#How to Become a Life Coach in Virginia

[tcm]

How Race Prevented Dorothy Dandridge from Being a Star By Susan King

Dorothy Dandridge was the first Black movie star. “She was our queen,” once said African American actress Nichelle Nichols (of Star Trek fame). Dandridge also made history with her full-blooded performance as the femme fatale in Otto Preminger’s 1954 CARMEN JONES. She became the first Black woman to earn an Oscar nomination for Best Actress and the first to grace the cover of Life magazine.

Her achievements were during a decade before the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and her nomination would mark five decades before a Black actress, Halle Berry, would win in that category. Berry also won an Emmy for her performance as the Dandridge in HBO’s Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (1999).

By the time Dandridge landed her role in CARMEN JONES, she had already paid her dues tenfold. She knew how difficult it was to be gifted, young, Black and beautiful in Hollywood. “CARMEN JONES was the best break I ever had,” said Dandridge, who tragically died at the age of 42 in 1965. “But no producer ever knocked on my door. There just aren’t as many parts or a Black actress. If I were white, I could capture the world.”

She was a child singer along with her older sister Vivian as part of The Wonder Children. Her mother, actress Ruby Dandridge, was the ultimate stage mother and so was her companion Geneva Williams, who oversaw their career. She was strict and allegedly was abusive. With family friend Etta Jones, Dorothy and Vivian became The Dandridge Sisters. They came to Hollywood around the time she was four. “I was one of those musical kids you hear about, with parts in pictures like the Marx Brothers’ A Day at the Races (‘37),” Dandridge said.

The Dandridge Sisters performed in Europe, the famed Cotton Club and appeared on Broadway in 1939 with Louis Armstrong in the short-lived Swingin’ the Dream. They also sang with African American band leader Jimmie Lunceford. And besides appearing in A DAY AT THE RACES, they were a specialty act in such movies and shorts as Snow Gets in Your Eyes (‘38), in which they perform “Harlem Yodel” and “Rhythm Rascals.”

Even as a teenager, you can’t keep your eyes off of Dandridge. She had the indescribable “It” factor. And after she went out on her own, she continued to dazzle in short musical films known as “soundies” that were produced for video jukeboxes of the era. She also had tiny roles, often uncredited, in movies, including David O. Selznick’s popular World War II film SINCE YOU WENT AWAY (‘44). Perhaps her most notable performance at this time was in the Sonja Henie musical ice-skating comedy SUN VALLEY SERENADE (‘41) in which she performs “Chattanooga Choo Choo” in a slinky black ensemble with the tap-dancing duo Harold and Fayard Nicholas.

“No film fan has ever forgotten her as a dream girl with the brothers,” said African American film historian Donald Bogle in his book Hollywood Black: The Stars, the Films, the Filmmakers.

She was all of 19 when she married Harold Nicholas, whom she had first met while performing at the Cotton Club. Their only child Harolyn was born in 1943. Nicholas had gone off to play golf the day Dandridge went into labor and he took the car keys, so she was delayed getting to the hospital to deliver the baby. Harolyn was born brain damaged and was never able to speak or even recognize Dandridge.

Dandridge believed the reason she was born mentally disabled was because of the delay in delivery. Dandridge would be haunted by guilt the rest of her life. She provided expensive care for her daughter, but when her finances became grim, Harolyn became a ward of the state. According to the TCM.com overview of BRIGHT ROAD (‘53), in which Dandridge portrays a dedicated young schoolteacher, seeing “healthy African-American children playing on the set proved too much for her, and she fled to her dressing room.”

Dandridge had always wanted to be a dramatic actress and attended the progressive Actors’ Lab in Los Angeles, becoming one of the school’s first Black students. Marilyn Monroe was also one of the students and became great friends with Dandridge. It would be considered a communist organization in the early 1950s with several members being blacklisted and the theater soon closed.

She also worked with noted coach and composer/arranger Phil Moore to develop a nightclub act, which Dandridge performed internationally to great acclaim. Under Moore’s guidance, Dandridge went from the young vivacious singer to a sultry, sexy chanteuse. Time magazine wrote about a nightclub appearance where she “came wriggling out of the wings like a caterpillar on a hot rock.” And according to a 1997 New York Times piece by Janet Maslin, when Dandridge headlined the Mocambo nightclub in L.A. in 1953, the cigarette girls actually sold copies of Alfred Kinsey’s Sexual Behavior in the Human Female.

“I think it was really the heartache over my child and the failure of my marriage that forced me to make a success out of my career,” Dandridge explained in 1954. “I had to keep busy. I threw myself into my work. It’s a wonderful therapy. You don’t have time to feel sorry for yourself.”

She landed roles in three low-budget films including TARZAN’S PERIL (‘51). Dandridge is the best thing about the adventure as Melmendi, the young, beautiful and feisty Queen of Ashuba, who is kidnapped and rescued by Tarzan. Bogle notes that Lex Barker’s Tarzan shows a lot more interest in Melmendi than he does in Jane (Virginia Huston). “Here were suggestions of an interracial romance that the studio didn’t explore.” But audiences were titillated. Ebony magazine put her on the cover with the banner: “Hollywood’s Newest Glamour Queen.’’

She would appear in a few more roles, including THE HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS (‘51) and BRIGHT ROAD opposite Harry Belafonte, who would star with her the following year in CARMEN JONES. The operetta gave her high visibility but few additional film roles. Also, she had fallen in love with Preminger, who didn’t give her the best career advice. They would work together one more time in the film adaptation of PORGY AND BESS (‘59), for which Dandridge was nominated for a Golden Globe.

“But sadly, her decline came soon after her triumph,” notes Bogle in Brown Sugar. “She realized she was a token figure within the movie colony, her position not much different than Lena Horne’s in the ‘40s. There was no great follow-up of roles to sustain her fame. Three years passed before she appeared in another film.” Dandridge once said of racial prejudice: “It is such a waste. It makes you loggy and half-alive. If it gives you nothing.”

Dandridge was drinking heavily and taking antidepressants by the late 1950s. In fact, when Dandridge married a second time in 1959, to the man who was not only abusive but would leave her broke, she was so drugged that she fell asleep at the reception. “Dandridge’s last years were lonely and sad as she struggled to find work,” said Bogle.

[4stars-uswnt]

Love Heals All Wounds (and Embraces Scars) [Binoe x Daughter!Reader]

requested by anon: Could you do something with binoe the first time they have to pick their teenage daughter up from school because she’s sick?

warnings: mention of surgery and scars

A/N: congrats to the Storm on winning the WNBA championship!! and SBird for her FOURTH **insert goat emoji**

“Megan!” Vlatko calls from across the field, waving the forward over to the sidelines.

Megan passes the ball back to Tobin, abandoning the drill and making her way over to her coach.

“What’s up, coach?”

“Sue’s been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes. Here, she called me.” He holds out his phone, which Megan takes and puts up to her ear.

“Sue? What’s wrong?”

“It’s (Y/N). The school called and said she wasn’t feeling good. They took her to the nurse’s office, but apparently she’s writhing in pain. I’m on my way to pick her up right now. Do you think you can get out of practice and meet us at home?” Sue explains, worry evident in her voice.

You had been adopted by Sue and Megan when you were 14 years old, after they found you living on the streets. You didn’t have the best childhood, bouncing around to different foster homes and group homes, eventually running away to fend for yourself, which is where your moms found you. Although you are now 16, your moms still see you as their baby, and therefore are very overprotective of you.  

“Oh my gosh. I’ll be right there.” Megan quickly hangs up the phone, handing it back to Vlatko. “Coach, I really need to go. It’s (Y/N). She’s really sick, and Sue’s going to pick her up from school.”

“Of course, go.” Vlatko nods, knowing how much you meant to the forward, having met you on many occasions.

Megan rushes back to the locker room, gathers her things, and runs to her car. Thank goodness camp was in Seattle. As she drives on the highway, breaking a few speed limits, her phone rings.

“Babe, I’m on my way to the school right now.”

“Change of plans.” Sue tells her girlfriend. “They had to take her to the hospital. They think it’s appendicitis.”

Megan feels her heart drop, and she clenches the steering wheel. “Okay. I’ll meet you at Virginia. I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you soon.” Sue responds, ending the call.

After winding through traffic and speeding through yellow lights, Megan finally arrives at the hospital. Running through the doors, she approaches the reception desk.

“Hi, excuse me. I’m looking for (Y/N) Bird-Rapinoe.”

The receptionist scans the computer and then glances up, an apologetic look written across her face. “I’m sorry, but she’s in surgery right now.”  

“Okay, can you at least tell me what room she’ll be in? Or where I can wait for her?” Megan anxiously taps her fingers on the counter.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t have that information.”

Megan could feel herself becoming impatient. “But——”

“Megan!” Sue calls from down the hall, spotting her girlfriend. The pink-haired woman speed walks towards where Sue is sitting.

“Sue, what’s happening? They wouldn’t tell me anything, except for that (Y/N)’s in surgery.” Megan nervously runs her hand through her hair, as she takes a seat next to the other woman.

“Her appendix is extremely swollen, so they’re removing it and getting rid of any possible infections.” Sue grabs Megan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“My poor baby.” Megan pouts, leaning her head on the basketball player’s shoulder.

Sue wraps her arm around her girlfriend. “She’s a strong one. She’s a Bird-Rapinoe after all.”

At that, Megan lets out a little chuckle, smirking. “That she is.”

—————

“Excuse me. Are you the parents of (Y/N) Bird-Rapinoe?” The surgeon approaches the two women in the waiting area.

“Yes, we are.” Sue confirms, while Megan nods her head.

“The operation went smoothly, and your daughter is going to be okay. She’s just got out of surgery, so she’s still asleep, but I can take you to her room, if you’d like.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Both Megan and Sue let out a sigh of relief and stand up to follow the doctor to your room.

He opens the door for your moms, allowing them to enter. “I’ll give you some time with her, and I’ll come back a little later once she’s awake to review the recovery process. She should be waking up soon.”

Megan and Sue thank the doctor and take their places on either side of your bed.

“She gave us a real scare, didn’t she?” Megan huffs.

“(Y/N)’s always keeping us on our toes, that’s for sure.” Sue chuckles.

You had always been independent, given your childhood, so adjusting to having parents was a little difficult for you. It took you some time to abide by their rules, learn to communicate with your moms, and eventually open up and be comfortable with them. Not only that, but naturally, you were an outgoing teenager, constantly trying to new things, which would often lead to a worried Megan and a nervous Sue. Your moms were still recovering from the time you did a Sam-Kerr-esque goal celebration, landing a successful backflip after you scored a hat trick.

“Moms?” You croaked, moving to sit up.

“Don’t try and sit up, (Y/N/N).” Sue gently guides you back onto your pillow.

“Here, kiddo, have some water.” Megan hands you a cup. You take a couple of gulps, soothing your sore throat.

“What happened?” You furrow your eyebrows. “The last thing I remember is being at school, and my stomach wasn’t feeling well, so they took me to the nurse’s office.”

Sue takes your hand in hers, soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “You had appendicitis, honey, so they had to remove it.”

“You mean I had to have surgery?” You cringe at the thought of another scar.

“Yeah, kiddo.” Megan gives you a sympathetic look, taking your other hand.

“Ugh.” You groan, throwing your head back into the pillow. “Just what I needed, another scar. They’re so ugly.” You mumble out the last part, squeezing your eyes shut, willing away your tears.

Sue caresses your cheek and wipes the tears that leaked down your face. “Honey, look at me.”

You sniffle and face your mom.

“(Y/N), your scars aren’t ugly. They are beautiful.” She whispers. You go to protest, but Sue gives you a stern look, one you’re all too familiar with. “They tell your story and show how strong you are. They remind you of how strong you are and all of the times that life tried to break you down but failed.”

By now, you and both of your moms are smiling with misty eyes.

“I guess so.” You mutter. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” Sue leans down to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Hey! What about me?” Megan teases.

“Of course.” You roll your eyes, a grin playing across your face. Your face softens, as you speak earnestly. “I love you.”

Megan gives you soft smile and leans down to give you a hug without hurting you. “I love you too.” She whispers in your ear.

A knock on the door interrupts the sentimental moment, and your doctor enters the room.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but seeing that you’re now awake, I thought I’d go over your procedure and your recovery process with you.”

“Sure.” You nod.

He explains the surgery he performed and the timeline and procedures of your recovery. He then looks to your moms, explaining what they should do about your bandages as well as the technicalities of insurance and all that boring stuff.

“Any questions?” He concludes.

“Yeah, how long do I have to stay here?” You ask.

“(Y/N)!” Sue exclaims.

“What?” You turn to your mom, confused.

“You literally just got out of surgery.” She exasperates, causing the doctor to chuckle.

“We’d like to keep you here overnight for observation, if that’s alright with you?”

“That’s perfect.” Megan confirms, as you grumble under your breath.

“Alright, some nurses will come change your bandages, and I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.” He says, as he heads to the door.

“Thank you, doctor.” Sue calls out after him.

“Why do I have to stay here?” You whine. “I feel fine.”

Megan raises her eyebrows at you, amused. “Really?”

You nod your head.

“Okay, then try sitting up.”

Determined to prove your moms wrong, you move to sit up, but immediately wince at the pain in your side. Laying back down, you let out a frustrated groan.

“Ha. That’s what I thought.” Megan boasts, as she pulls your blankets back on top of you.

You feel your eyes starting to get heavy, your medication kicking in once again.

“(Y/N/N), go to sleep.” Sue gently coaxes.

“But I wanna be with you guys.”

Your moms’ hearts melt at your words, and the two women share a smile.

“We’ll be here when you wake up.” Megan reassures.

“You promise?” You mumble drowsily, your eyes fully closed at this point.

“We promise. Now sleep, honey.” Sue squeezes your hand.

“Love you guys.” You whisper before completely falling asleep.

“We love you too, (Y/N).”

[swanlake1998]

Article: Five Pioneering Black Ballerinas: ‘We Have to Have a Voice’

Date: June 17, 2021

By: Karen Valby

These early Dance Theater of Harlem stars met weekly on Zoom — to survive the isolation of the pandemic and to reclaim their role in dance history.

Last May, adrift in a suddenly untethered world, five former ballerinas came together to form the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy. Every Tuesday afternoon, they logged onto Zoom from around the country to remember their time together performing with Dance Theater of Harlem, feeling that magical turn in early audiences from skepticism to awe.

Life as a pioneer, life in a pandemic: They have been friends for over half a century, and have held each other up through far harder times than this last disorienting year. When people reached for all manners of comfort, something to give purpose or a shape to the days, these five women turned to their shared past.

In their cozy, rambling weekly Zoom meetings, punctuated by peals of laughter and occasional tears, they revisited the fabulousness of their former lives. With the background of George Floyd’s murder and a pandemic disproportionately affecting the Black community, the women set their sights on tackling another injustice. They wanted to reinscribe the struggles and feats of those early years at Dance Theater of Harlem into a cultural narrative that seems so often to cast Black excellence aside.

“There’s been so much of African American history that’s been denied or pushed to the back,” said Karlya Shelton-Benjamin, 64, who first brought the idea of a legacy council to the other women. “We have to have a voice.”

They knew as young ballet students that they’d never be chosen for roles like Clara in “The Nutcracker” or Odette/Odile in “Swan Lake.” They were told by their teachers to switch to modern dance or to aim for the Alvin Ailey company if they wanted to dance professionally, regardless of whether they felt most alive en pointe.

Arthur Mitchell was like a lighthouse to the women. Mitchell, the first Black principal dancer at the New York City Ballet and a protégé of the choreographer George Balanchine, had a mission: to create a home for Black dancers to achieve heights of excellence unencumbered by ignorance or tradition. Ignited by the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he founded Dance Theater of Harlem in 1969 with Karel Shook.

Lydia Abarca-Mitchell, Gayle McKinney-Griffith and Sheila Rohan were founding dancers of his new company with McKinney-Griffith, 71, soon taking on the role of its first ballet mistress. Within the decade, Shelton-Benjamin and Marcia Sells joined as first generation dancers.

Abarca-Mitchell, 70, spent her childhood in joyless ballet classes but never saw an actual performance until she was 17 at the invitation of Mitchell, her new teacher. “I’ll never forget what Arthur did onstage” she said of his Puck in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at New York City Ballet during a Tuesday session in January. “He made the ballet so natural. Suddenly it wasn’t just this ethereal thing anymore. I felt it in my bones.”

Marcia Sells, 61, remembered being 9 and watching with mouth agape when Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan performed with Dance Theater in her hometown, Cincinnati. “There in front of me were Black ballerinas,” Sells said during a video call in April. “That moment was the difference in my life. Otherwise I don’t think it would’ve been possible for me to think of a career in ballet.”

Shelton-Benjamin left her Denver ballet company, where she was the only Black dancer, turning down invitations from the Joffrey Ballet and American Ballet Theater, after reading a story about Dance Theater of Harlem in Dance magazine. Abarca-Mitchell was on that issue’s cover — the first Black woman to have that honor. At her Harlem audition, Shelton-Benjamin witnessed company members hand-dying their shoes and ribbons and tights to match the hues of their skin. Here, no traditional ballet pink would interrupt the beauty of their lines. “I had never seen a Black ballerina before, let alone a whole company,” Shelton-Benjamin, 64, said during a February Zoom meeting. “All I could think was, ‘Where have you guys been?’”

Finding one another back then, at the height of the civil rights movement, allowed them to have careers while challenging a ballet culture that had been claimed by white people. “We were suddenly ambassadors,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “And we were all in it together.”

They traveled to American cities that presented such a hostile environment that Mitchell would cancel the performance the night of, lest his company feel disrespected. But they also danced for kings and queens and presidents. In 1979, a review in The Washington Post declared their dancing to be a “purer realization of the Balanchinean ideal than anyone else’s.” Their adventures offstage were similarly electric, like the night in Manchester when Mick Jagger invited them out on the town. “We walked into the club with him and everybody just moved out of the way,” Shelton-Benjamin said.

