#before any of you get excited thinking i’m about to recommend high class literature it’s an ice planet barbarians book

[fingertipsmp3]

This book I’m reading is so good I’m genuinely mad that I put off reading it

[letterstomilen]

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe (read part 2 here) When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe has a very effective method of getting through college. His little sister, who’s caught him making coffee at three in the morning on more than one occasion the past week alone, would beg to differ. 

“You’re the best older brother,” she starts off, and he’s sure she’s trying to convince herself more than him at this point, “but you need to fix your sleeping habits.” Then, because she’s his little sister, she’d flash him a smile and pat his shoulder reassuringly.

(The comment is not lost on him though. He understands his sleeping situation will eventually wear him down if it hadn’t already, but he believes if he’ll drink a coffee every morning and a Monster every night, he’ll get through three days. By the third day, he’ll hardly be coherent but that doesn’t matter because he’ll conk out for the next twelve hours and then repeat.)

“Don’t worry, Tonia,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible as he contemplates whether it’s worth it or not to swallow a pill of 5-hour energy with his morning coffee. “Once break ends, I’ll get back to normal.”

“You said that six seasons ago.”

Childe frowns, trying to remember if his sleeping schedule was this dysfunctional last year. “Huh?”

“The Walking Dead seasons,” Tonia clarifies, as if she’s not twelve years old and the show is for grown adults. He thinks. He hasn’t checked Commonsensemedia ever since La Signora labeled him as a “helicopter parent” and his Netflix tab has been playing How to Get Away with Murder as background noise for the past few weeks.

Isn’t it a show about zombies though? Tonia’s sheepish smile tells it all, because it’s the same exact guilty look he had when he got caught red-handed as a kid.

(Once he remembers later, Childe promises himself, he’ll check out The Walking Dead.)

“Oh. Well. I have a lot of shows to catch up on, you know. Not to mention a ton of my professors gave me reading for over the break.”

A half lie. They did give him a lot of reading because each professor assumed that their classes were his only one, and with seven days left, he still has a textbook worth of reading to go through. But there are no shows that Childe would sacrifice his precious sleep for. As a matter of fact, he would love to sleep. He’s spent the majority of his classes back in high school sleeping and faking attention, saving his grade at the last minute — it was quite the extreme sport really, if he says so himself.

Whenever he tries to sleep recently, his thoughts run at several hundred miles per hour, and he spends several hours staring at the ceiling before succumbing to the computer at his desk and watching trashy movies. At this point, he must have gone through the entire romance comedy list on Netflix. (Not a proud point in his life but if anybody ever wanted him to give a list of best to worst romance comedy movies, he now has one.)

Tonia, on the other hand, isn’t incredibly convinced.

Admittedly, the excuse was lame. Also, he can’t easily lie to his little sister, who’s far shrewder than he takes her for at times.

“You never start your reading in advance. You like to speed read it right before your class or watch a five-minute video on the chapters while your teachers take attendance. But that’s… uh, ‘a bad work ethic.’” Tonia looks immensely proud of herself as she says this, finishing it off with, “Zhongli told me that.”

“Zhongli?” he repeats, trying to remember if that’s one of her classmates or some stranger that’s hoping to kidnap his sister.

“The guy that volunteers at the library sometimes. He recommended me a loot of good books to read, but he talks like an old man.”

“How old?” Childe can tell she’s enjoying this — talking about her new friend at the library that he’ll probably have to run a background check on.

“Like he’s in his sixties or something. But he looks… actually, he looks your age! And he’s a student too. I told him all about you.”

Well, that doesn’t sound very reassuring coming from the mouth of a twelve-year-old. He’s not sure if that translates to his social security number, his current dilemma, or just that he’s her older brother.

“Like all of the stories you told me when I was a kid. And then when Lumine came to pick me up, she stayed to show him pictures of you too.”

“Of course she did,” he mumbles, ruffling her hair. One of these days he’s going to move without telling his classmates and the twins won’t enter his apartment unannounced. (But Tonia adores their company and the stories they tell her far too much for him to actually do it. But that doesn’t mean he’s above making threats when they tell his little sister about the bet he made about white-out and how it could dye hair. The jury is still out on this one.) “She’s just mad because I get away with it and she doesn’t. But don’t do it yourself. It’s a bad habit,” he adds, remembering that he should at least try to be a good influence on his younger sister when he can.

“Okaaay,” she says unconvincingly, before shaking her hair and running off to her room with lunch he prepared for her.

Watching her close the door and no doubt continue her binge of The Walking Dead, he takes out his phone and texts Lumine.

