fox-in-the-library

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some of my best friends i met at the devil’s sacrament

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Greenwich Meme Time!

Snaffling this from @scholar-hect because who doesn't like a good ask meme...

last song: The Mekons - Memphis Egypt/Where Were You, heard live at their gig at Stereo last night where it was the last song. It was a typical Mekons gig - the left side of the PA broke down, Sally Timms for once made good on her threats to go home early since she had a rotten cold and two women both named Lesley were subsequently co-opted from the audience to help sing lead vocals on Wild and Blue, and Mitch the Roadie appeared on-stage for the last song to bring irrepresible energy and high kicks. Absolutely storming version of Memphis Egypt.

last film: Persuasion (1995), which is a go-to comfort watch

last book: The Lady's Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness, by Sarah Ramey. Just finished this, so still taking it in - I borrowed it from the library thinking that it might be helpful for figuring out what's going on with my own health, and there are definitely sections I want to re-read.

last tv show: I...actually can't remember? And it's not that I don't watch shows - I binge-watch things all the time. I just genuinely can't remember what the last show I watched was; they seem to go in one ear and out the other and leave no trace.

last game: I have a pocket crossword book that I do at the weekends. The last time I played a game on-screen was on my flight home at Christmas, where I played Sudoku for about three hours straight on the airplane game screen.

sweet/savory/spicy: Yes.

relationship status: Permanently single hey ho.

last google duck duck go search: I enjoy looking at posts in the craftsnark reddit, if that counts

current obsession: interior decorating magazines; knitting up a storm (as procrastination on the novel I should be working on); my recently bought all-in-one CD/cassette/turntable HiFi which means I can listen to All The Things.

what I'm looking forward to: some extra cash since I'll be covering my boss' job for a year while she's on mat leave - hoping this will make a difference to my ability to save for a deposit/make a competitive offer on a house/flat; Glasgow School of Yarn festival in October, since it's always a blast; getting some quality time in with friends over the next few weeks.

If you want to do this, consider yourself tagged!

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Was at the art museum earlier and i have a new favourite painting

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Some notes on getting a new pope:

* As depicted in the movie Conclave, voting for the new pope is held in secret. The only clue as to who voted for the current pope is to see which direction they face when leaving the Sistine Chapel. This is known as Cardinality.

* In order to make sure no bribes are taking place, the voting block must conduct all their transactions using the vatican's own ecommerce system, Papal.

* No communication is allowed from the chapel while the voting is taking place. The only clues are from the chimney: black smoke indicates a failed vote, white smoke indicates a new pope, and red smoke indicates that the conclave needs pizza.

* The ashes of former non-canonised popes are mixed with flower petals and essential oils to provide a pleasant and holy atmosphere for debate. This is known as popeourri

* There is usually about an hour between the election of the pope and their first appearance on the balcony of the basilica. This is to give them time to sign the poperwork.

* Several times during history sects have taken the opportunity of a papal election to declare their own leaders as the new head of the church. Should one of these alternates shake hands with a vatican-elected pope, both men vanish.

* The announcement of the new pope is the template for modern gender reveal parties, and this isn’t even in the top twenty worst things the apostolic Catholic Church is responsible for.

* There is no historical basis for the pope’s testicular check being done by having a chair with a hole in the seat, and I say this because I went to write one of these based on that and checked first, and now the papacy is a little less funny to me, and isn’t that the point of this exercise?

* The official name for the countdown listing of candidates for the pontifex position is known as “Top of the Popes”

* While a pope speaking from the Throne can speak the word of God, it is not a paid position from which he will earn money.

* All ghosts are removed from the chapel between each day of the conclave to stop them reporting on any progress, which is the point of that exorcise.

* Since 1929 the seat of the pontifex hasn’t failed to elect a new pope. It isn’t the Vatican’t.

* The announcement of a new pope is accompanied by a musical chord that is believed to be pleasing to the divine ear. It is known as the Holy C.

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Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

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reblog for easter

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Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a respondibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

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Tom Brown, a 79-year-old from Clemmons, North Carolina, has spent over 20 years of his retirement tracking down rare, nearly extinct apple varieties that once flourished across Appalachia. Driven by his passion for rediscovering these heirlooms, Brown has revived more than 1,200 unique apple types with whimsical names like Brushy Mountain Limbertwig, Mule Face, and Tucker’s Everbearing.

His journey began in 1998 after encountering heritage apples at a farmers’ market, inspiring him to search for “lost” apples that hadn’t been tasted in over a century. Stretching across the Appalachian region—from southern New York to northern Alabama—Brown scours old maps, orchard catalogs, and historical records, often driving hours and knocking on doors to find forgotten orchards or lone trees tucked in remote areas.

When he finds a lost variety, Brown grafts clippings onto trees in his own orchard, where he cultivates and sells them for just $15 to encourage others to create “mini preservation orchards.” Despite the challenge of aging trees and a dwindling population of local knowledge keepers, Brown remains determined, calling the work both fun and fulfilling.

“It’s a thrill to rediscover them,” he says. “I’m happy as a lark.” Brown’s mission not only preserves these apples but also honors the heritage of the region, where generations of families once prided themselves on cultivating unique varieties in their backyards.

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Angela Barrett’s illustrations for Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

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the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

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Pretend, for example, that you were born in Chicago and have never had the remotest desire to visit Hong Kong, which is only a name on a map for you; pretend that some convulsion, sometimes called accident, throws you into connection with a man or a woman who lives in Hong Kong; and that you fall in love. Hong Kong will immediately cease to be a name and become the center of your life. And you may never know how many people live in Hong Kong. But you will know that one man or one woman lives there without whom you cannot live. And this is how our lives are changed, and this is how we are redeemed.

What a journey this life is! Dependent, entirely, on things unseen. If your lover lives in Hong Kong and cannot get to Chicago, it will be necessary for you to go to Hong Kong. Perhaps you will spend your life there, and never see Chicago again. And you will, I assure you, as long as space and time divide you from anyone you love, discover a great deal about shipping routes, airlines, earth quake, famine, disease, and war. And you will always know what time it is in Hong Kong, for you love someone who lives there. And love will simply have no choice but to go into battle with space and time and, furthermore, to win.

—James Baldwin, The Price of the Ticket

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Przewalski's horse Equus ferus przewalskii

Observed by mani_raab, CC BY-NC

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Ciarán Hinds as Captain Frederick Wentworth (Persuasion, 1995)

“A very fine young man indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple. “More air than one often sees in Bath.” “[…] Wentworth: Captain Wentworth of the navy.

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I want you to remember:

The fascists hate you too and they just will pretend otherwise until after they've killed the rest of us, before they turn on you.