Cultural memory can be spurious and shortsighted. Abarca-Mitchell was the first Black prima ballerina for a major company, performing works like Balanchine’s “Agon” and “Bugaku” and William Dollar’s “Le Combat” to raves. In an April Zoom session she said she first realized how left out of history she was when her daughter went online to prove to a friend that her mother was the first Black prima ballerina. But all she found was the name Misty Copeland, hailed as the first. “And my daughter was so mad. She said: ‘Where’s your name? Where’s your name?’ It was a wake-up call.”

While Abarca-Mitchell paused to wipe her eyes, Shelton-Banjamin stepped in: “I want to echo what Lydia said. There was a point where I asked the women, ‘Did it all really happen? Was I really a principal dancer?’ And Lydia told me: ‘Don’t do that! Yes, you were. We’re here to tell you, you were.”

Sells went on to a career that included serving as the dean of Harvard Law School, until she left this year to become the Metropolitan Opera’s first chief diversity officer. Shelton-Benjamin is now a jeweler who recently became certified in diamond grading. She, along with Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan, continue to coach and teach dance. They all have families, including another grandchild on the way for McKinney-Griffith, who announced the happy news to whoops on a recent call.

But they are done swallowing a mythology of firstness that excludes them, along with fellow pioneers like Katherine Dunham, Debra Austin, Raven Wilkinson, Lauren Anderson and Aesha Ash. It’s true that Misty Copeland is American Ballet Theater’s first Black female principal. It is also true that she stands on the shoulders of the founding and first generation dancers at Dance Theater. A narrative that suggests otherwise, Sells said, “Simply makes ballet history weak and small.”

Worse, it perpetuates the belief that Blackness in ballet is a one-off rather than a continuing fact. And it suggests a lonely existence for dancers like Copeland, a world absent of peers. “We could’ve been Misty’s aunties,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “I wish she was part of our sisterhood, that’s all.”

Dance Theater saved them from being the only one in a room. The work was so hard, the expectations so high, the mission so urgent, that those early days demanded a familial support system among the dancers. “Someone would take you under their wing and say, ‘You’re my daughter or sister or brother,’” McKinney-Griffith said. “The men did it also. Karlya was my little sister, and we kept that through the years.”

Like in any family, the relationships are complicated. The women speak of feeling shut out of today’s Dance Theater of Harlem. They are rarely brought in for workshops or consultations on the ballets they were taught by Mitchell. At his memorial service in 2018, they wept in the pews unacknowledged. “We’re like orphans,” Rohan said with a laugh in a Zoom session. “If the outside world neglects us, it seems all the more reason that Dance Theater of Harlem should embrace us.”

Virginia Johnson, a fellow founding member, is now the company’s artistic director. She assumed the helm in 2013 when Dance Theater returned after an eight-year hiatus caused by financial instability. “It makes me sad to think that they feel excluded,” Johnson said in a phone interview. “And it’s not because I don’t want them. It’s just because I can’t manage. I’ve probably missed some chances but it’s not like I haven’t thought about the value of what they bring to the company. They are the bodies, the soul, the spirit of Dance Theater of Harlem.”

“We all think about and love and respect what Arthur Mitchell did,” she added, “but these are the people he worked with to make this company.”

By the end of May, the five members of the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy were fully vaccinated. They traveled from Denver, Atlanta, Connecticut, South Jersey and, in Sells’s case, five blocks north of Dance Theater of Harlem for a joyful reunion. So much is different now at the building on 152nd Street. The old fire escape in Studio 3 where they’d catch their breath or wipe tears of frustration is gone. So are the big industrial fans in the corners of the room, replaced by central air conditioning. But they can still feel their leader all around them in the room. Crying, Abarca-Mitchell told McKinney-Griffith, “I miss Arthur.” (Though they all laugh when imagining his response to their legacy council. “I do believe he would try to control us,” Rohan said. “’What are you doing now? Why are you doing that? Let me suggest that. …’”)

The body remembers. In Studio 3, all Shelton-Benjamin had to do was hum a few notes of Balanchine’s “Serenade” and say “and” for the women to grandly sweep their right arms up. “These women help validate my worth,” Abarca-Mitchell said afterward. “I don’t want to take it for granted that people should recognize Lydia Abarca. But when I’m with them I feel like I felt back then. Important.”

Even as the world reopens and they grow busy again, they’ll carry on with their Tuesday afternoons. They want to amplify more alumni voices. They dream of launching a scholarship program for young dancers of color. This fall, they’ll host a webinar in honor of the director and choreographer Billy Wilson, whose daughter Alexis was also part of Dance Theater.

“What we have is a spiritual connection,” said Rohan, who turns 80 this year. She was 27 when she joined the company, already married and hiding from Mitchell that she was a mother of three young children for fear it get her kicked out. When she eventually confessed a year later, he got mad, insisting he would have increased her salary if he’d known she had mouths to feed.

“Arthur planted a seed in me, and all these beautiful women helped it grow,” she said. “Coming from Staten Island, I was just a country girl from the projects. My first time on a plane was to go to Europe to dance on those stages. I thanked God every day for the experience. This year, coming together again, I remembered how much it all meant to me. I didn’t have to be a star ballerina. It was enough that I was there. I was there. I was there.”

[rockislandadultreads]

In Love & Music: romances & musicians

The Happy Ever After Playlist by Abby Jimenez

Two years after losing her fiancé, Sloan Monroe still can't seem to get her life back on track. But one trouble-making pup with a "take me home" look in his eyes is about to change everything. With her new pet by her side, Sloan finally starts to feel more like herself. Then, after weeks of unanswered texts, Tucker's owner reaches out. He's a musician on tour in Australia. And bottom line: He wants Tucker back. Well, Sloan's not about to give up her dog without a fight. As their flirty texts turn into long calls, Sloan can't deny a connection. There's no telling what could happen when they meet in person. The question is: With his music career on the rise, how long will Jason really stick around? And is it possible for Sloan to survive another heartbreak?

Songs in Ursa Major by Emma Brodie

The year is 1969, and the Bayleen Island Folk Fest is abuzz with one name: Jesse Reid. Tall and soft-spoken, with eyes blue as stone-washed denim, Jesse Reid's intricate guitar riffs and supple baritone are poised to tip from fame to legend with this one headlining performance. That is, until his motorcycle crashes on the way to the show. Jane Quinn is a Bayleen Island local whose music flows as naturally as her long blond hair. When she and her bandmates are asked to play in Jesse Reid's place at the festival, it almost doesn't seem real. But Jane plants her bare feet on the Main Stage and delivers the performance of a lifetime, stopping Jesse's disappointed fans in their tracks: A star is born. Jesse stays on the island to recover from his near-fatal accident and he strikes up a friendship with Jane, coaching her through the production of her first record. As Jane contends with the music industry's sexism, Jesse becomes her advocate, and what starts as a shared calling soon becomes a passionate love affair. On tour with Jesse, Jane is so captivated by the giant stadiums, the late nights, the wild parties, and the media attention, that she is blind-sided when she stumbles on the dark secret beneath Jesse's music. With nowhere to turn, Jane must reckon with the shadows of her own past; what follows is the birth of one of most iconic albums of all time. Shot through with the lyrics, the icons, the lore, the adrenaline of the early 70s music scene, Songs in Ursa Major pulses with romantic longing and asks the question so many female artists must face: What are we willing to sacrifice for our dreams?

The Whole Way Home by Sarah Creech

Playing to packed houses while her hit song rushes up the charts, country singer and fiddler Jo Lover is poised to become a big Nashville star like her idols, Loretta, Reba, and Sheryl. To ensure her success, Jo has carefully crafted her image: a pretty, sassy, down-to-earth girl from small-town Virginia who pours her heart into her songs. But the stage persona she’s built is threatened when her independent label merges with big-time Capitol Records, bringing Nashville heartthrob JD McCoy—her first love—back into her life. Long ago Jo played with JD’s band. Then something went wrong, they parted ways and took their own crooked roads to stardom. Now, Jo’s excited—and terrified—to see him again. When the label reunites them for a show, the old sparks fly, the duet they sing goes viral, and fans begin clamoring for more—igniting the media’s interest in the compelling singer. Why is a small-town girl like Jo so quiet about her past? When did she and JD first meet? What split them apart? All too soon, the painful secret she's been hiding is uncovered; a shocking revelation that threatens to destroy her reputation and her dreams. To salvage her life and her career, Jo must finally face the past—and her feelings for JD—to become the true Nashville diva she was meant to be.

More Than Maybe by Erin Hahn

Growing up under his punk rocker dad's spotlight, eighteen-year-old Luke Greenly knows fame and wants nothing to do with it. His real love isn't in front of a crowd, it's on the page. Hiding his gift and secretly hoarding songs in his bedroom at night, he prefers the anonymous comfort of the locally popular podcast he co-hosts with his outgoing and meddling, far-too-jealousy-inspiringly-happy-with-his-long-term-boyfriend twin brother, Cullen. But that’s not Luke’s only secret. He also has a major un-requited crush on music blogger, Vada Carsewell. Vada's got a five year plan: secure a job at the Loud Lizard to learn from local legend (and her mom's boyfriend) Phil Josephs (check), take over Phil's music blog (double check), get accepted into Berkeley's prestigious music journalism program (check, check, check), manage Ann Arbor's summer concert series and secure a Rolling Stone internship. Luke Greenly is most definitely NOT on the list. So what if his self-deprecating charm and out-of-this-world music knowledge makes her dizzy? Or his brother just released a bootleg recording of Luke singing about some mystery girl on their podcast and she really, really wishes it was her?

[sodone-withlife]

it's a sad song

heavily inspired by Hadestown, will feature lyrics from How Long? and Epic III. thanks to @yourlocalheartbreaker for indulging me and my rants about how much i love this musical

the musical's interpretation of Hades and Persephone's story is perfect for Hotch and Haley, so here is the self-indulgent cliche songfic. as usual, i did little to no proofreading so apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors. it's also more choppy than i'd like, but i really wanted to get it out so i can force myself to work on another angsty Hotch fic

warnings: canonical character death, non-canon character death, suicide

word count: 4k words

(And what has become of the heart of that man, now that the man is king? What has become of the heart of that man, now that he has everything?)

In the grand scheme of things, Hotch was lucky. He was further away from the bomb when it went off and only needed a day and a half in the hospital before he was back at the field office, taking the reins in handling the press and brass that was ready to tear Gideon apart.

The inquisition that followed in Virginia was vicious and by the end, Gideon was on indefinite medical leave and the unit was under the brass’s close scrutiny as Hotch took charge of the unit. As much as the word “temporary” was being parroted around in regards to the new chain of command, it was tacit knowledge that it was a permanent arrangement. A fiasco on the scale of Boston was enough to get an agent fired, and it was only Gideon’s seniority and excellent record that kept him with the bureau.

For Hotch, Boston and the months following only reinforced three lessons that were already hardwired into his brain:

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

(Give them a piece and they'll take it all Show them a crack and they'll tear down the wall)

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

(Lend them an ear and the Kingdom will fall The Kingdom will fall for a song)

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

He was the new face of the BAU within the bureau, and even his prosecutorial and investigative record could not help protect the team from scrutiny.

So he straightened his spine and hardened his already severely sharp features, throwing himself into work and restoring the unit’s reputation.

Then Hotch came home one day to Haley’s brilliant smile and delighted excitement, and for a moment, he was reminded of the first time he talked to her nearly twenty years ago, when he told her he was quitting his smoking habit.

He had frozen when she first approached him in his dark corner a few weeks after school had resumed in the fall. She had smiled amusedly, his social ineptitude clear as day as he struggled to find words to greet her, to apologize for seeming like a creep over the summer when he first saw her outside on the sports field coaching younger students through vocal warmups before they started rehearsing the musical that was being put on that year, only to completely blank she plopped herself down next to him with her own school bag and lunch.

By the end of that day, he had convinced himself it was only going to be a one-off thing, that she wasn’t going to come back. If he had been honest with himself, part of him, the part that knew so intimately that his mother’s skin only remained free from bruises after his innocent baby brother was born was because his damned father finally had a son he could look at without being reminded of his self-hatred, wished it was.

But then she came back the next day, the day after that, and the day after that, apparently content to sit beside him in silence only broken by periodic comments about the going-ons in her life and the musical. And she continued going to sit next to him, even as he watched as others tried to warn her away, tried to physically guide her away from the bleachers.

What was stranger, he thought, was that she stayed even in spite of his silence, and in spite of his vices—he could tell she didn’t like his habit, but she didn’t comment. She just kept him company.

It was a few weeks into this arrangement, when he saw his still mostly full pack, that he realized that he hadn’t itched for a smoke during lunch for weeks, not while she was there and talking to him in ways he’d never been talked to before.

Sometime later, as the number of cigarettes in the pack remained unchanging, as the pack itself went untouched in his schoolbag, he finally threw it away.

That was the first time Hotch talked to her, to tell her that he’s giving up the habit. That small, but no less proud or bright, smile that spread across her face, he decided, was something he wanted to see again.

Slowly, he started talking more, and on good days, the two made conversation on topics ranging from classes to their favorite books all the way to whatever shenanigans Sean or Jessica was getting into. On other days, on bad days, the silence was never awkward, and she simply kept him company as he struggled to control the storm in his mind.

Those were the days his fingers itched for a cigarette, and those were the days she introduced to him a new book that he would finish within the day. The next day at school, they would once again be stuck in an in-depth conversation about the characters’ flaws and the absurdities of the antagonists, and the itch would be gone.

And it went on like this, even after he threw all caution and his doubts to the wind and asked her out on the first day of their senior year, even as they faced the townspeople’s questions about why such a good girl like Haley Brooks was dating someone of the likes of Aaron Hotchner, who, despite being so coldly brilliant, was just that.

Cold.

Dangerously unfeeling.

Barely human.

But she had seen behind the facade and she knew that he loved with the fierce burning of a thousand suns. She knew how terrified he was of losing everything, that he would be left alone and floundering in a world that was not kind to the lost.

So she stayed, through college, as she went into teaching and him into law, as the final straw came and went and he registered for the Academy and started training, breaking records along the way before finally being assigned to Seattle and quickly climbed his way up the ranks until he caught David Rossi’s keen eye and transferred back to Virginia for the BAU.

Every night, Hotch came home to his wife, the light of his life, and was reminded of why he was working himself to the bone. That day, when he came home a month after Boston for Haley to press a simple rectangular box into his hands, the stakes were raised once again, and he knew he had to fight twice as hard.

Not only for his team, the people he protected so fiercely under that steel mask, but for his son.

Early mornings and late nights became the norm as he threw himself into more and more work, and slowly, the unit began to recover as Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau joined the expanding unit, as Gideon returned as a senior agent, and as Elle Greenaway was pulled from Seattle just like he was all those years ago.

Then Jack was born, and he used his accrued vacation time to finally take a month off. Never had he been more terrified than in the moment he first held his son in the delivery room, acutely aware of his tiny size and sheer vulnerability to the dangers of the world.

That night, sleeping in the hospital bed with an exhausted Haley and their child in his arms, he swore to do whatever he could to make the world safer for his family.

His world.

So he tried. He tried and he tried, forcing himself to leave when cases that required their presence in the field came in, forcing himself to take on the heaviest burdens of the job so his team might be protected and his family would be safe.

Maybe a part of him was trying to get him to stop in his tracks and look up, to take a moment so he could clearly see that he was being consumed by the chase.

Maybe if he was strong enough, he could have lifted the weight of his world just enough to change the direction he was going.

But he was scared.

Scared that the moment he looked up, the moment he let go, he would lose everything he was defending.

And so he did not stop—not as Elle was shot in one place she had a right to feel safe in, not as Elle resigned and prevented him from making a terrible choice, not at Reid was suffering in a hell that could only be created by the lure of potent drugs, not as the unit was once again put under scrutiny because of her and Gideon’s actions.

Not even as he was forgetting important appointments, as he was struggling to be present for the important events and early milestones in his son’s life.

Not until he was suspended for two weeks because of the vow he made to himself the moment he stepped into the leadership position to protect the team to the best of his ability.

He stopped, looked up, and put in for a transfer.

But it was too late.

(It's true the earth must die But then the earth comes back to life And the sun just goes on rising)

(I’ve had enough)

The divorce did nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders or the utter terror he felt at the prospect of stopping.

As more and more cases started piling on his desk, he kept his back bent and head down for hours as he pushed himself to the brink with a mental image of the smile that had not dimmed for twenty years and of the only proof of his humanity at the forefront of his mind.

Every day, he bent lower and lower, but he never let himself crumble, forcing himself to remain Atlas as Kate fell and Morgan nearly followed in New York, Reid and Prentiss in Colorado—

—as JJ and Will brought their first child into the world and he promised to protect her as best as he could so she would not make the same mistakes he did—

—as he wrangled politicians and major corporations in the aftermath of him fulfilling the promise he made to Megan Kane—

—as he called in favor after favor to get to the Vatican so Prentiss could get justice for her friends—

—as he compartmentalized as best he could when he found out about the anthrax attack at a public park he knew Haley and Jack frequented whenever they visit her parents’ house and when Reid got infected—

Then the Reaper returned after ten years of silence and ten years of being a silent spectator in Hotch’s nightmares to become an active participant in his night terrors for months.

But the night Hotch returned to his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, those dreams that left him nearly paralyzed with fear every night became his reality.

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out from nine stab wounds and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he only felt fear—fear for the team, fear for Haley, fear for his son.

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it, that his hubris finally caught up to him.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Hotch was staring at the dried streak of red on the photo of his whole world and wondering if he had made his way into hell without realizing it.

When Haley and Jack visited him in the hospital, he could barely look at their faces, not wanting the scared and confused expressions they wore to be the last memory he might have of the two people whose lives he sought to protect in throwing himself into work but ended up putting in danger.

Then they were walking away, and he felt his walls slowly building themselves back up to a height and with fortifications that he had not needed since he last wore them in his youth to protect himself against the people in his hometown who had treated him with suspicion and derision.