 Childe

12:35

ur a horrible influence on tonia

 Childe

12:35

and whos this ZHONGLI

 Childe

12:35

also is twd appropriate for 12 y/os

 Twin 1

12:37

a normal person would say hi

 Twin 1

12:37

also 1. me n aether watched it when we were 12 so probably and 2. some guy at the library that also goes to our school

 Well. At least he’s somebody they know. But The Walking Dead?

 Childe

12:38

thats not very convincing

 Childe

12:38

also dont ppl DIE? get BITTEN???? what if she gets nightmares

 Twin 1

12:39

isnt she 12 r u telling me u weren’t watching R rated movies at 12

 Childe

12:42

thats very different from a 10 season long show that is hailed as “one of the greatest horror shows in history” and “paved the way for post-apocalyptic horror”

 Twin 1

12:42

well if she has trouble sleeping she could always watch asmr. that helps me during midterms idk

 Childe

12:42

whats asmr

 Childe

12:43

asking for my sister btw

 Twin 1

12:44

A feeling of well-being combined with a tingling sensation in the scalp and down the back of the neck, as experienced by some people in response to a specific gentle stimulus, often a particular sound.

 Childe

12:45

wtf?

 Twin 1

12:45

people on the internet make random sounds or just talk into a mic n its supposed to be very relaxing. how have u never found out abt this?????

 Childe

12:45

idk the only thing on my youtube recommended r greatest stunts and chapter review videos

 Twin 1

12:47

… makes sense

 Twin 1

12:47

check out rex lapis’ channel he looks like ur type

 Childe

12:48

i thought we were talking about my sister????

 Twin 1

12:50

[message screenshots.jpg]

 Twin 1

12:50

ya she told me everything

 Twin 1

12:50

have fun i need to convince aether to not commit arson bc of his TA

 Childe

12:51

hope he does it

He opens his Youtube app, typing in Rex Lapis and expecting Lumine’s suggestion to be a joke. Despite them being friends for nearly two years now, she’s never made any indication of knowing his type. And he’s sure he’s never been that vocal about it either, only shooting appreciative looks at history majors and paying more attention than necessary to the TA for ‘Tradition of Justice and Law.’ (It’s unfortunate that those short-term crushes never led to anything, but maybe that’s for the better seeing that Childe has never understood the appeal of relationships.)

It is an ASMR channel, judging by the ASMR playlist he finds as he scrolls through the account. The icon shows no face — only a microphone — which leaves him skeptical. Most of the video titles belong in a petrology lecture as well, which makes him even more convinced that it’s a joke. He finds a few readings of ancient literature and decides to pick ‘I discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)’ because that’s exactly what he needs. (Not the very moment — but ten hours later when he’s in the bed memorizing the pattern of his ceiling wondering why he stole from his fifth grade teacher’s candy jar during lunch.)

When Childe opens the video, he damn near gasps.

The man in the video is exactly his type. His eyes are a soft amber color, framed with long lashes, and it’s almost enough for him to lose his dignity and message Lumine a long thank you text about how she is always right and he’ll pay for her coffee for the following week.  He smiles at the screen, albeit a little sheepishly, dark hair framing his face with a long ponytail that Childe can’t see the end of. On his right ear, there are a pair of earrings with a single feather that brush against his neck when he moves his head.

Even before he speaks, Childe is mesmerized, sure he’ll already memorize his features from the curve of his nose to the way he tilts his head, displaying the expanse of his neck.

Really — he reminds him of actors in historical dramas, the way he sits regally, and how he speaks. His voice is low and slow as he adopts a careful manner of speaking, leaning into the mic.

“I’m Rex Lapis, and I’ll be discussing igneous petrology today, which is part one in a three-part petrology series. I apologize in advance, seeing that my knowledge is limited compared to many petrologists out there but my friend Venti said that many of my viewers are here for my voice, so I’m very excited to start today’s video.”

Holy shit.

For the following week, Childe learns less about petrology, the philosophy of economics, and historical revisionism concerning matters of war and more about Rex Lapis, who is not in love with his voice but often finds himself in the middle of long tangents without explanations. His favorite book series is the Legend of the Lone Sword, which he says he’ll look forward to reading out loud for the channel. (Childe replays that part of the video again and again, captivated by his excitement as he mindlessly taps the mic while he speaks, his tangent cutting off mid-word — as it usually does, much to his dismay.)

His guilty obsession is not lost on Tonia, who realizes that instead of drinking Monster every night he’s been engrossed in his phone completely, often not noticing her or when the water starts bubbling. But because his sleeping schedule has been alleviated, she says nothing until Lumine comes over as she always does, not forgetting their weekly schedule of watching trashy movies while leeching off of Childe’s food.

