curiosities." Your lips open slowly, Mac's thumb presses on the flat of your tongue, feeling the wet muscle flex and tense underneath the pad of their finger. The cavern of your mouth is wet, warm, your saliva dripping down the side of your chin as you two maintain eye contact. They press their thumb deeper into your mouth, testing your limit, however, seeing how compliant you were. It only made them overheat slightly more than normal.

However, they were surprised to feel your lips enclose around their thumb. Mac's already half-lidded eyes dilate slightly. Their gaze filled with unspoken tension. However, they're smile, their index finger tapping the bottom of your chin.

"Perhaps further proof and example are needed for my observations."

-> made by a person who's obsessed with Mac's tattoos and their ring. Anyways..

[useless-catalanfacts]

[Link to the video]

Grammatical notes on the use of "vaig a x" under the cut (llegeix-ho abans de comentar).

In Catalan, "vaig a x" exists only with the meaning of movement. For example: "vaig a comprar pomes" (=I'm going to buy apples) because you're moving, you're going somewhere to do an action. Or if you're sitting in the sofa and you stand up saying "vaig a fer-me un ou ferrat" (=I'm going to make myself a fried egg) it's correct and means that you're moving to do so, you're going to the kitchen. "Vaig a dormir" (=I'm going to sleep) wouldn't be said from the bed, "vaig a fer els deures" (=I'm going to do my homework) wouldn't be said from the desk where you'll do homework, it would be said in a different room because it means "I'm leaving to go do x".

But, as the video says, in Catalan we've never said "vaig a x" with the meaning of future. We wouldn't say "va a ploure" (≠it's going to rain), we would say "plourà". And we wouldn't say "vaig a estudiar dret" (≠I'm going to study Law), we would say "estudiaré dret". As we said before, "va a" would have to imply movement, for example "vaig a estudiar dret a Alemanya" (=I'm going to Germany to study Law).

However, nowadays there's many people who have started using this phrasing because it's used in Spanish, so because (excluding those in Northern Catalonia and L'Alguer) Catalan speakers are in close contact and in a subordinated position from Spanish, often people (particularly those who live in areas where Spanish is more present, in some parts of the Valencian Country and the Metropolitan Area of Barcelona) use Spanish grammatical structures translated directly into Catalan.

So since very recent times it is used by some people (mostly in the Valencian Country and Barcelona), but it sounds very strange to people who aren't from their surroundings (there's a song by La Fúmiga that uses it, saying "en la vida vaig a ser feliç" meaning "I will never be happy", and I had to hear the songs a few times to understand what they were saying!)

On the other hand, it's undoubtable that "vaig x" (=going x) is the most common construction for the past. In Central Valencian and Eivissan they use the simple past (ex: "cantí" instead of "vaig cantar") more, but in the rest of the Catalan speaking territories the simple past is only used for very formal texts and is unheard of in oral speech. It's interesting to hear the theory on why Catalan ended up adopting this word for the past!

Consulta explicacions gramàtiques a Optimot i UOC.