The months following the day his world was ripped from his weakened grip was its own brand of hell, and more than once he wished he had been less of a coward and let himself look up from his chase.

Soon he was stepping down and ignoring all reason as he threw himself back into work yet again, wearing a facade that his teenage self would have been proud of while desperately trying to fulfill the promise he made Haley, that he would spend the rest of his life making everything up to her.

But of course, life has a funny way of reminding people of the promises they made and the important lessons they have learned at the worst times.

Suddenly, the sound of three gunshots was ripping through his head.

Suddenly, he was forcing himself to look away from Haley’s body, strewn on the floor like a doll with its strings cut, forcing himself to keep it together so he could clear the room.

Suddenly, he was straddling George Foyet and unleashing upon him years of pent-up hurt and anger that he had never allowed himself to feel in favor of remaining strong for the people he loved so fiercely.

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

That day, Hotch was reminded of all three statements that he swore to live by after Boston.

Foyet was witness to his unraveling and poked and prodded at him, so much so that he uncovered the rage he inherited from his father and had vowed long ago to never express.

His hubris, his confidence in assumptions that had been made so many times in the past, his confidence that denying the deal that had been offered to him just over a year ago was the right thing to do, cut the threads of over ten people far too early.

Haley was lost to him.

Forever.

But in the years afterward, as Hotch found himself stuck in his head and mentally removed from the team’s present more and more often, he wondered if that was actually the moment that he lost her.

Perhaps the time he had to fly out to Mexico on his birthday weekend was the start and the stress of his suspension the catalyst.

Was he simply too destructive and too desperate to have a happy ending? Was anyone closely associating with him doomed to fall along with him?

Why else was his mother spared from bruising when she was able to focus on raising Sean, a son whose looks did not remind his father of the sheer hatred he felt for himself?

Why else had his brother, who he was estranged from, done so well in life and remained so carefree?

For what other reason could Haley have been murdered than the fact that she was collateral damage in a psychopathic narcissist’s dream to cause him as much pain as possible?

For a short time, Haley’s murder had given Hotch a chance to look up, to free himself from all the responsibilities he had taken on, but it ultimately only served to increase his fear and paranoia. The team had seen the tail end of his unraveling in that house, and he knew it had shaken them to the core, so the walls remained up. Strangers in the street were unsubs, and he was never far away from a weapon if he could help it, always fearing that he would be too late to be of any help.

Four years to the day he locked himself away, he was seeing Haley smiling radiantly at him and wearing the same dress she was wearing when he proposed as she waved him over to sit next to her in an empty movie theater and he was struggling to articulate her beauty.

The large screen in front of them was playing scenes from his life in the years since she was stolen from this life. While her eyes were glued to the projection of his memories, he was left unable to tear his eyes away from her, the woman who had been such an integral part of his life, whose death he would probably never forgive himself for, whose presence in his world he had so desperately missed.

Then he was looking down from the screen when their moment was interrupted by the man who had become a permanent fixture in his night terrors and surprising himself with just how prepared he was to kill again to protect Haley like he had failed to do years ago. It was only Haley’s repeated assurances that finally got him to look back up at the screen, and in the next moment, he was once again experiencing his nightmares in real-time.

His voice cracked as he tried calling out for help, becoming more and more desperate as it became clear no one was coming, and then—

You’re not meant to.

They were suddenly standing face to face in that dark corner of the school where they first met. Hotch froze, rooted to the spot by the uncharacteristically cold expression on Haley’s face.

Where is he?

It wasn’t right, the hard tone, the way she was looking at him as if he were a stranger—

I don’t see Aaron Hotchner in front of me. Where is he?

Then her face softened, and she walked over to sit against the wall, uncaring of the dirt that was gathering on her dress. She stared at him pointedly until he made his way over to her and joined her on the ground. It was with great surprise that he felt her lean onto him, a long-forgotten and now unfamiliar warmth settling over him.

I want to tell you a story.

She told him the story behind an old song, the story about the queen who brought spring and summer with her every time she walked the earth and the king who ruled the shades and the underworld. And though the king loved his queen so desperately, every time she walked the earth while he remained in the underworld, he doubted that she would come back to him, for what could he offer her except his darkness?

So he worked and he threw himself into building a kingdom of metal and glaring bright lights that might compensate for his darkness, but he could not bring himself to look up for fear that he would lose everything the moment he stopped. In his fear, he kept his head low and his back bending, he locked his love away so it wouldn’t be a distraction.

(But what he didn’t know is that what he is defending was already gone.)

When Hotch found himself on the edge of a roof being held against Peter Lewis, who had a gun at his temple, facing the team’s desperate and fearful faces, he could only think about that story Haley had told him and the questions she had sent towards him right before he woke up in the hospital four years prior.

(Where is the treasure inside of your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose?)

That was the first time he could remember crying in front of Jack—when the two were clinging to each other in the hospital bed after yet another close call—and he resolved it wouldn’t be the last. It hurt to tear down the walls he had so meticulously built around himself over the course of nearly five decades, but to see the smile that his son inherited from Haley…

He could only lament that he hadn’t started earlier.

Slowly, he rebuilt his world, and it was filled with a warmth that hadn’t been since those golden years between first meeting Haley and becoming a prosecutor.

But then Peter Lewis came and turned his mind against him, forcing him to watch his nightmares come to life. And when he found himself at MPD’s gunpoint with Jack watching, his world cracked.

And in that interrogation room, watching the recording of Lewis’s testimony against him, his world cracked again.

And seeing his son’s withdrawn affect, trying to get him to understand that he wasn’t leaving, that he wouldn’t ever abandon him of his own free will—

Then they were called to Arizona and he found his name carved into a victim’s forehead, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the attacks would become more and more personal.

Favors were called in, calls were made, and all the while Hotch tried to keep Jack as ignorant as possible to the way his world was going up in flames around him. For a moment, it felt like the immediate aftermath of Boston, with all of the non-stop workdays and the scrutiny of the brass falling onto him and the struggle to balance his work and Jack—

And then one day, Jack disappeared in the middle of the school day.

A day later, Rossi and Luke were holding him back, trying to keep him away from the security checkpoint at the entrance of the Academy office buildings that had been taped off as a crime scene. His eyes caught a sudden movement, and all the fight left him when he saw the white sheet being unfolded and lowered over the small body that was on the gurney.

Maybe he was supposed to be more grief-stricken than he felt.

Maybe that’s why the team tip-toed around him in the months afterward—they were waiting for the sand to run out, for the inevitable breakdown that was expected from a man such as him.

And the sand did run out, only it wasn’t where any of them expected.

The cold metal digging into his temple provided him an odd moment of clarity as he thought about the questions he had asked himself—because that wasn’t Haley, she never looked at him with such cruelty, not even when he probably deserved it, it was always that voice in the back of his head, the voice that led him down the road to hell.

That treasure that he kept in his chest—it was buried in the ground with Haley and Jack.

His pleasure, his youth, it was left behind in his past with that first strike he felt from his father.

A smile spread across his face for the first time in months and he closed his eyes, a strange peacefulness settling deep in his bones. He flung himself backward, letting himself become dead weight as he suddenly heard shouts of horror through the sound of the wind rushing around him and Peter Lewis as they fell.

Didn’t you tell me to find the man who was reaching out with nothing to lose?

I found him.

I hope you and Jack waited for me, Haley.

[grubbyduck]

No Man’s Land - an essay on feminism and forgiveness

I have always proudly named myself a feminist, since I was a little girl and heard my mum proudly announcing herself as a feminist to anyone who would listen.

But I believe the word 'feminist' takes on a false identity in our collective imagination - it is seen as hard, as baked, severe, steadfast, stubborn and rooted. From a male perspective, it possibly means abrasive, or too loud, or intimidatingly intolerant of men. From a female perspective, though, these traits become revered by young feminists; the power of knowing what you think and never rolling over! My experience of being a feminist throughout my life has been anything but - it has been a strange and nebulous aspect of my identity; it has sparked the familiar fires of bravery, ambition, rage, sadness and choking inarticulacy at times, sure, but at other times it has inspired apathy, reactionary attitudes, bravado and dismissivness. And at other, transitive times, it caused me to rethink my entire outlook on the world. And then again. And then again.

In primary school, I read and re-read Sandi Toksvig’s book GIRLS ARE BEST, which takes the reader through the forgotten women of history. I didn’t feel angry - I felt awed that there were female pirates, women on the front line in the world wars, women at the forefront of invention, science and literature. I still remember one line, where it is revealed that NASA’s excuse for only hiring six women astronauts compared to hundreds of men was that they didn’t stock suits small enough. 

When I was 13, I tried to start a girl's rugby team at my school. I got together 15 girls who also wanted to form a team. We asked the coaches if they would coach us - their responses varied from 'maybes' to straight up 'no's. The boys in our year laughed at us publicly. We would find an old ball, look up the rules online, and practise ourselves in free periods - but the boys would always come over, make fun of us and take over the game until we all felt too insecure to carry on. I shouted at a lot of boys during that time, and got a reputation among them as someone who was habitually angry and a bit of a buzzkill. Couldn't take a joke - that kind of thing.

When I was around 16, I got my first boyfriend. He was two years older (in his last year of sixth form) and seemed ever so clever to me. He laughed about angry feminists, and I laughed too. He knew I classified myself as a feminist, but, you know, a cool one - who doesn't get annoyed, and doesn't correct their boyfriends' bulging intellects. And in any case, whenever I did argue with him about anything political or philosophical, he would just chant books at me, list off articles he'd read, mention Kant and say 'they teach that wrong at GCSE level'. So I put more effort into researching my opinions (My opinions being things like - Trump is a terrible person who should not be elected as President - oh yeah, it was 2016), but every time I cited an article, he would tell me why that article was wrong or unreliable. I couldn't win. He was a Trump supporter (semi-ironically, but that made it even worse somehow) and he voted Leave in the Brexit referendum. He also wouldn't let me get an IUD even though I had terrible anxiety about getting pregnant, because of his parents' Catholicism. He sulked if he ever got aroused and then I didn’t feel like having sex, because apparently it ‘hurts’ men physically. One time I refused sex and he sulked the whole way through the night, refusing to sleep. I was incensed, and felt sure that my moral and political instincts were right, but I had been slowly worn down into doubting the validity of my own opinions, and into cushioning his ego at every turn - especially when he wasn't accepted into Oxford.

When I was 17/18, I broke up with him, and got on with my A Levels. One of them was English Literature. I remember having essay questions drilled into us, all of which were fairly standard and uninspired, but there was one that I habitually avoided:

'Discuss the presentation of women in this extract'

It irritated me beyond belief to hear the way that our class were parroting phrases like 'commodification and dehumanisation of women' in order to get a good grade. It felt so phony, so oversimplified, and frankly quite insulting. I couldn't bear reading classic books with the intent of finding every instance that the author compares a woman to an animal. It made me so sad! I couldn't understand how the others could happily write about such things and be pleased with their A*. As a keen contributor to lessons, my teacher would often call on me to comment in class - and to her surprise, I think, my responses about 'women's issues' were always sullen and could be characterised by a shrug. I wanted to talk about macro psychology, about Machievellian villains, about Shakespreare's subversion of comic convention in the English Renaissance. I absolutely did not want to talk about womb imagery, about men’s fixation and sexualisation of their mothers or about docile wives. In my application for Cambridge, I wrote about landscape and the psyche in pastoral literature, and got an offer to study English there. I applied to a mixed college - me and my friends agreed that we’d rather not go if we got put into an all female college. 

When I was 19, I got a job as an actor in a touring show in my year out before starting at Cambridge. I was the youngest by a few years. One company member - a tall, handsome and very talented man in his mid-twenties - had the exact same job title as me, only he was being paid £100 more than me PER WEEK. I was the only company member who didn’t have an agent, so I called the producers myself to complain. They told me they sympathised, that there just wasn’t enough money in the budget to pay me more - and in the end, I managed to negotiate myself an extra £75 per week by taking on the job of sewing up/fixing any broken costumes and puppets. So I had more work, and was still being paid 25% less. The man in question was a feminist, and complained to his agent (although he fell through on his promise to demand that he lose £50 a week and divide it evenly between us). He was a feminist - and yet he commented on how me and the other woman in the company dressed, and told us what to wear. He was a feminist, only he slept with both of us on tour, and lied to us both about it. He was a feminist, only he pitted me against and isolated me from the only other woman in the company, the only person who may have been a mentor or a confidante. He was a feminist, only he put me down daily about my skills as a performer and made me doubt my intelligence, my talent and my worth. 

When I was 20, I started at Cambridge University, studying English Literature. Over the summer, I read Lundy Bancroft’s book ‘Why Does He Do That’ which is a study of abusers and ‘angry and controlling men’. It made me realise that I had not been given the tools to recognise coercive and controlling behaviour - I finally stopped blaming myself for attracting controlling men into my life. I also read ‘Equal’ by Carrie Gracie, about her fight to secure equal pay for equal work at the BBC in 2017-2019. It was reading that book that I fully appreciated that I had already experienced illegal pay discrimination in the workplace. Both made me cry in places, and it felt as though something had thawed in me. I realised that I was not the exception. That ‘women’s issues’ do apply to me. In my first term at Cambridge, I wrote some unorthodox essays. I wrote one on Virginia Woolf named ‘The Dogs Are Dancing’ which began with a page long ‘disclaimer for my womanly emotions’ that attempted to explain to my male supervisor how difficult it is for women to write dispassionately and objectively, as they start to see themselves as unfairly separate, excluded and outlined from the male literary consciousness. He didn’t really understand it, though he enjoyed the passion behind my prose. 

The ‘woman questions’ at undergraduate level suddenly didn’t seem as easy, as boring or as depressing as those I had encountered at A Level. I had to reconcile with the fact that I had only been exposed to a whitewashed version of feminism throughout my life. At University, I learned the word Intersectionality - and it made immediate and ferocious sense to me. I wrote an essay on Aphra Behn’s novella ‘Oroonoko’, which is about a Black prince and his pursuit of Imoinda, a Black princess. I had to get to grips with how a feminist author from the Renaissance period tackled issues of race. I had to examine how she dehumanised and sexualised Imionda in the same way that white women were used to being treated by men. I had to really question to what extent Aphra Behn was on Imionda’s side - examine the violent punishment of Oroonoko for mistreating her. I found myself really wanting to believe that Behn had done this purposefully as social commentary. I mentioned in my essay that I was aware of my own white female critical ingenuity. For the first time, I was writing about something I didn’t have any personal authority over in my life - I had to educate myself meticulously in order to speak boldly about race.

As I found myself surrounded by more women who were actively and unashamedly feminist, I realised just how many opinions exist within that bracket. I realised that I didn’t agree with a lot of other feminists about aspects of the movement. I started to only turn up to lectures by women. I started to only read literary criticism written by women - not even consciously; I just realised that I trusted their voices more intrinsically. I started to wish I had applied to an all female college. I realised that all female spaces weren’t uncool - that is an image that I had learned from men, and from trying to impress men. The idea that Black people, trans people, that non binary people could be excluded from feminism seemed completely absurd to me. I ended up in a mindset that was constructed to instinctively mistrust men. Not hate - just mistrust. I started to get fatigued by explaining basic feminist principles to sceptical men.

I watched the TV show Mrs America. It made my heart speed up with longing, with awe, with nerves, sorrow, anger - again, it showed me how diverse the word Feminism is. The longing I felt was for a time where feminist issues seemed by comparison clear-cut, and unifying. A time where it was good to be angry, where anger got stuff done. I am definitely angry. The problem is, the times that feminism has benefitted me and others the most in my life is when I use it forgivingly and patiently. When I sit in my anger, meditate on it, control it, and talk to those I don’t agree with on subjects relating to feminism with the active intent to understand their point of view. Listening to opinions that seemed so clearly wrong to me was the most difficult thing in the world - but it changed my life, and once again, it changed my definition of feminism. 

Feminism is listening to Black women berating white feminists, and rather than feeling defensive or exempt, asking questions about how I have contributed to a movement that excludes women of colour. Feminism is listening to my mother’s anxieties about trans women being included in all-female spaces, and asking her where those anxieties stem from. Feminism is understanding that listening to others who disagree with you doesn’t endanger your principles - you can walk away from that conversation and know what you know. Feminism is checking yourself when you undermine or universalise male emotion surrounding the subject. Feminism is allowing your mind to change, to evolve, to include those that you once didn’t consider - it is celebrating quotas, remembering important women, giving thanks for the fact that feminism is so complex, so diverse, so fraught and fought over. 

Feminism is common ground. It is no man’s land. It is the space between a Christian housewife and a liberated single trans woman. It is understanding women of other races, other cultures, other religions. It is disabled women, it is autistic women, it is trans men who have biologically female medical needs that are being ignored. It is forgiveness for our selfishness. It feels impossible.

The road to feminism is the road to enlightenment. It is the road to Intersectional equity. It is hard. It is a journey. No one does it perfectly. It is like the female orgasm - culturally ignored, not seen as necessary, a mystery even to a lot of women, many-layered, multitudinous, taboo, comes in waves. It is pleasure, and it is disappointment. 

All I know is that the hard-faced, warrior version of feminism that was my understanding only a few years ago reduced my allies and comrades in arms to a small group of people who were almost exaclty like me and so agreed with me on almost everything. Flexible, forgiving and inquisitive feminism has resulted in me loving all women, and fighting for all women consciously. And by fighting for all women, I also must fight for Black civil rights, for disabled rights, for Trans rights, for immigrant rights, for homeless rights, for gay rights, and for all human rights because women intersect every one of these minorities. My scoffing, know-it-all self doing my A Levels could never have felt this kind of love. My ironic jokes about feminists with my first boyfriend could never have made any woman feel loved. My frustration that my SPECIFIC experience of misogyny as a white, middle-class bisexual woman didn’t feel related to the other million female experiences could never have facilitated unity, common ground, or learning to understand women that existed completely out of my experience as a woman.

My feminism has lead me to becoming friends with some of those boys who mocked me for wanting to play rugby, and with the woman that was vying with me over that man in the acting company for 8 months. It is slowly melting my resentment towards all men - it is even allowing me to feel sorry for the men who have mistreated me in the past. 

I guess I want to express in this mammoth essay post that so far my feminist journey has lead me to the realisation that if your feminism isn’t growing you, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps it will morph again in the future. But for now, Feminism is a love of humanity, rather than a hatred of it. That is all. 

[hj-creates]

A Possible Scandal

So, I wrote a little Laurens/Madison fic. I’ve never attempted this ship before, but @layaisdaboss requested it and it’s honestly adorable.  The link to the fic on Ao3 is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359851 but feel free to read it here as well.

Pennsylvania, Fall of 1780

John stared out the window of the carriage as it rumbled over the cobblestones. His father, Henry, noticed his son’s dour expression and heaved a sigh. “You don’t have to pout you know, I promise you only have to stay a week or so.”

“I should be back with my men on the front lines.”

“There are many ways to fight for your country, my boy. Not all of them involve risking your life on the battlefield.”

“It suits me better then pontificating in stuffy chambers or arguing over fancy dinners.”

“The war won’t last forever, John. When it’s over, the colonies will need well-spoken, well-educated men to lead our new nation. As my son, you are in a good position to help shape the laws and create what this country can become.”

John turned quickly back to his father. “Doubtful. They don’t listen to me now. How many times have I begged them to create a militia of slaves and ensure their freedom once the fighting is over? We rail against the unjustness of the British, but they have given the enslaved that same opportunity. If for no other reason then we are losing thousands of smart, strong men to the other side should we do this, but no. People like Jefferson and even Washington himself refuse to see the hypocrisy of fighting for independence while keeping human beings in chains.” He gave his father a fiery stare.

Henry exhaled and turned away. “I did support your effort. I am sorry it didn’t pass the house.”

“And when, exactly, were you planning on freeing the slaves in your own home?” John said coldly.

“It’s not that simple, John. There are economic and societal-“

“With all due respect, father, stuff it.” John clenched his jaw. “I’ve heard all these arguments before.” He sat back and Henry tersely obliged, happy to see the State House finally coming into view.

John suffered through the numerous introductions and polite exchanges before he and his father finally took their seats in one of the many rows of benches that gave the Great Room the feeling of a church. Most of the discussions seemed to be more about accounting than the high-minded discourses on the birth of a republic that Henry had promised. As the older, fat statesmen argued over the budget of the Continental Army and how they simply couldn’t spare another dollar for those fighting on the front lines, John had had enough and stood up.

“We’re starving out there!” His impassioned voice filled the cavernous hall. “Do you have any idea how many men died during the winter at Valley Forge? How many soldiers perished not due to British muskets but hunger and frostbite? You ask these brave souls to fight for you and then you make them march over frozen fields without even socks on their feet! And that’s not even the worst part. These patriots are getting sick and dying. Forced to live in squalor and drink filthy water because we have no money for a decent shelter or proper sanitation. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Quibbling over a few coins for the army while you dine on fine china and drink from crystal goblets. As an aide of General Washington, I can attest that all in his house were forced to share the same plate at every meal. Militiamen are forced to steal from local farmers, even under penalty of death, just for a scrap of meat.” He felt his father’s hand on his arm. “But go ahead and debate the merits of fulfilling the latest request from the quartermaster. I hope your lavish feasts are worth the suffering of the men you claim to hold in such high regard.” He sat down and his nostrils flared, his anger apparent as Henry looked quickly at the faces around the room.

“Yes.” Henry loudly cleared his throat, obviously flustered and desperately trying to redirect. “We can certainly take into account what my spirited son has so passionately described for us. The well-being of those on the front lines should of course be considered when we deliberate how best to distribute our funds.”

John rolled his eyes. He glanced across the room and he noted most faces set in a frown as they regarded him with equal parts shock and disdain. Except for one. He looked at a face, younger than most of the other men there, who was actually smirking and seemed almost delighted. John gave him a little smile and the other man grinned in return. When his father was once again seated, ceding the floor to another delegate, John elbowed him softly and gestured across the room. “Who is that?”

“That is James Madison. A smart, young man from Virginia.”

John noted the name and let his gaze linger for a moment. Had he just found an ally?

As the day’s proceedings came to an end, John pushed through the throng of well-dressed men until he found who he was looking for. He stepped in front of the short, plump man and offered his hand. “Mister Madison? I am John Laurens. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The other man smiled. “The pleasure is mine. That was quite the diatribe you gave today. It’s nice to have someone who has actually seen the atrocities of battle speak for our poor men out there fighting.”

Laurens scoffed. “All the impassioned words will mean nothing if we are not helped soon. Winter will be here soon enough and our soldiers still lack coats and boots and blankets. There is not enough food to eat since the locals have all decided to sell to the British now that American currency is worthless. These are dire times, my friend. I am sure you know as well as I. What regiment do you serve in? The Virginian Militia?”

“Oh.” Madison’s voice was soft. “I am unfortunately too unwell to serve in the field. I am second-in-command to my father though. A colonel in the Orange County militia. Since being elected to the Continental Congress, I have spent most of my time here. Your argument is something I have been pleading myself. The financial issues that plague us are quite a thorny mess but I am trying to amend the Articles of Confederation to let us impose a tariff on imports that we can use to support the army’s efforts.”

“You are?” John’s face softened and he smiled wide.

James nodded and he felt his cheeks grow warm, “I am trying. There is much resistance.”

“I will talk to Washington and Hamilton. Between the General’s sway and Alex’s persuasive writing, we can work to make this a reality.” John was talking faster, his enthusiasm growing.

“I would appreciate that very much.” James smiled.

“John!” The younger Laurens heard his father’s voice calling to him. Madison saw the change in John’s expression and recognized what it meant immediately.

“Lieutenant Colonel.” James nodded to Henry. “I was hoping your son and I could enjoy a hearty dinner and a robust exchange of ideas tonight. I am friends with the owner of the Orchid Inn. He can give John and I a lavish meal and some much deserved wine.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, knowing his son too well. “Oh, that’s not necessary. You can dine with us tonight. I’m staying at a lovely little home off Main St.”

John grimaced and James looked unsure of what to do. “I.. uh… that’s very kind of you sir.”

“Very well.” Henry seemed proud of himself. “See you at seven. I’ll send a coach.”

After an awkward dinner, John finally tossed his napkin on the table when he finished his dessert. “Well then father, if I may be excused, James and I would like to take our leave and relax a bit at the tavern across the street.”

Henry peered up at his son with an almost imperceptible scowl on his face. “We have plenty of brandy and cordials here, but I suppose you are hoping for a moment with Mr. Madison that isn’t under the watchful eye of your father.” John didn’t respond but pleaded with his eyes. “Fine. I can assume you will have the utmost respect for Mr. Madison’s stature… and dignity.”

John knew exactly what his father was hinting at. “Am I not always the pinnacle of honor and manners?”

His father arched an eyebrow. “Remember you are a married man, Jackie.” The fact seemed to take James by surprise.

John forced a smile. “How could I forget? I’m haunted every day by it.” With that he grabbed the coats that were hanging by the door and handed Madison’s to him.

They wasted no time hurrying to the tavern and finding a small, corner table near the fire. After the bottle of burgundy had been uncorked and their glasses filled, Madison eagerly started in.

“I must say, Colonel Laurens, your stories of action on the battlefield are most exciting.”

John shrugged. “There is much chance for glory while fighting. Me and my friends seem to be always narrowly escaping death.”

“Is that so?” James leaned in closer. “You must be very lucky then. I see no scars and detected no injuries.”

“Lucky, perhaps. But not injury free. There are mementos from the war all over my flesh, a slight ache in my leg from when my horse was shot out from under me and a mighty scar on my shoulder from where a musket ball went straight through.”

James’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious? How did your arm not get blown clean off?”

John smirked. “Didn’t let it. I had more important things to do than whine about being hurt. We were trying to ambush the Brits. I was leading a company of men. I got shot, tore off my sash, wrapped it around the hole to stop the bleeding and kept marching.”

Madison sat there in rapt attention. “That can’t be true.”

John drained his glass and set it down hard. “You don’t believe me?” He grinned and kept his eyes focused on James. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. James felt his jaw grow slack and quickly looked around the bar to see if anyone was watching this spectacle. John didn’t stop staring at James and yanked his shirt open, sliding one of the sleeves down his arm and revealing a circular-shaped scar, bumpy red skin, and stripes of white where the wound tried to heal itself.

James sat back and exhaled. He knew such an injury would have been the end of him. “That’s… impressive.”

John finally looked away and redressed. “That’s nothing.” He said nonchalantly. “I have scars like that all over.”

James didn’t know what to say and he certainly didn’t want to picture where exactly those scars would be.

After a few more drinks, Madison grew bold. “Why did your father have to remind you about being married?”

John snorted. “Oh that’s just Henry. He probably thought I was going to seduce you.”

“What?” James felt his heart race and he mildly started to panic. “Seduce me? What? Why would he think that? I’m- I’m a.. umm..”

“It’s not you. He’s caught me with men before.”

James felt as if the entire earth had shifted underneath him. “He what?”

John sighed. “If you want to leave because of that, I understand.” He looked at James who showed no signs of going anywhere. “Yes. I occasionally engage in ‘unacceptable’ affections with men. My father found me once with Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Hamilton.”

“Hamil-“ James gasped and slapped his hand in front of his mouth.

John rolled his eyes and poured another large glass of wine. “Aye. But he is engaged now. Set to marry in a few weeks. So, it appears our romance, or whatever you want to call it, has come to an end.” He took a long sip. “Which is better for him, I suppose. All his ambitions.” He emphasized that last word, like it was something he and Alex had fought over many times. “Better for him to secure a spot in an illustrious household headed by one of the most powerful men in New York.” He gulped more wine. “I mean, this fucking orphan is now going to be the son-in-law of General Schuyler. All because he wrote a few well-crafted love letters to the man’s daughter. I mean, you should see the things he wrote to me.” He laughed, a bit too loud. “Imagine being tossed aside by some simpering girl. To know that the letters he wrote to you weren’t anything special at all. It’s just how he talks to anyone he wants something from. To know that something you thought was monumental was just pedestrian to the person you loved. At least with Lafayette he is already married. He is open with how much he loves Adrienne and I know I will never compare to her. We just like having fun. But Alex…” His voice trailed off. “I just thought…” He sat back and let his head fall to his chest.

James watched him and a small smile crept over his face. “I understand.”

Laurens scoffed. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be-“

“Jefferson.” James cut him off.

“I’m sorry?” John quickly looked up at him in confusion.

“Four years ago.  I first met him at the Virginia Constitutional Convention. I could barely speak. He’s very tall, you know, and quite handsome. He’s only eight years older than me but it felt like he had lived an entire lifetime more. Then last year, he became Governor of Virginia and I was on the Council of State. We worked closely almost every day and I thought…” he sighed. “We started working late into the night, just the two of us and we grew close. I didn’t dare initiate anything but eventually he did. I thought we could develop something, entirely in secret of course, but when I mentioned it, he laughed in my face. He asked if I really thought he give up all his other partners. He said he was sorry if I had gotten the wrong idea.” Madison swallowed hard. “But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed… I don’t know. His smile was almost victorious. Like he had won something. I felt like an idiot of course. I haven’t even thought about a relationship with anyone since then.”

“Jefferson?” John looked deep in thought.

“Yes. I work with him every day still. It’s torture.”

“Jefferson…” Laurens still had a faraway look in his eyes. “You’re right. He is handsome.”

Madison’s shoulders slumped. “That. Was not the point of the story.”

Laurens laughed. “I’m teasing. But you know the best remedy for a broken heart.”

“More wine?” James smiled back.

“Not when there’s two of us.” John had a mischievous gleam in his eye and took Madison’s hand. He threw some coins on the table and led him to the door. “Come on. What do you say we get out of here? Find somewhere private and not think about Alex or Thomas or anyone else for an hour or so.”

“I’m not sure. It gets cold so quickly now. I really should be headed home.”

“Oh, don’t be a ninny.” He pulled the other man into the street. “Hmm... We could go down to the docks.”

“The salt water makes my asthma flare up.”

John looked up at the top floor of the tavern. “I suppose we could just sneak up into the attic. It’s just storage. No one ever goes up there.”

“With all that dust? Are you mad? I’ll be sneezing for hours.”

“What about the barn at my father’s house?”

“I’m allergic to hay.” John spun around in frustration and pushed Madison against the outside wall of the tavern. “What are you doing?” James whispered.

“Well, if we can’t go anywhere. Then I shall take you right here.”

“But what if someone sees?”

“I’ll say you were having trouble breathing. I was merely trying to keep your airways open.”

“With our clothes off?”

“Of course! Let that fresh air really get into your pores.” John grinned and James couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re as tenacious as you are charming.”

“Is that a yes?”

James took John’s hand and directed it to the growing bulge in his breeches. “What do you think?”

John sauntered back into the house and hung up his coat. He quietly crept up the stairs, trying to not make any noise.

“Must have been quite the conversation between you two.” Henry’s voice stopped him in his tracks. John turned and saw his father in the study. He sat in a chair by the window, smoking his pipe and facing the hallway.

“It was.” John said simply, without a trace of guilt in his voice.

“I assume you stuck with discussing policy and compromises between military and state?”

“Oh father, please. Of course not. That sounds dreadfully boring. We also talked about our families, what living in the trenches is like, and the different places we have visited in Europe.”

“I see.” Henry seemed to relax a little. “Well it seems like you two are building quite a friendship. I encourage you to get more acquainted with someone who comes from such a well-regarded family as Madison. That boy has a sharp mind and his father is quite wealthy. Well connected too. I think he is even mentoring under Jefferson.” John snorted at that. “What?” His father asked. “It’s true. I’ve seen them travel to and from Virginia together.”

“I’m not doubting you. James himself said he and Thomas are very close.”

Henry nodded and then started to pick up on John’s subtle comment. “Just understand there is much to be mined from a cordial relationship with Madison. He has already done so much at such a young age. He has the ambition and pedigree to really make it far. The two of you could be the future leaders of this nation. Taking after your fathers. I hope you plan on seeing him again.”

“Oh, I definitely do, father.” He sneered down at Henry triumphantly. “We have A LOT in common.” With that, he turned his back and went up to bed.

[companyideabusiness]

How to Become a Successful Business Woman?

Are you an aspiring female entrepreneur? Do you wish to start a business but aren’t sure how you can successfully build one? Women in every part of the world have had to struggle to stand out in whatever they do. But, despite the societal, religious, and gender barriers, women have continually proven, and are still proving that they can become successful leaders in all spheres of life, business inclusive and later are tagged as a successful business woman.

It is no surprise that the number of women at the top of the business and entrepreneurship industry is rapidly increasing. We have heard so many inspiring stories of women who have done exploits and built great empires in the business industry today. A famous example is Oprah Winfrey, a multitalented business tycoon with an estimated net worth of $3 billion. She has surpassed all expectations and limitations and turned out to be one of the most admired and successful female entrepreneurs in the world today.

A lot of women and girls are diving into the business industry but are unsure of what the future holds. Several have asked if they have a fair shot at sitting with the top businessmen and women who have built strong business empires and a name for themselves. Well, the good news is, every woman can! Regardless of the limitations and barriers, other successful businesswomen have done it, and so can you.

The principles of becoming a successful business woman or entrepreneur remain the same and apply to everyone. In this article, we have explored some of the steps and principles you can take to become the successful businesswoman that you aspire to be.

Get the Right Education and Skills

Right before you begin any business regardless of what it may be, you need to acquire the necessary skills and the right education. Whether it’s a product, service, or skill you intend to sell, getting the proper education in the field is the first step to take.

Even with a great business idea, a mind-blowing business plan, and robust capital, lack of knowledge, education, and entrepreneurial skills in your desired field will result in a failed business. To learn about business, you can apply for an MBA program, read books, take online courses, and attend business seminars. You can also take courses to learn certain skills, depending on the business you intend to build.  Taking up internship programs is also a great way to acquire the skills you require to become a successful business woman.

      1. Find your Passion

A business fueled by passion is more likely to succeed compared to one that isn’t. What are you passionate about? What motivates you? If you haven’t found it yet, there is no need to worry. As you grow in business, you can find where your passion lies. However, if you have found and identified your passion, you need to leverage it. Building a successful business and becoming a successful business woman is no easy job. You will need your passion to motivate you when the going gets tough.

Your passion is capable of fueling your determination and hard work so you can produce outstanding results to help you realize your dream. If finding your passion takes too long, you can visit a psychologist or a career coach to help you hasten the process.

Finding your passion will help you determine the right business for you and also sustain you through the building process.

Define your Mission

Having found the right business industry to explore and designing a business idea, what do you do next? You define your mission and ensure that it gives you a solid reason to embark on your business journey.

Why do you want to start that business? This question gives rise to your mission and determines your success or failure as a business woman. The most successful businesswomen in the world all had a strong mission for the businesses they built, and you need one to get to the top. Your mission defines what your business stands for, gives it a purpose and most importantly, gives you a purpose and goal to work towards. It is one of the pre-requisites to building a successful business and becoming a successful businesswoman or entrepreneur in your industry.

Be Confident and Believe in Yourself

Women are known to have very little confidence in their abilities and tend to underestimate themselves. The keys to becoming a successful businesswoman are self-believe and confidence. This isn’t pride or arrogance, but a strong feeling of assurance about where you are headed. For you and your business to succeed, you need to believe in yourself, your potentials, and your capabilities. For people to believe in you, your products, or services, you need to believe in yourself. People will only view you as you view yourself – your investors inclusive.

Investors are less likely to invest in your business idea or plan if they sense an iota of lack of confidence or belief in yourself or your business. Lack of confidence or belief in yourself communicates the wrong ideas not just to your investors but your employees too. It can affect efforts and also results yielded.

Although self-doubt is expected in some instances, never allow this feeling to overwhelm you. Continually remind yourself how good you are and that you are capable of achieving more. Use positive affirmations always and project confidence through your speech, body language, and actions.

Build your Network

Networking is an efficient way to build your career and business. Building long-standing and mutually beneficial networks with other professionals in your business industry and other business industries positively impact your business. Through the right network, you can access great business opportunities, learn about new skills and developments in your business industry, get answers to lingering questions, and solutions to challenges.

You can build your network through online and physical conferences and seminars, social media, and other means. Meeting people isn’t enough, growing these business relationships through emails, calls, and consistently providing them with value is a step towards maintaining them and gaining from these relationships.

Prepare Yourself for Challenges

Challenges are a normal part of our everyday lives and our businesses too. Building a business from start to finish is a lot of work, and the road isn’t a smooth one. To push through these challenges, you need to build a strong mindset, be willing to fail and learn from failures, and be open to criticisms.

The first step is to build the right mindset. With this, you can handle any challenges that come your way while building yourself and your business. Success never comes easy for anyone, man or woman. Thus, the need to buckle up for a hectic and eventful ride through your business journey.

Read about Successful Business Women

There are several successful business women across different business industries, and the internet has made it way more comfortable for you to access their stories. You can learn a great deal from them by researching about them, their career paths, reading books they have written, etc. Through your research, you can identify obstacles they faced, how they handled them and practical steps you can take to move your business to the next level.

Although reading about successful women is very helpful, it will be more profitable to read about successful businesswomen in your field. This way, you can get a better idea and understanding of your business industry and steps you can take to become even a more successful businesswoman. For Example, to thrive in the entertainment industry read about Oprah Winfrey and Anne Sweeney. For the beauty and fashion industry, you can read about Rihanna and Kylie Jenner. For Technology, you can read about Virginia Rometty, Safra Catz, and many others.

Grow your Business

You only become a successful businesswoman when you have built a growing and successful business. How can you grow your business? How do you build a successful business? There are many steps to take, but some key steps include;

Organize yourself and your plans.

Ensure that you keep detailed records of everything- sales, finances, etc.

Study your competition, learn from them, and stay one step ahead always.

Take risks, but don’t drown in them. Every business comes with its risks, but you shouldn’t take ridiculous risks that may cost you more than you can handle.

Be Creative. To stand out in your industry, you need to put your creativity to work.

Maintain focus.

Ensure that your customers continuously remain your priority.

Consistency is key. Consistency in delivering outstanding products and services to customers keeps your business at the top.

Conclusion

Building a successful business and becoming a successful business woman doesn’t happen overnight. It takes consistency, determination, dedication, and confidence amongst others to achieve. If you can get the right education and skills, apply them alongside passion, reshape your mindset, connect with the right network, and follow every other step listed, you are sure to sit build something great for yourself in the end.

You will be sitting at the top, with your business empire built from the scratch on a solid foundation if you work with these steps. You can become the successful business woman you desperately desire, if you are willing to work at it. Learn more

[vamonumentlandscape]

Lynchburg, VA

To start our journey throughout the Commonwealth of Virginia, we traveled to nearby sites in Downtown Lynchburg, VA, which is just a few minutes away from the campus of Randolph College. Just across from the Lynchburg Museum on Court Street stands a proud Confederate soldier atop Monument Terrace, which was constructed in 1900 by the Daughters of the Confederacy. The pedestal base honors “Our Confederate Soldiers.” Each of us found it especially troubling to see where the soldier was looking towards - the Lynchburg Police Department and the courts. To us, the placement of the statue necessitates its removal, as well as the fact that it was unveiled during the Jim Crow era. Is this the kind of monument that should be at the top of Monument Terrace? Though there have been calls to remove the statue completely and possibly display it in context within a local museum, a high rate of poverty amongst minorities in the city remains another issue of systemic racism that local governments must reckon with.

Our next stops on the agenda were Pierce Street, the John Warwick Daniel statue off of Park and 9th streets, and the campus of Virginia University of Lynchburg (VUL). All three sites are within a stone’s throw from one another. Sadly, both Pierce Street and VUL have been neglected by the city and gone into near ruin. The statue, on the other hand, is a different story.

Pierce Street is on the outskirts of downtown, a seemingly normal street in a downtown neighborhood. But it is filled with incredible stories of the African Americans who once lived there. Anne Spencer, the nationally known and celebrated Harlem Renaissance poet lived and died here. Her son Chauncey Spencer, a pioneer African American pilot and educator, lived right across the way. Just a few houses down, Arthur Ashe and Althea Gibson’s tennis lessons took place in Coach Robert Walter Johnson’s backyard. This small residential street is soon to be home to a community outreach center, the Pierce Street Gateway. Pierce Street was a hub for African Americans in the 20th century. As the city has allowed it to crumble over the past few decades, the Gateway Project will soon get the street more of the recognition and use it deserves.

The statue of John Warwick Daniel represents Lynchburg’s monument landscape and how its citizens interact with it. Like the Confederate monument at Monument Terrace, people just stroll by and see it as a piece of their everyday life, but are mostly unaware of what they both really mean. John Warwick Daniel was a Confederate soldier from Lynchburg, then a Senator for Virginia who supported some of the most radical Jim Crow Laws in the state. He also supported the “Lost Cause” narrative of the Civil War. Seeing this statue was not supposed to be the highlight of visiting this neighborhood, but after an interaction with a resident, it took the cake. A middle-aged African American man was walking on the sidewalk across the road and shouted to us, “Does he have a leg?” He was pointing to his crutch, and he thought Daniel had lost his leg. “No, no,” our advisor responded, “He just lost the ability to walk with that leg, it was still there.” The man went on saying how he had always thought Daniel had lost a leg in the Civil War. Our advisor mentioned that the statue should be taken down. The response we got from this man was shocking. “Why? It’s history! I like it! It doesn’t bother me. I have been here for forty years in this neighborhood, and I like him. It’s history, it should be left alone.” He was obviously now annoyed with us and walked away unhappily. That made us all realize, to truly understand the monument landscape, we may have to understand those who interact with it the most to see the whole picture.

Then, we drove through the once thriving HBCU, now dilapidated, barely open VUL. The three remaining buildings were all in very rough condition. Classes are still held in two and the other seems to have been under rehabilitation at a time. Dorms were small and looked dated. It was sad. It is obvious that the campus was once something great, now it is barely staying afloat. In the coming weeks, we hope to possibly speak to someone who has attended or worked at the college to hear more about the once great place.

For many years Lynchburg’s 5th Street was primarily composed of African-American shops, eateries, and residences. In an era of segregation that prevented African-Americans from patronizing Main Street businesses, 5th Street businesses were the commercial center for African-Americans in the city. After desegregation, commercial buildings on the street were vacated in favor of other locations throughout the city. 

A few days later, we joined our project advisor at a virtual meeting via Zoom with city officials and 5th Street residents and business owners. We found out in 1989 the city council actually voted to rename the street in honor of Dr. King. The council voted no. Fifteen years later was the next push for recognition. In 2004, the street was given an honorary overlay name of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. Recently, seventeen years since the last attempt, there has been a push to change the official name of the street to honor Dr. King’s legacy in this historical slice of the Lynchburg community. We quickly found that not everyone was on board by the conversation in the comment section. One person expressed concern of a street named for MLK becoming filled with crime and run down even further. If the city were to make a change to 5th Street’s name, it must also commit funds to revitalize industry and make people feel safe when coming to the area. MLK’s legacy and vision is not something that applied only to Black Americans, rather he sought all of us to work together as one. Greater visibility of King’s dream is something that the entire country, including the City of Lynchburg needs as we reckon with our past.

Lynchburg is filled with history, and we are thankful for the opportunity to see it up close. We doubt this will be our last post on the Hill City!

[jaydemayo]

(Central Virginia Sport Performance The Podcast)

Episode 287- Rob Harris- Building Habits To Build Longevity

“What we do is not about the now, it’s definitely about the longevity and later in life.”

This episode of The Podcast is brought to you by Exxentric, the makers of the kBox and kPulley. Exxentric is the world leader in fly wheel training technology providing multiple pieces to fit your budget and needs to better serve your athletes. North American customers looking for more info should contact Andreas at andreas.ahlstrom@exxentric.com or 503-739-1391. All others, or to learn more about the kBox, kPulley and flywheel training, please go to their website at: https://exxentric.com/.

Building relationships is vital in today sporting world. In this weeks episode of The Podcast Rob Harris joined us to discuss ways that we can be better for our athletes. After a quick run down of how he got to Lexington we get into the unique situation that he gets to be part of. This leads us into different ways that he has found success building relationships with the top 1% of the 1% in the world of basketball. This includes a great story from start to finish on how he has helped players going from hating the weight room to loving being in there. We then finish off talking about the importance of building routines, and how impactful that can be on an athlete’s health and longevity.

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[groupiesoutrageously]

Excerpts from a Nikki Squire interview by Paul Secord, 2000. From the Notes From the Edge website. 

PS: How did you get interested in music? 

NS: I always loved music, especially singing, so my friends and I would regularly put on shows in one of the houses in the street and all the children would come and I would be the singer. 

However, when I became a teenager, I knew that the East End wasn't where I wanted to be forever. I was ambitious and so I went to business school in the evenings, Corona School of Drama in the day, worked a Saturday job, eventually working in the West End. I started my own business and took piano lessons, always listening to music, some of that being: ska (Prince Buster), reggae, Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, Thelonious Monk, Charlie Mingus, Stevie Winwood, The Beatles, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Neil Young, Stravinsky, Holst, Bob Marley. All of these artists are as they come to mind not in order of time or preference and of course there are still others like Cream, Iron Butterfly, the Eagles, Led Zep (Kashmir being one of my favorites) — I’ll stop there!

PS: How and where did you first meet Chris Squire?

NS: Chris and I met in the then-famous Speakeasy Club. I think the best music club of that period, not a jazz club, but a place where Derek and the Dominos (Eric Clapton), Jimi Hendrix, Keith Moon, and others from the list I have already mentioned, played. 

Everyone in the business frequented the place, it was excellent, and on the evening of the 12th of August 1970, we began what was at first a friendship and the rest, as they say, is history! 

PS: What was your life with Chris like? 

NS: [...] In the very beginning Chris and Yes had not yet finished recording The Yes Album. There were only the two previous albums, Time and a Word and Yes, so full-on success and international success was yet to come. Therefore as a couple and with Carmen, a family, there were so many different dynamics to our lives, we were both around twenty-three and things were exciting. 

We lived in North London, then later in Notting Hill Gate in London. Chris was touring in America and Yes were becoming more and more successful. In those days we both disliked being separated but, as they say, it goes with the turf. Having said that, Carmen and I did go on tour quite a lot, Carmen would always sit on Chris' bass speaker with her little legs swinging in time with the band. 

In December 1972 we bought a house in Virginia Water in Surrey, known as "New Pipers.” Chandrika, our second daughter, was born a few months later, in February 1973. We set about renovating, and redesigning the home. We also built the recording studio under the house. Relayer was recorded there, along with Fish Out of Water, the Esquire album and many other projects — but both Chris, myself and the girls lived with builders for years! 

We tried, and succeeded in many ways, to have a normal family life, along with the builders, the recordings, rehearsals, touring, business meetings, school functions and family get-togethers — it was varied and never dull. 

[…] We were all vegetarians and lived on organic food (since about 1970) so food preparation was quite a big thing. In the grounds of the house we had a kitchen garden, so we had homegrown produce too. Chris and I took an active interest in matters of ecology and health and cultivated the land surrounding the house using organic methods. I studied health and diet extensively (I am involved in this still). It was incredibly busy sometimes and took a tremendous amount of organizing. Then in the summer of 1977 Camille was born — the youngest of the girls. We lived at home, toured together (whenever possible), lived in other countries together took holidays, we were, in every sense of the word, a family  — and we loved each other. 

PS: You mentioned your second daughter, Chandrika. That is a very interesting name; is there a story behind it? 

NS: When Chris was young, he had a very good friend called Darian. Darian's father was Indian and his mother English. They lived in Hampstead in London and were an extremely interesting family. Chris spent a lot of time at the family home and there was a bond between him and them. Chris and I had visited together, very artistic people I remember. They also had a daughter in this wonderful family called Chandrika, this name was passed on to our daughter. An Indian name by origin, Chandra (pronounced “chundra”) means Moon. So Chandrika means “Little Moon.”

PS: What kind of influence did you have on Chris' writing with Yes and his solo work? 

NS: In between all that I have already spoken of above, there would be many times where I would sing with Chris at the grand piano or Chris would sing something to me and I would give an opinion or an idea. The same with the guitar or the bass and downstairs in the studio it would be the same too, or I would watch him working and learn. Chris has a brilliant sense of harmony and is a fine musician, singer and bass player, so being there and taking it in has certainly influenced me! 

He would always carry stacks of 'out-take' cassettes from the studio and practice vocal harmonies to and from London, which was an hour long journey at least, I would be there and sing them with him, or make a suggestion perhaps, or simply be there. 

What influence I have had specifically on Chris is not for me to say, but we certainly shared a lot of musical and family life together. Creating music, by it's very nature, is a tapestry of people, times, moments, influences and inspiration, taken in by all we see around us —  therefore how could we not have influenced each other. 

PS: Did you and Chris ever write together? 

NS: Yes; it's very difficult to say all the small bits here and there that we may have contributed to each others songs, a few words, a line, or even one word, but all of the elements I have just mentioned have happened. 

For the most part, this question is answered above, but one song that does come to mind is "Red Light Ahead." We sang that song together so many times — I have always loved it. Some of the same lyrics feature on the closing vocal that Chris sings on “What You've Been Saying”, one of the tracks on the Esquire album. Although I write all my own lyrics, it wouldn't be unusual for Chris to make an appearance like that, with his lyrics and vice-versa, this being an example of one of the subtle crossovers that inevitably would occur in our life as it was. 

PS: What role did Chris play in the early days of Esquire? 

NS: Chris was always very supportive and would listen with interest to the developing demos. He was not staying at the house very much, sometimes living and recording in London and sometimes in the U.S., although I would often play him the tracks down the telephone line — to get his opinion on the tricky bits! 

If Chris was at a particular Esquire recording session, he would give his undivided attention as any dedicated musician would. Sometimes coaching me whilst singing — and he was tough, I had to do it perfectly and reach the high notes spot on. 

I always enjoyed working when Chris was around. I think Chris's influence was with me, whether he was there or not, always thinking if he would approve of my approach to a vocal, a lyric, a harmony etc., embracing a standard that I had not only admired in Chris but in Yes as a band and it's members. 

Chris and I worked closely on "To the Rescue" with Nigel and Charlie in a studio in California, called Record One. Although the song had already been written and was in demo form, Chris embellished the song tremendously as well as singing harmonies, some of those prominently in the middle eight. Then, of course, Chris and Esquire were together for all the mixing of the album at Ocean Way studio in California too. 

There were long times apart and long times together whilst the Esquire album was being written and recorded, but, as I have said, Chris's musical influence was there throughout for me personally, I think it always will be.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

In the Company of Anne Sexton

PART THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: plentiful pop culture references, mentions of violence, a slow burn at its core

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After a fist-fight, Jess invites himself on a carriage ride with Ella during the Bracebridge Dinner.

Thumbing through one of her most beloved copies of Virginia Woolf, Ella sat on the steps of Stars Hollow High waiting anxiously for Lane to emerge. They walked out most every day, with Lane on her way home and Ella on her way to the diner, but Lane had informed her during lunch she would have to stop by the cheerleading coach’s room for some secret business. Ella didn’t bother asking any questions, having seen the rabid excitement in Lane’s eyes. She had a feeling she would get let in on whatever was going on soon enough. Maybe even that evening, as she, Rory, Lane, and Lorelai had their annual viewing of It’s A Wonderful Life planned. Then, possibly, Die Hard. Usually, though, they just ended up talking through Bruce Willis’ quest. Snow blanketed the ground, but had grayed in the two days since it had fallen. There had been no melt, and street sweepers had cast it off in large, rocky clumps. Ella wondered at how magical snow looked falling, and what a nuisance it became in its aftermath. Like the happiness of a new marriage and the pain of a divorce. She was just getting to one of her favorite passages in To the Lighthouse when she heard the roar of a crowd growing on the lawn before her.

Looking up with curious hazel eyes, she found a group circling two boys in the midst of a fist fight. She only needed a moment longer to identify Jess as the aggressor in the center of the swarm of teens, though the other boy was holding his own perfectly well. Without thinking, she shoved her book in her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and running over, careful not to slip on the icy patches in her black Doc Martens.

“Jess!” she called, pushing her way through the hoard of pubescent teens. Obviously, she got no response, but that wasn’t exactly the intent of the exclamation in the first place. Her feet carried her farther into the brawl before her mind could stop them, and soon enough she had Jess by the shoulders, pulling him away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

He squirmed in her grasp, wondering who’d had the nerve to touch him. Eventually she took him around the waist and pried him away from his opponent, who was panting and bleeding from one lip. The crowd began to dissipate almost instantly, victims of a short attention span, though a few stragglers remained. Ella’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt a little sick to her stomach at the sight of the violence. Her veins buzzed with adrenaline, though she had only been involved in a small fraction of the action.

“Get off me!” Jess yelled, still not entirely sure who had grabbed him, but able to deduce it was a girl from the height and the feminine quality of the voice. When he fought though, the rest of the world usually became nothing more than a blur but the person in front of him.

When they were far enough away from the other guy and she felt mostly confident the incident was over, she finally released him, though he was larger than her and she had been hanging on by a thread anyway.

“Jesus, Jess!” she shouted when he finally turned around to look at her.

“Eleanor?” he asked, shocked to find her there.

A startling anger raged in his eyes. What concerned her more, though, was the bruise already blooming on the apple of his cheek and his bloodied knuckles. The dichotomy before her had her stomach doing flips. She’d heard plenty about this side of Jess, but had never had the misfortune of seeing it before. His hair was mussed up, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. The smirk she always found was gone, as was the joking air in his voice.

She went against her better judgement and took a step forward, eyes on his injuries.

“Back off!” Jess snapped immediately, beginning to leave. She recoiled at his volume.

But, her voice followed him up the road as he made his way for Luke’s. He hoped to sneak past his uncle without having to endure an interrogation. “I’m trying to help you, jackass! What the hell was that?!”

“Peter Smith’s an asshole, that’s what that was! Now, I suggest you run along!”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, Jess, you don’t get to walk away from me! Rory just reamed you for that stunt you pulled at Doose’s! I thought you were gonna get it together for Luke!”

“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint!” Jess roared, winded but maintaining his fury.

As she swallowed down her irritation, the redness began to drain from her face. She knew it was no use to argue with him when he was in such a fiery state. For a minute, she debated leaving, going back to find Lane as she planned. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and spoke again in a calm, resigned tone.

“Jess, stop.”

He whipped around to face her again, pulling his arm back from her grasp, hiding a wince at the throbbing pain in his raw knuckles. “Don’t touch me right now!”

Ella held her hands up in surrender instantly, though she stood firm. “Okay. I’m sorry. But you’re not gonna get past Luke like this, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re gonna need to at least cool off a little first.”

Sighing through his nose, he stayed silent. At that moment, it was as good as a verbal concession or agreement. He was just beginning to catch his breath, his pulse thumping loudly in his ears.

“You wanna go get some ice? I’m sure the nurse has some,” she offered, and Jess felt his confusion growing at her kindness.

He shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets despite the pain. “No.”

“Alright. Look, I’ll go clock in. I’ll tell Luke you had some test to make up or something. Go fix yourself up somewhere and you might be able to fool him,” she suggested, working out the kinks inside her head. Luke was a good guy, but he wasn’t the most observant person she knew. She suspected if Jess could get the bleeding to stop he might get by unscathed. Though she was more doubtful about the bruise on his cheek, she decided it was better for Jess to be placated before he returned to work anyway.

Jess nodded as Ella turned back to go find Lane. She felt slightly better, but still a little anxious about the possibility of a fight between Jess and Luke which still remained. It was one thing to work with them when they were at their usual level of bickering. She didn’t know if she could handle an entire shift of them screaming at each other.

“Thank you,” Jess muttered when she turned on her heel, only just loud enough for her to hear.

She sighed a little in relief, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

.   .   .

Ella licked the last bit of melted marshmallow from her thumb, having eaten more than a few of the s’mores they had prepared with skewers over the stove burner. Instead of Die Hard, they had elected for the 1950s version of A Christmas Carol. They were watching as the ghost of Christmas future showed Scrooge his own grave. Lorelai sat above her on the couch, french-braiding her hair, while Lane and Rory shared a bag of chips on the floor next to her. Ella loved the Gilmore house, with its homey decor and welcoming atmosphere. Many times, she envied Rory for the kind of mother she had. All times, Ella felt more love in the Gilmore house than in the Stevens house.

“What do you want written or your gravestone?” Lane asked, her eyes trained on the screen, the picture reflecting back on her glasses.

Humming thoughtfully, Ella went with the first idea that popped in her head: “Here lies Ella Stevens, soon to become the world’s best ghost.”

“An award-winning haunter,” Lorelai quipped.

“My biggest, most long-term ambition,” Ella agreed. Soon, her hair was done and Lorelai tied it off with a proud smile.

“Okay, Rapunzel, my work here is complete,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Well, now that that’s over with, let’s hear it,” Lane demanded, turning at a ninety degree angle to face Ella expectantly.

Ella furrowed her brows. “What?”

“What happened with Jess? You yelled at each other in the courtyard today, right?” Rory asked.

“Nothing happened,” she assured them. “I simply suggested he could wait for his knuckles to clot before he tried to fly under Luke’s radar. Unfortunately, it was an uphill battle. Once he saw his purple cheek, Luke dragged him up to the apartment by his collar. But, he was back down in one piece fifteen minutes later. Wasn’t too catastrophic.”

“That kid is bad news,” Lorelai groaned, shaking her head. “He’s got Sid Vicious written all over him.”

Scoffing, flopped down on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. “Really? I see him more as a Richard Hell type.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” Lorelai mocked. “I’m serious, Ella, that is a screwed-up, angry kid. The vandalism, the fighting. He touches a hair on your head, and I will personally organize a whole torches and pitchforks event.”

“We can make it like a parade,” Rory suggested cheerfully. “And then Dean can punch him as a big finale. They can’t stand each other.”

“You guys have gotta calm down. We work together, that’s all,” she reasoned. “I only helped him out to avoid a major migraine. The grunting I’ve gotten used to, but man when Luke gets going…”

“Tell me about it,” Lorelai grumbled. “Just promise me you won’t be wooed by that unwashed miscreant.”

Rolling her eyes at the dramatics, raising her right hand and holding down her pinky with her thumb. “Scout’s honor.”

.   .   .

Twirling her key ring around her finger once for good luck, Ella made her way up the path to the Independence Inn, Doc Martens crunching through the packed white snow. The storm had come and gone, but the damage was done all over New England. The fancy invitees for the annual Bracebridge Dinner were snowed in, so Ella had the pleasure of being invited in their place. She was almost excited, having the opportunity to dress up and her old junker out, since she usually walked everywhere. Opening the giant french doors, she was enveloped in the Inn’s warmth, and she could smell the extravagant dinner cooking already. It made her stomach growl. Her cheeks pinked up pleasantly, and she shed her peacoat almost immediately. She smoothed down the front of her simple black dress, stealthily looking at her patterned tights to make sure they hadn’t sustained any runs or rips since she’d donned them an hour earlier. So far, she’d been successful.

“Ella!” Rory greeted her cheerfully, her voice like a bell chiming in the busy noises around them.

“Ah, it’s been so long!” Ella joked, rushing up to Rory and Lorelai, giving them hugs.

“So, no plus ones I take it?” Lorelai asked, looking at the girl who stood with only the shoulder bag she used to carry school books and her jacket in one of her hands.

Ella smiled thinly, shaking her head. A bashful lilt came into her voice. “No, I invited them. My little brother actually was gonna come and then this afternoon...”

“Well, that just means no one will be hogging you tonight!” Lorelai cut in, sunshine in her voice. It made Ella’s smile grow wider and into one more genuine.

.   .   .

Descending the stairs after unpacking in her room, she caught sight of most everyone else arriving. She had the habit of being early to everything. Equipped with only her jacket in her arms, which included a volume of Anne Sexton poetry in one of the pockets, she felt a wave of anxiety. It wasn’t exactly shyness, only uneasiness. It seemed everyone in the room had a partner, but she’d come alone. There were two beds in her room, and one would remain entirely untouched. Not that bringing Adam along was the ideal situation anyway, her little brother had actually become kinda funny after entering middle school. He wouldn’t have been the worst possible company. In a crowd full of friends and family, she felt so utterly alone.

Lane arrived eventually, along with her mother. Mrs. Kim was not the biggest fan of Ella, what with her dark makeup and clothing, her unsavory homelife. Over the years, however, she’d earned a bit more credit with Lane’s mother due to her grades and time working at the diner. Ella marveled at the beautiful floral arrangements and mahogany adornments, wandering around mostly silent while Rory and Lorelai rushed around, finalizing things and greeting people. Her eyes roamed over the crowd, and she spotted Luke and Jess arriving at the door. Jess’s big brown eyes caught her own. He offered her a teasing wave, and she smirked in response, nodding a little. After a moment under his gaze, she let her eyes fall as her cheeks warmed, and she felt at the chain around her neck as a reflex.

.   .   .

Sniffing slightly in the frigid air, Ella bit her lip as she ran her eyes over the familiar words of Sexton’s poetry, waiting as the many carriages of horses peeled away. Watching Rory squish into a carriage with Dean and his little sister had been entertaining, but she had felt some shameful envy nonetheless. The seat next to her just looked so empty. But she only sighed, turning back to her reading after marveling at the beauty of the sparkly, frozen nature around her. In all honesty, she had no interest in going on a pathetic carriage ride alone, but Rory and Lorelai had gone to so much trouble, who was she to deny the opportunity? She barely noticed when the horses began trotting along, the winter wonderland of Stars Hollow passing her slowly.

“Eleanor!” she heard, jumping slightly but rolling her eyes. There was pretty much only one person in Stars Hollow who called her by her full name. Before she could even look to see his face, Jess hopped in the carriage from the side, nearly stumbling but ending up impossibly smooth.

“What the hell, Jess?!” she exclaimed, marking her place in her book with an old receipt from Doose’s.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?” he drawled, cracking his usual crooked smirk.

Sighing, Ella mirrored his smile in spite of herself, running a nervous hand through the ends of her hair. “No, actually, I don’t think that’s a requirement.”

“Exactly. It’s one of many perks of associating with me.” Jess put on thick gray gloves as they spoke.

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m so honored, Mariano.”

“You should be.”

Ella chuckled breathily, clearing her throat as a pause stood between the two of them. Her eyes lingered on the bruise on his cheek, nearly invisible, having yellowed over the three days since he’d sustained it.

“Pretty, aren’t I?” he asked.

She blushed, looking away as her face dropped. “Sorry.”

Jess furrowed his brows, losing his teasing air. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Nodding, she sat up straighter and trained her view on the scenery.

“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you the other day,” he said, tilting his head to try to catch her eyes again.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t...you don’t scare me,” she assured him, forcing her tone to remain light. She felt as though they might be dancing around a forbidden subject, she just didn’t know what it was.

“Okay. Didn’t mean to be presumptuous,” he said, leaning back in the cushioned seat of the carriage. The clomping of the horses hooves offered a rhythmic undercurrent to their conversation, soft but constant.

Raising her eyebrows, she finally turned back to him. “Well, you didn’t mean to be presumptuous but you were still being presumptuous.”

“Alright, sorry,” he said, slightly huffy, eyes wide and gloved hands raised in surrender.

“Apology accepted.”

“I’m happy we sorted that out, then.” His tone was dejected but she didn’t let it rile her.

“Me too,” she breathed slowly, watching a white cloud form in the air with her words.

Regarding her as she turned away again, Jess tasted the crisp frost of the wind.  One side of her hair was pinned back, the rest cascading down her shoulder. She wore dark eye makeup and something shiny on her lips. But still, she was bundled in her old black peacoat. It reminded him of the beatniks. All she needed were big square glasses. He noticed how thin her stockings were, how she lacked gloves or a scarf or a hat. Just looking at her made him unconsciously.

“Are you here by yourself?” he asked. “Anne Sexton keeping you company?”

“I am. And she is. Did Luke drag you along?”

Jess shrugged. “Sort of. It’s better than a night of scraping greasy plates at the diner.”

“What high standards you have,” she said. “Are you scraping plates over winter break or are you going back to New York?”

“My mom didn’t want me up there,” he said nonchalantly.

“She said that to you?” she asked, eyebrows raised angrily.

They were passing the town square, decorated with snowmans for the town competition. At night, to Ella, they looked like the blue ghosts in a Charles Dickens story.

“Luke told me it was his idea that I should stay. It wasn’t his idea.”

Humming in irritated acknowledgement, she crossed her arms tighter around herself. Her ears were going numb in the icy winter breeze. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be at work everyday the next two weeks, silently protesting everyone else’s holiday cheer. You’re welcome to join.”

Jess smiled. “Will there be complaints of all the noise, noise, noise?”

“Every year.” She nodded in commiseration, a sardonic twinkle in her eye.

“Looking forward to it.”

[thecollegefootballguy]

The Real Florida Cup

Hey folks, I’ve been thinking about doing another fun hypothetical series during this offseason. I’ll be looking at some of the three-way rivalry games in college football and wondering what the real score is.

The Florida Cup is a rivalry trophy shared by the three P5 rivals in the Sunshine State: Florida, Florida State, and Miami. All three consider each other bitter rivals and despite the on and off nature of the UF-Miami rivalry, it’s a huge deal in the state for recruiting and bragging rights.

The Cup was established in 2002 and unfortunately has been more of an imaginary trophy than a real life event. It is only awarded in the years that all three teams play each other, meaning only when the Gators and Hurricanes clash. So since it’s inception nearly two decades ago, it has only been awarded six times.

But what if that wasn’t the case? What if the Florida Cup was awarded to the best team in the state no matter what, going all the way back to the beginning? Where would the score stand?

I’ll be using the rules of the trophy as much as possible, which are as follows:

1. If a team beats the other two, it is automatically awarded the trophy. This should go without saying.

2. If there is a three-way tie the trophy goes to the team that has allowed the fewest points.

3. If teams play twice in the same season (bowl or ACC Championship Game) and split the series, the combined score is used.

There are more sub-rules here that hammer out all possible occurrences, but I’ll keep it short and only bring them up if necessary. The point is that there will *almost* never be a scenario in which the schools tie and split the trophy.

For our purposes, I’ll be using the inception date of 1958, the first year that Florida, FSU, and Miami all played each other.

-

The Early Years: 1958-1975

Florida and Miami were already established football programs by the time that Florida State came on to the scene. The Gators were charter members of the SEC, though they had middling success at best in the conference, having never won the league in its first 26 years of existence, where we pick up the story.

The Hurricanes were one of the two or three dozen independent programs dotting the eastern half of the country. Miami had a bit of success in the early and mid-50′s, but for the most part they were stuck in the middle ground, a rather anonymous program on the far southeastern corner of the country. UF and Miami were each-other's end of season opponents, and their game was really the only consequential rivalry within the state. The rivalry dated back to 1938, and was more or less even 20 years on, with Miami holding an 11-8 advantage.

Florida State began their modern football program in 1947 when an influx of WWII veterans began attending thanks to the GI Bill. The Seminoles began to schedule University Division opponents in the early 50′s, including Miami, who first began playing FSU in 1951. It wasn’t until 1958 that Florida first began to schedule the Noles, and we introduce our hypothetical Florida Cup.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 12 Miami: 5 Florida State: 1

Florida dominated the early years of the three-way rivalry. In the late 50′s and early 60′s the Gators routinely fielded Top 25 caliber teams, though they were never good enough to win the SEC. Under first Bob Woodruff and then Ray Graves, UF attended four Gator Bowls, one Sugar, and an Orange Bowl in this span.

Both Miami and Florida State had small peaks but could never sustain any success. The Hurricanes managed a top 10 finish in 1966 but spent most of the decade toiling in obscurity, regularly losing to both the Gators and the Seminoles, who they still didn’t play every year. College football in the Sunshine State was solid, but never consequential on the national stage. That was about to change.

-

The Golden Age (Part I): 1976-1987

After miserable coaching tenures under Larry Jones and Darryl Mudra, Florida State managed to poach West Virginia’s Bobby Bowden away from Morgantown in 1976. Bowden took very little time transforming the Seminoles into a powerful program among the robust eastern independents. FSU made the Tangerine Bowl in 1977 and then two consecutive Orange Bowls following the ‘79-’80 seasons which were paired with two top ten finishes. It’s just a taste of what’s to come as football in the state of Florida suddenly takes off.

Florida had some solid seasons under Doug Dickey in the mid-70′s, but Charley Pell raised the bar a little higher upon coming to Gainesville in 1979. Pell’s Gators still couldn’t compete for SEC titles, but they sure harassed their in-state rivals, who were both on the rise.

Miami had a horrific decade in the 1970′s. Fran Curci, Pete Elliot, Carl Selmer, and Lou Saban all came and went without coaching more than two seasons. By the end of the decade the administration was looking to cancel the football program. Instead, they gave it one last shot and hired Howard Schnellenberger in 1979 (the same year as Pell). Schnellenberger quickly took advantage of the shifting recruiting sands that were making Florida one of the hearts of high school football, and turned underachieving Miami in The U.

The Hurricanes exploded onto the scene as the 70′s gave way to the 80′s. Miami transformed into one of the best programs in the country almost overnight. The Canes won the ‘81 Peach Bowl, finished in the top ten the next season, and beat Nebraska in the Orange Bowl to crown themselves national champions for the 1983 season. They were the first team from the state to earn a championship.

Schnellenberger was lured away to coach Florida’s USFL franchise following the victory, but he was replaced by Jimmy Johnson, who guided the Canes to even greater heights. During Johnson’s 5 seasons in Coral Gables, Miami made two Fiesta Bowls, a Sugar Bowl, and two Orange Bowls, and won the national championship again in 1987 with a perfect 12-0 record.

Charley Pell was forced out three games into the 1984 season after incurring massive NCAA violations. He was replaced by Galen Hall, who promptly won Florida’s first ever SEC Championship, though the Gators were ineligible for the postseason due to sanctions. UF then tied for first in the SEC the very next year. Florida wouldn’t reach those same heights again under Hall, but they managed to sneak some more wins away from Miami and FSU.

Florida State may have been the first team in the state to become perennially competent, but Miami was the first to truly “activate” and become a brand new blue blood program. The Noles weren’t far behind. Bowden took FSU to the Gator Bowl in the 1982 season, beginning a bowl streak that would last a record 36 seasons. Florida wasn’t quite there yet in the early 80′s, but they were quickly catching up to their rivals.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 16 Miami: 9 Florida State: 5

National Championships Miami: 2

In the 12 year span between 1976 and 1987, each school won 4 Florida Cups. An astonishing level of parity that you almost never see in college football. Florida was able to win one in ‘76 while FSU and Miami were still down, but managed to upset their superior rivals in the mid-80′s to pull even. The Seminoles’ initial burst of energy from ‘77-’79 under Bowden fell off as the Hurricanes and Gators raised their level of competency. Miami should have won more Cups here, they were certainly the best team overall in this era, but only managed the same four.

The series was so competitive that even the best teams of the age rarely won the Cup. Miami’s 1983 national champions lost the Cup to Florida by head-to-head loss, their only defeat all season. Florida won their first ever SEC title in 1984, but lost the Cup to FSU by a three-way tiebreaker as the Noles only allowed 3 points against Miami.

Unfortunately, football would never be the same in the state of Florida after the 1987 season, when Florida ended their yearly football rivalry with Miami. By the 1980′s the Gators had already begun to prioritize their rivalry with Florida State, moving that game to the end of the season instead of the traditional UF-Miami matchup. Florida would instead play the Canes near the beginning of the season, and after ‘87, not at all. The SEC moved from 6 to 7 conference games, and UF decided they couldn’t play both in-state rivals and chose to keep the Seminoles instead of the Hurricanes on the schedule. Miami fans will always contend that it was sour grapes because the Canes were showing up the state’s flagship university. Either way, the nature of the three-way rivalry changed from here on out.

-

The Golden Age (Part II): 1988-1999

With the Florida-Miami rivalry on ice, the hypothetical Florida Cup now runs through Tallahassee, and is determined how each team performs against Florida State.

Miami, of course, began this period on top, having just won the national title in the 1987 season. The Hurricanes would finish 2nd in the country in both 1986 and 1988. After Jimmy Johnson left for the Dallas Cowboys following the ‘88 season, Dennis Erickson took over and promptly won another national championship in 1989. Miami joined the new football sponsoring Big East in 1991 and won their fourth national championship that same year with another perfect record. The Hurricanes finished in the top three every season from 1986 to 1993, an insane streak that has proven near impossible to replicate.

Florida State did it, they were in cruise control under Bowden. After meandering a bit in the middle 1980′s (relative to the other schools), the Seminoles truly “activated” in 1987. FSU became a perennial national title contender for 15 years, an insane streak that has few equals outside of perhaps Tom Osborne’s Nebraska in the 70′s and 80′s. The Noles finished in the top 5 every season from 1987 to 2000, an astonishing feat that has never been approached by any other program.

FSU joined the ACC in 1992 and immediately began to terrorize that basketball conference. They didn’t lose a league game for their first three and a half years and wouldn’t lose two in one season for their first ten years in the league. The Seminoles won their first national championship in 1993 and a second after the 2000 Sugar Bowl and an undefeated 12-0 campaign. Florida State earned berths in major New Year’s Bowls every year from 1991 to 2000. The 90′s Noles were by far the most consistent winners of any of the Florida teams at any point.

Galen Hall was forced to resign 5 games through the 1989 season. His permanent replacement would end up being Steve Spurrier, who had just won the ACC as Duke’s head coach, which is the equivalent to a national championship as far as I’m concerned. Spurrier’s innovative Fun ‘n Gun offense revolutionized football in the SEC and immediately brought Florida to the forefront of the conference. The Gators won the league in 1991, the last year before divisions, and then won the SEC East in ‘92 once the divisions were established. After losing the SEC title game to national champion Alabama in 1992, UF would go on to win the next four SEC championships.

Florida was the last of the three major programs in the state to truly “activate” and become a true blue blood, but they definitely made up for lost time. The Gators lost to Nebraska in the 1996 title game, but won the next year to earn their first national championship in program history with a perfect 12-0 record. After temporarily ceding the East to Tennessee in 1997 and 1998, Florida roared back to win the division in 1999 and 2000. UF finished in the top ten every year from 1991 to 1998.

Dennis Erickson left Miami after the 1994 season, perhaps seeing that the program was about to get hit hard by the NCAA. The U had flown a bit too close to the sun and were getting the hammer laid on them. The program were stuck in the doldrums for the rest of the decade as Butch Davis slowly tried to cobble together another competent team.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 20 Miami: 13 Florida State: 9

National Championships Miami: 4 Florida State: 2 Florida: 1

Football in the Sunshine State was never better. Florida, Florida State, and Miami all won national titles in a six year span, and the latter two both won multiple championships from ‘88 to ‘99. The center of the college football universe lay squarely within the great State of Florida.

Once again, Florida’s three major programs all managed to win four Florida Cups in the 12 year span. Miami did their damage early, as their success fell off with the departure of Erickson following the 1994 season. The Hurricanes, the first of the three schools to “activate,” was also the first of the three to fall off. Florida’s success in this decade centered around the mid-90′s, the height of Spurrier’s tenure. It’s a shame that Florida State didn’t win more than four Cups, given their insane top five consistency.

Much like the 80′s, the 90′s Florida rivalries featured legendary events that will go down as some of the most iconic games and plays in college football history.

The U won their third national championship in the 1989 season with an 11-1 record, but their one loss was to FSU, who won the Cup as a result. Miami then won their 1991 Championship thanks to a 17-16 win over Florida State, a game that would go down in history by the name Wide Right. Despite this, Florida managed to win the Cup that year by only allowing the Noles 9 points. Yes, in three of Miami’s first four national championships, they didn’t win the Florida Cup. Florida State won their first ACC Championship in 1992, but couldn’t win the Florida Cup thanks to the soul crushing Wide Right II. 

In 1994, Florida and Florida State played two games in a row. The Gators blew a 31-3 lead in Tallahassee, forever after known as the Choke at Doak, and ended up tying 31-31. The Gators and Seminoles were then pitted against each other in the Sugar Bowl, where FSU prevailed 23-17, outscoring their rivals 51-17 in the final five quarters of those combined games in a bitter reversal for UF dubbed the Firth Quarter in the French Quarter. Oh well, Miami won the Florida Cup with an easy 34-20 victory over the Noles back in October.

By the second half of the 90′s, the Florida-FSU game took center stage as Miami began to slide off the national stage.

In 1996, the Gators and Seminoles played another series of back to back games, this time to decide the national championship. #1 undefeated Florida came to Tallahassee and lost 21-24 to the #2 Noles. However, the Gators only fell to 2nd in the polls, and the two were once again matched up in the Sugar Bowl by the Bowl Alliance. This time, UF crushed FSU 52-20 to claim their first national championship.

In 1997, Florida came back against Florida State to win 32-29 in the Greatest Game Played in the Swamp, costing the Noles another shot at the national title. The next year, after another pre-game brawl, FSU pulled away 23-12 to secure the win in a top 5 matchup.

It’s such a bummer that Miami and Florida didn’t play during this time. I mean, could you even imagine what craziness could have happened if all three schools were facing off at this point? It’s such a goddamn shame.

-

Twin Peaks (2000-2009)

The 2000′s were dominated by two teams in two different shifts. The first two years of the decade continued much the same as the 90′s, but Florida State and Florida both entered periods of decline in the early 2000′s. The Seminoles began to fall off after the 2000 season and the Gators immediately dropped like a rock after Spurrier left for the NFL after 2001. Miami, however, would get their second wind.

After bottoming out in the 1997 season, the first losing record any of the three Florida schools had suffered since the 1979 season, the Hurricanes built themselves back under the steady hand of Butch Davis. In 2000, after losing on the road to Washington in the second week of September, the Canes roared to life an annihilated every other team they played. They were kept from the BCS title game but ended up finishing 3rd after FSU lost to Oklahoma in the Championship Game. Many think Miami, who obviously beat Florida State (Wide Right III), should have gotten the chance to play for the title instead.

Davis ended up leaving for the pros, continuing a depressing trend going back to Schnellenberger. Larry Coker inherited Davis’ war machine, and set it into cruise control. 2001 Miami needs no introduction, and is considered by many to be the best college football team of all time, certainly if you consider the NFL talent on the roster. The U Part II demolished all comers en route to an undefeated campaign with an easy win over Nebraska in the Rose Bowl to earn their fifth national championship.

Coker’s Canes lost next year’s national title game in heartbreaking and controversial fashion to Ohio State, meaning that Miami very easily could have easily won the 2000 and 2002 titles if things had broken slightly differently. The Hurricanes won the Big East again in 2003 but lost two consecutive games in the regular season and couldn’t play for another title. After moving to the ACC in 2004, Miami started to slowly (and then quickly) fall off. Coker was fired after going 7-6 in 2006 and for the most part they’ve never been the same.

Steve Spurrier left for the NFL in 2001 the same time as Butch Davis, but his replacement crashed the war machine very quickly. Ron Zook’s three years in Gainesville were a disappointment to say the least. The Gators never finished better than 8-5, and this was on the heels of their best years in program history. Zook was fired after the 2004 season and replaced by Urban Meyer, who had just come off an undefeated season at Utah.

Meyer took almost no time turning Florida back into a national power. The Gators went 9-3 in 2005 and stormed back to a national championship in 2006. Meyer reinvigorated UF’s offense on the back of Tim Tebow, and Florida became a fixture in the second half of the 2000′s the same way Miami was a fixture of the first half of the decade.

Florida took a year off in 2007 but roared back to another national championship in 2008 with another 13-1 record. The Gators went 13-1 in 2009 as well, but lost the SEC Championship Game to Alabama and blew their chance to repeat. Meyer’s tenure ended after a frustrating 2010 season, but his success in the 2000′s brought Florida, without question, up to the level of Miami and Florida State.

Miami and Florida were both snake-bitten by coaches leaving for the NFL in the early 2000′s. Butch Davis built the Canes back to the tip top of the football universe, and Larry Coker was good enough to sustain for a while, but not forever. Zook was a bust replacing Spurrier, but Meyer was able to reinvigorate the program and even outdo the Head Ball Coach in some respects. Bobby Bowden had plenty of chances to leave Tallahassee after his wild successes in the 80′s and 90′s. Perhaps he should have.

Florida State spent the 2000′s in limbo. They weren’t really ever bad. Just not relevant. The Seminoles won the ACC three times from 2002 to 2005, but never finished higher than 10-3 or 10th in the polls. The second half of the decade was even worse. FSU, the most consistent winning program in all of college football in the 80′s and 90′s, was now just mediocre. Bowden retired after the 2009 season as one of the most successful coaches in football history, and he also went 7-6 in three of his final four campaigns with many considering the dynasty over.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 26 Miami: 17 Florida State: 9

National Championships Miami: 5 Florida: 3 Florida State: 2

Miami and Florida traded off domination of the 2000′s. The Hurricanes owned the first half and the Gators easily held the second.

The first half of the decade was notable not just for the return of the Canes to the national stage, but the return of the Miami-Florida rivalry. After the 2000 season, Big East Champion #3 Miami was pitted against SEC Champion #7 Florida in the Sugar Bowl. It was their first meeting since the series cancellation in 1987 and was preceded by a verbal and then physical altercation on the streets of New Orleans. The Canes, well on their way to their 2001 peak, handily won the game on the field 37-20.

Florida and Miami didn’t play in 2001, and it cost the Canes the Florida Cup. The U’s undefeated season included a 49-27 demolition of Florida State, but they allowed more points to the Noles than Florida, who won 37-13. By the rules of the Florida Cup, the Gators, who were in their own right an amazing team that finished #3 by the way, once again deny Miami a Cup. The Canes only won the Florida Cup once time during their 5 national championship seasons. There’s some kind of cosmic wackiness in play there.

The Florida-Miami series resumed in the regular season at the wrong time. Coker’s well-oiled machine took apart Zook’s Gators in 2002 and 2003. The next year two old rivals were would once again face off in a Peach Bowl appearance, with the Canes winning handily. UF and the U, if you can call it that in 2008, played the first half of a home and home in Gainsville. Florida won easily en route to their title.

The Gator’s five consecutive wins from 2005 to 2009 are the most by any team since before Bowden. If the Florida-Miami rivalry continued in the late 2000′s, it would have gone the same way as the Florida-Florida State rivalry. The Gators would have dominated.

-

The Revenge of Florida State (2010-2019)

Following the Miami period of dominance in the early 2000′s and Florida’s dominance in the late 2000′s, the wheel turned over and Florida State roared back to life in the 2010′s.

Following Bobby Bowden’s retirement in 2009, Jimbo Fisher replaced the legend and completely revitalized the team. In Fisher’s first season in 2010, the Seminoles won the ACC Atlantic, and from 2012 to 2014 they reeled off three straight conference titles. FSU won the Orange Bowl in 2012 and then won the national championship for the 2013 season with a perfect 14-0 record. The Noles coasted through an easy schedule in 2014 before losing in the inaugural College Football Playoff semifinals. Florida State did nearly as well in 2015 and 2016, but were blocked from winning the ACC and making the Playoff by a rising Clemson.

Coinciding with FSU’s revival, was a dry spell for the other two powers. After Coker’s firing in 2006, Randy Shannon guided the Hurricanes through four unsuccessful seasons before getting replaced by Al Golden in 2011, who then led the Canes through four and a half unsuccessful seasons.

Urban Meyer was replaced in 2011 by Will Muschamp, who reoriented Florida to a defense-first team as opposed to the offense-based Spurrier/Meyer squads. Outside of a rather successful 2012 season where the formula actually worked, Florida began to severely fall off in the 2010′s before Muschamp was dumped towards the end of 2014.

The late 2010′s have been rather disappointing for all three programs. Will Muschamp was replaced by Jim McElwain in 2015, who won two consecutive SEC East divisions, but were never national contenders. McElwain was canned in 2017 after a crap year. Dan Mullen seems to be doing well, but Florida remains behind Georgia in the East.

Al Golden’s embarrassing ouster in 2015 led to Mark Richt returning home to Coral Gables. Richt was good for a little magic in 2017, which saw the Canes snap their longest ever losing streak to Florida State, but otherwise his three year tenure did little other than confirm that Miami wasn’t dead.

Jimbo Fisher’s incredible implosion at Florida State took everybody by surprise. The Seminoles collapsed seemingly for no reason other than willful negligence by Fisher, who bailed before 2017 was over. Willie Taggart came in, talked a big game, and was fired perhaps a bit too early for not fixing things immediately.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 29 Miami: 18 Florida State: 15

National Championships Miami: 5 Florida: 3 Florida State: 3

Florida State evened the score with Florida in the 2010′s, pulling even with their rivals with 3 national titles. The Noles dominated the first half of the decade while both other schools were down. The second half has been a mixed bag as really none of the three schools have been nationally competitive.

UCF claimed a national championship in 2017, demanding their own share of the spotlight and the right to be taken as seriously as the other three top flight programs in the state. The Knights’ success in the last 10 years is a reflection on the state of the P5 programs in the 2010′s. Central Florida would never have been close to undefeated if Florida, Florida State, and Miami were all taking care of business in recruiting and development, but that’s not they world we’re living in currently.

-

I’ll be interested to see where things go from here. Florida seems to be in the best position to succeed in absolute terms. Dan Mullen is a fine coach and is already doing great work in Gainesville, albeit behind a more advanced Georgia program. Florida State is breaking in a new coach in Mike Norvell and Manny Diaz’s first season at Miami wasn’t particularly inspiring. It remains to be seen if FSU and the U can rebound to reclaim their past glory. Both have institutional issues which may prevent them from seriously sustaining success at the highest level which Florida doesn’t have.

And then there’s UCF, who can continue to build and win in a much easier AAC East division. If Central Florida can throw their hat in the ring and jump to a P5 conference we might see our first real shift in the balance of power in the state of Florida since FSU became a major football player when this whole story started.

-

Postscript: 1938-1958 and extras

If any of you are curious what the entire series looks like going back to the inception of all 3 rivalries, here you go:

Florida Cup Record Florida: 37 Miami: 29 Florida State: 15

Miami actually outperformed Florida in the early part of the rivalry 11-8, but it’s not enough to make up the ground between the schools. Obviously this isn’t really fair to Florida State, who weren’t around for the first ten years of this era and weren’t that good in the second.

Since Bowden (1976) Florida: 17 Florida State: 15 Miami: 13

Since Bobby Bowden was hired by Florida State, more or less kicking off the first of the builds that would see all three programs become national powers, Florida has still won the most Florida Cups. Te score is relatively even and only separated by 4 wins between all three.

Since Schnellenberger (1979) Florida: 16 Miami: 13 Florida State: 12

Since the hiring of Howard Schnellenberger, Florida still leads the pack with 16 wins, but Miami is now a bit closer and Florida State is right behind. The schools are still only separated by 4 wins. And remember, Miami somehow lost 4 Florida Cups in 4 of their 5 national championship seasons, which certainly would sway the standings in their favor at this point.

Since Spurrier (1990) Florida: 13 Florida State: 9 Miami: 8

Florida still leads since Spurrier’s hiring, and the gap slightly increases to 5 games between the first place Gators and the last place Canes.

Restoring Championships Florida: 26 Miami: 22 Florida State: 14

From 1958 onward, if you were to override the Cup rules and give the title to the winner of the National Title by default, thereby giving Miami 4 more titles at the expense of 3 from Florida and 1 from FSU, well, Florida still wins. Sorry Miami, it’s rigged against you I guess.

-

It was truly a golden age of football in the state of Florida in the 1980′s and 1990′s. No state has dominated the sport quite like Florida in that span unless you go back to like the 1800′s when Yale won every year. College football may as well have been the three teams in the state, and one other challenger every year, maybe Nebraska more often than not.

-

Thank you so much for reading. I’ll be putting out a few more of these series on three-way rivalries so if you’re interested keep an eye out.

-cfbguy

[jaydemayo]

(Central Virginia Sport Performance The Podcast)

utside The Rack #83- Alan Bishop

“Are you going down the road of being the best in the world that you’re being paid to do?”

What’s up everybody and welcome the 83rd episode of Outside The Rack brought to you by Kinetic Performance the makers of Gymaware. In this show we are going to try to dive a little deeper into the minds of the top practitioners in the world of sport performance to learn a bit more about who they actually are and how they got to where they are at today. Today we are joined by the Director of Sports Performance for the University of Houston’s Men’s Basketball Team, Alan Bishop. Alan, thanks for being with us today.

Before we start, who is Alan Bishop? 

I’m a son, a father, a brother, a coach who’s trying to have as good of a crack at this life as I can.

1) Describe a learning situation that brought about an epiphany in your career? 

Understanding that this isn’t a job, this is a career. 

2) If you could ask one question and you know you would get the answer what would that be and why?

How do I add the most value in this situation to win more games?

3) What’s your escape?

Shutting the world out and spending quality time with quality people starting with my wife and kids.

Enjoy the content? Then you should check out The Strength Coach Network!

We built The Strength Coach Network to provide you three ways become the best practitioner possible. First, each month we add a new lecture from one of the best practitioners in the world to help keep you and your staff up to date with what the best of the best are doing with their athletes RIGHT NOW! Secondly, the forum provides you a new avenue to connect with practitioners around the world to find a unique point of view from coaches all over the world when it comes to career advice, training ideas, or any aspect of our lives in coaching. Finally, you get exclusive discounts on all products CVASPS related, INCLUDING your seat at The Seminar! When you add those three in with our library of over 100 sensational lectures, including all of those from The Central Virginia Sport Performance Seminar, you have found your one stop shop for continuing education for you and your staff. Make sure you hop over today and get your first 48 hours for only $1 by using the link here: https://strengthcoachnetwork.com/cvasps/

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[michael-langdon-baby]

Crave

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Original Character

Word count: 4k~

Warnings: ALOT, alpha/omega dynamics, knotting, mating, possessive michael langdon, tit play, smutty goodness ya’ll

Masterlist

Enjoy!

You would think that a shelter with enough supplies to last well over 18 months would have stocked up on mounds upon mounds of suppressants. It would be only logical to assume that whoever was in charge of the Outposts would know that there would be at least one Omega of the bunch.

But it seemed the Cooperative was full of a bunch of Alpha knot heads that didn’t think suppressants were of value; but there must have been one Omega in the meeting room, seeing as there were exactly 18 months of supply.

Which is exactly how Julie March found herself here, sitting in her ugly purple dress with her old timey spanx like panties covered in slick. She was entering her first heat since 9th grade; Billy Carlisle had cornered her in the girl’s bathroom and begged to smell her panties before the coach had come and thrown him out.

She could barely remember what it was like to have a heat, only the flushes of warmth and pain wrung through her mind, but they weren’t precise. It was like relearning a language that had become foreign, except she’d give anything to not have to relearn this.

Her thighs squeezed together as she tried to force the slick back inside but it was useless, she was probably stinking up the Outpost. And it was 6:26, which meant a drink in the parlor room was fast approaching. But last night there had been a perimeter breach, so she expected someone new would be joining them. Hopefully it was a Beta.

A knock at the door had her standing, “I’m coming.” And smoothing down the wrinkles in her dress; even is she smelt like a whorehouse, she would look damn good.

The Grey at the door smiled at her first, eyes widening at her smell before shooting to the floor, noticeable bulge forming in his pants. But she smiled and ignored it, quickly following behind his fast pace steps. Her wet thighs rubbed against each other with each step, even feeling it slide down her leg.

It was mortifying, walking into the parlor and having all eyes on her. Almost all were Beta’s and weren’t affected by her stench, but they could sure as hell smell it.

“Oh-kay, I don’t wanna be rude-“

“I don’t think that’s in your nature.” Andre interjected with an eye roll and Coco fake laughed before turning back to Julie.

“Oh grow a heart Coco, poor thing must be in so much pain.” Julie nodded at Gallant’s claim, smiling at his effort to be kind to her.

“You do know that you smell like a brothel right? Those fumes could deflate my hair.” Evie chuckled at the insult before sipping her mineral water, the rest of the group going back to their own business.

At least until Ms. Venable’s cane echoed through the room, everyone effectively shutting up when she entered. She stood at the head of the room, not even acknowledging the stink of Omega that permeated the room, which made Julie furrow her sweaty brow.

Everyone knew Venable was an Alpha through and through, yet she seemed unaffected by the heat that was so close to her. It was very strange but Julie threw that thought to the back of her mind as a pair of precise yet ominous footsteps lingered in the air, and with it a scent that made her pussy even wetter.

This must have been the person who cause breached the perimeter; she hoped it wasn’t someone who’d been affected by the radiation or anything.

A bead of sweat skimmed down the side of her skull as the footsteps grew closer, precise in step and sound. She watched Venable with a hazy gaze, wishing she were back in her room with her dress back in the closet and something filling her up.

The footsteps stopped and she felt a new pair of eyes watching her, burning holes into her side with a look so intense her heart dropped to her stomach. She was frozen, unable to turn and look.

It was nearly impossible to breath a breathe of fresh air as those footsteps came behind the couch, a soft hand sliding along the back of her neck, then gone again. Her knee shook with a pressure of want in her core that was unfulfilled, and she wanted to explode.

Julie was able to turn her head enough to gaze at Venable and the tall man who made her want to fall to her knees and present her dripping wet pussy, allowing him to either drink his fill or stuff her full of his cock.

He stood where Venable had before, watching them all, “My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative.” He took a deep inhale and cleared his throat. “I wont sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

Julie watched Langdon and he reused to meet her eye, “My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The other three compounds—an all Alpha compound in Syracuse, New York, an all Beta in Beckley, West Virginia, and-“

This time he met Julie’s eyes, “And all Omega in San Angelo, Texas have all been overrun and destroyed.” He looked away as Timothy asked, “And the people inside?”

Langdon gave him a stony look, “Amongst other things, massacred. And I’m shocked to see that the only compound housing all three forms of life hasn’t torn each other to shreds. But I will say that the same fate will befall almost all of you.”

Mallory piped up in a meek voice, “Almost?” to which Langdon let out a small laugh. “In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe—the sanctuary.”

Coco couldn’t have looked more confused when she said aloud, “The Sanctuary?”

To which Langdon responded, “The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun. And amongst other things, a way from three forms of life to happily coexist, Alpha, Beta, Omega, all as one.” His hands met before him, fingertips touching in perfect sync.

But Ms. Mead cut in “What measures? Why weren’t we given these?” And Langdon’s perfect hands split and one hand lifted to his right, displaying those lovely rings. “That’s classified.”

“All that matters is that the Sanctuary will… survive, so the people populating it will survive so humanity will survive.”

Andre asked what they were all thinking, “Who are the people populating it?” but Langdon merely said, “Also classified.”

Langdon’s eyes drifted to the Omega in the room and he smiled, “However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique called ‘Cooperating’.

Julie was drifting in and out as he explained how he would decide who went with him, and who stayed. Emily placed her hand on the drowsy Omega’s knee, immediately retracting when Langdon shot her a dark look.

“What is this, The Hunger Games? I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing. And if you think I’m stupid enough to believe that you’re gonna take a single Beta with you and leave the horny Omega then you must think I’m dumb as a bag of rocks.”

Langdon smirked at the outburst, “As if your knowledge could be compared to that of Mother Earth's gifts. I daresay a bag of rocks has a higher chance of joining the Sanctuary than you do.” Gallant held her back from leaping at Langdon and tearing his pretty locks out.

He pulled out a vial from his pocket a displayed it, like a teacher among students, “But fret not, if you feel as though you are too good or just not good enough, then when feral cannibals come knocking, just down one of these. A minute later you will fall asleep and never wake up.”

He took one step closer, breathing so deeply his lungs hurt, “I look forward to meeting each and ever one of you.”

He sauntered out of the room, brushing his hand across the Omega’s back, rubbing her sweat between his fingers, waiting until he was out of sight to taste it on his tongue. She tasted like heaven, the unattainable for a sinner such as himself, but oh—he would have her. Tonight.

“Emily, help her to her room. Make sure she stays there.” Emily nodded at Venable’s command and cringed when she helped Julie up, the heat her body was giving off was that akin to a burner on high.

It was a treacherous few minutes, Julie trying her best to coordinate herself with Emily’s help, eventually shooing the girl away when needing to take off her dress. Julie worked like a madwoman when the door clicked shut, slippery fingers reaching back to unzip her dress, toeing off the pointed shoes sliding down the spanx like covering, standing just a bra and underwear.

There were no locks on the door, so nudity was off the table for now. Her body flung itself on the bed, relishing in the feel of the cool sheets against her warm skin. It like ice against fire and it never needed to stop.

Two knocks at the door had her stopping; eagerly pulling the covers over herself, weakly telling whomever it was to come in.

It as Venable wearing a smirk on her face with a bottle of pills in her hand- she knew exactly what those were. Her legs tangled in the sheets as she tried to rise, wanting to kiss Venable for bringing her suppressants. “Are those for me? Please Ms. Venable, I thought we’d run out.”

Her attempt came to a halt when Venable chuckled and pocketed the pills, “Oh we have run out—for you at least.” Julie was confused and Venable walked a little closer with a smirk, “The Cooperative supplied us with 36 months of suppressants, and you’ve gone and wasted half. But then again, no one ever told you that cutting them in half with a little bit of this and that made them more effective and gave you twice as much.”

“You-you-“ oh my god. Venable’s an omega.

“You’re an omega-“ the words became a screech as the older omega’s hand slapped her so hard she flew off the bed and collapsed on the ground, a trickle of blood leaving her nose and staining her teeth. Venable looked down on her with a cruel sneer.

“Look at you. Pathetic. Weak. Omega.” She pressed the base of the cane against Julie’s throat, “If you tell a soul, I’ll drag your body, kicking and screaming, outside and let the cannibals have you. Understood?”

Julie felt tears creep into her eyes but nodded as Venable moved the cane away, “But I have a feeling you won’t survive the night. With an Alpha like Langdon here, your weak body will crave for him in a way so desperate that the heat will consume you.”

She walked to the door, “I look forward to taking your cold dead corpse outside.” The door shut with a slam.

It took Julie more than ten minutes to stand on shaky legs, wetness sliding down her thighs like a waterfall. As much as she wanted to think it wasn’t true, it was fact that Omega’s died from Heat Stroke all the time, and unless Langdon somehow wanted her… this was her last night in Outpost 3.

It was a miracle that she made it on her bed, that her jerky breathing and stuttered movements allowed her to do nothing but curl up n a ball and cry. It would hurt to feel the heart beat so fast it felt as though the chest would erupt.

She wanted so bad to be filled, to be held, to be kissed by sweet lips that only craved hers for now and always. But humanity as they knew it was gone; for all she knew, there were no more Alpha’s out there. There was only Langdon.

It was hard to know when she fell asleep, but her eyes fluttered at the feeling of hands lifting her from the cold bed. They were gentle and soft, moving her like gentle doll, placing her against a chest that was warm, almost as warm as her own body, but the sweet scent that surrounded her made it all the better than any cold bed.

“Wha-“ Her words drifted off into a murmur when a soft kiss graced her forehead, lulling her back into a dreamless sleep.

~

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was that, well, she wasn’t dead- in fact, she’d survived the night. There was never any way to tell how many how many hours had passed; yes there were clocks but with no sunlight from outside or moon shine from night, the body had no way of knowing if days had passed or not.

Julie stretched, wiggling her toes and lifting her arms above her head, small noises echoing through the room. The covers fell down, bare breasts becoming an eyesore to the empty room.

“I wasn’t expecting such a show but I can’t say I’m complaining.” A terror filled screech left her mouth when Langdon’s voice echoed to her left, turning with fear to watch the man who sat at his desk, laptop open with light shining on his face.

But those deep cerulean eyes weren’t focused on the screen, but instead were watching her supple breasts, smiling when her hands scrambled to cover them.

Her mind and body were at ends; Her mind telling her to flee away from the Alpha that had, upon further inspection, taken her from he room and brought her to his own abode. Her body on the other hand, wanted him to force her to present for him, have him take from her all she had.

Langdon shut the laptop and leaned back in his swirly chair, “I haven’t smelt an Omega like you before. Even before the Armageddon, none of them held a candle.”

He stood and took graceful steps closer to her form on the bed; “I’d assume at first that you and that Stevens witch were using your body to ensnare me in a trap. But I would be able to smell out that stupid voodoo nonsense. No… you’re just at it seems; a pure little thing, desperate to be split open on the nearest knot.”

She completely ignored the part about voodoo magic and Dinah Stevens, promising herself she’d bring it up later, and instead asked, “Is that why you brought me here?”

He was closer now and his scent was making him soak his sheets, “Well, that depends.” And she inquired, “On?”

Langdon towered over her, watching her begin to squirm, “On whether or not you want this, and if you do, if you can be a good girl for me.” His ringed hand reached forward and ran along the pudge of her cheek, “I’ve waited a long time for you Julie March, and I intend to have you.”

It happened so fast; one moment he was caressing her cheek and the next he was looming over her, knees on either side as his hair fell around them like a curtain, hiding them from the world. His scent was making her dizzy but she wanted more.

“I don’t even know you Langdon.” He leaned down like a pup and nosed her cheek, “You will.” His nose found the curve of her brow and sniffed against her forehead and murmured “And please, call me Michael.”

He kissed her with an urgency that had her seeing stars, clammy fingers grasping his black silky clothes to pull him closer, wanting to feel him in every pore of her body. Those jeweled hands roughly gripped her bare skin, harshly sliding down to her nipples and giving a strong tug.

Julie let out a sweet cry that had him smirking and mouthing at the crease of her neck, “You’re perfect sweetheart.” Those fingers tugged even harder, wanting her to scream for him. He wanted the whole Outpost to know that this Omega, that Julie was his.

When her beautiful brown eyes filled with water did he show mercy on the dusty nipples, moving down and taking one into the warm cavern of his mouth, sucking with strength that had her arching her back. His hands wound under her back and lifted her up, wanting to feel her even closer but he needed to get rid of his clothes first.

They were gone with a snap of his fingers and her eyes widened in shock; what kind of wizard was this guy. And as if he could read her thought he released her tit with a ‘pop’ and smirked, “At a time like this I was hoping to turn your brain to mush but instead you call me a wizard. How very Julie of you.”

Michael finally pulled her forward and met her lips in the middle, tasting the sweet Omega that would finally be his. Her mouth was a heaven he would never see and he wanted to have it always. She gave him control, wanting him to have all the control.

He smirked into the kiss when she started to buck her hips into him; wanting his cock to stuff her so full she felt it for days. But he was a cruel Alpha; “I’m not going to fuck you Julie, not until I’ve had a taste.”

A shocked squeak echoed when he at up and tore the covers off the bed, leaving her bare to his eyes, his cock growing harder by the second. Her shy nature caused her to try and cover up her fuzzy skinned pussy, but a deep growl from Michael stopped her. Those rings were cold as they drifted across the peach fuzz of her thick thighs, thumb running over her slit and making her moan.

After effectively coating his fingers in her fresh slick, he brought them up to his mouth, moaning at the slightly sweet taste. “Oh my Jewel, you are divine.” He slithered like a snake down her body, lips resting at her pussy.

It was one long swipe of his entire tongue that had her screeching like a cat, his strong hands gripping her thighs and holding her down as so he could feast with ease. It was akin to the fountain of youth, or that of a drink of the Gods; she tasted of perfection.

Julie’s nails tore into the sheets, internal muscles trying to grip onto him but failed again and again. He was sucking her dry; those pink lips covered in her juices, some of it spilling down his chin. She was breathing deeply when she looked down her body at him, those blue eyes meeting hers as he moved to nibbled on her clit, loving the moan he received in return.

He was evil- his mouth moved between her throbbing clit and sopping hole, not knowing which one was better. The heat of her skin was burning her alive, and she needed to be fucked. Now.

It took a moment for her to lift one of her hands and place into on Michael’s blonde head of locks, smiling when he moved away from her pussy and sat up, bare chest on display as his hands stroke her trembling thighs.

“Is there something wrong, my pet? Something you need?” He shook his head at her needy moans, “Oh no, no my sweet.” One of those sweet hands reached for her warm throat and lightly squeezed, “I want to tell me what you want.”

A look between desperation and pain crossed her face, biting her lip until warm rivulets of blood trailed down her chin, moaning when Michael surged forward to lick it up. “Please Michael, please, please.”

He chuckled, “Please what?” The fingers on her throat tightened just a smidge. “Be specific.”

She let out a high-pitched whine that made him even harder- if being harder was even possible, “F-Fuck me please please knot me please please Michael.” He cooed at her desperate plea, kissing away the shy tears that slid down the side of her skull. His poor omega needed his cock so much it was hurting her.

While foreplay was always fun and all, the smell of her heat was causing a desire to knot, to mate, to breed, and who was he to deny himself of anything? Especially when he had his Queen spread before him; he would have all of her.

It was a mere matter of positioning himself over her- he wanted to look into her eyes as he fucked and mated her, maybe even pupped her- and lining himself up with her slippery entrance. He rubbed his cockhead through her folds, “My needy little Jewel.” It was a deep thrust that had him fully inside her, wincing at the pain she showed in her yelp; he may have liked to cause pain to some people, but never his Julie.

He shushed her and kissed her wet cheeks, trying not to start his thrusts before she was comfortable and fully stretched from his cock. Their deep breaths echoed through the room, the only sound amongst the crackling fire. He wished he could kiss away her pain.

Julie felt the burning pain slowly morph into pleasure that wracked her lower half in a way she’d never know. Masturbating wasn’t really her thing, and dating was hard when Alpha’s liked Omega’s who were either forward or wore short skirts, Julie was neither. But here, during the goddam Apocalypse, she’d found a mate in a mysterious man she barely knew with his cock in her virgin hole; how sweet it is.

He smiled at her when she murmured ‘move’ and set a pace that shook the bed against the wall. Michael felt only pleasure in this moment; no pain for memories of Ms. Mead, no hatred for Cordelia Foxx- there was just he and Julie.

It was a short fuck; He felt her squeeze around his cock and let her bite his neck, marking him as her mate. And when he felt his knot swell, he simply turned her head to the side and exposed the expanse of her neck, sinking his teeth in and feeling the bond form.

It was a feeling neither thought they would ever experience, but it was real and true and forever. Michael would hold onto her for the rest of his immortal life and he would summon his father in the pits of the hell that was Outpost 3 and ask for her immortality. He would not take no for an answer.

Julie was in bliss; the heat was subsiding and the knot currently pumping cum in her- which would no doubt end in a pregnancy that she was nowhere near ready for- made all her worries fade. She took a moment to watch Michael, who in turn watched her.

“Have I met you before? Somewhere up there…” Her lazy hand waved to the ceiling, not knowing if she meant above the ground and into the world or in the stars and heaven above. It was something inside her that made her trust him.

Michael carefully leaned forward- watchful of his knot- and brought the fingers to his mouth to kiss. “My jewel, no matter where we are, or were we go, you’ll always be mine.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “And I’ll always be yours.”

Hope you Enjoyed!