Because he doesn’t trust the twins with the kitchen — even if they can cook — she instead spends her time sitting next to Tonia and spreading more of her anti-Childe propaganda while they wait. This usually involves Tonia occasionally calling out Childe’s name and asking, “Is that true?” or “Did you really do that?”

This time is different though.

Worried that Lumine finally decided to show Tonia a video of last semester’s presentation, he leans over, looking at the computer screen.

And he’s wrong. Unfortunately. Maybe it should’ve been his presentation because even if he botched it and accidentally projected his work process — screaming notes and all — to the class instead of his actual presentation, it would’ve been better than the two of them watching one of Rex Lapis’ videos together.

The ‘I read Erosion: Essays of Undoing to you as it rains outside’ video, to be specific, which is where Rex Lapis is embarrassed by Venti mid video when asked if this was his idea of a date with a lover. (And then it ends with Rex Lapis asking for video suggestions from the commentors, his face still flushed from the previous comments.)

Oh God — oh fuck.

“So he is your type,” Lumine says, her expression a bit too smug for his liking. Tonia looks half awake, scrolling through articles as the video plays, more interested in ‘Top 10 Glenn Rhee Moments’ than Childe’s crush. Her expression is a bit guilty as she does so — she’s biting her lip and avoiding his gaze, but he assumes that it’s just because they went through his YouTube history.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” he retorts, but the YouTube history she pulls up once Tonia hands the computer over to her says it all. (It’s quite mortifying, really — even Tonia is giving him a look, but it’s not as bad as Lumine’s shit eating grin.)

“Well… he does have a nice voice,” Childe finally says, thinking that perfectly encompasses his most recent obsession. Because he does have a nice voice — it’s soothing and speaks to him without really speaking to him directly. (The good looks are a bonus, he assures himself. A fantastic bonus, but a bonus nonetheless.)

“He does,” Tonia confirms, smiling toothily up at him, and he resists the urge to ruffle her hair with Lumine staring at him so skeptically. “But I don’t understand much of what he’s saying. He — heh — talks like an old man.”

“Don’t worry, Tonia, your brother likes him because he’s attractive,” Lumine informs her, now fast forwarding on one of Rex Lapis’ videos. “Did you know that he lives nearby?”

“Huh?”

The knife he’s holding clatters to the floor, and the two look down and back up at him with— hold on, why does it feel like they’re in on a secret he doesn’t know about?

“Yeah, he’s working on his grad thesis I think… Aether told me it was about something on history,” she muses. “That’s why I recommended his channel to you. He’s a bit of a celebrity in his department.” Childe’s sure his jaw dropped now, trying to maintain his facial expression as he takes out a new knife to chop up the onions.

“Really,” he tries to say as calmly as possible, wondering how he should accompany Aether to his lectures without trying to seem as obvious as possible. His voice is a bit shaky he realizes but he can’t quite make the connection between Rex Lapis and actual graduate student that goes to his university.

“Yeah, actually…” Lumine is definitely pretending to think now, enjoying this far too much. “He—”

“It’s Zhongli!” his little sister yells excitedly, practically jumping up and down at this point as if she won the lottery. “Zhongli runs an ASMR channel and he talks just like that in real life! Right, Lumine?”

“Yeah.”

Childe sighs, holding a hand up to his face. The realization that he’s been obsessed with the same guy that hears about every stupid thing he did secondhand is way too much — and the fact that he’s been listening to his voice every night before he went to bed the past week is way too much. He’s sure his face is redder than before judging by the amused expressions on Lumine’s and Tonia’s faces — really, they’re mirror images of each other right now.

Not for the first time, Childe swears to himself that he’ll never let her into his apartment without signing a contract ever again.

[jawnkeets]

How are you so clever??? I’m new to your blog and I’ve been looking at your posts (not in a stalkery way but because they’re so cool) and you seem super intelligent! Like you always reference things I’ve never heard of and use fancy words and it’s just really awesome. How did you get so clever? Do you read a lot or are you just naturally clever? If it’s from reading then what books would you recommend to someone who’s interested in literature and also broadening their general knowledge? Thanks

awwww. well thanks for the lovely ask!! this is way too much detail bc i’m procrastinating work but

i read a ton as a kid, mostly horror books - i was obsessed with the supernatural, and especially vampires, and the idea of things changing into other things (in a magical way, but also stories where characters develop and end up very different, tales of betrayal etc). my favourite series when i was little was the spiderwick chronicles, followed a little later by the saga of darren shan. i didn’t read any classic literature at all though, as i’d decided i hated it for some reason. as a kid i always prided myself on my creativity/ imagination rather than my intelligence (it’s a distinction i’d always drawn and still do after a fashion), but i was and have always been obsessive, and also used to sit and play memory games for hours, too; i remember one where i’d have a list of cards and i’d put one down, say what it was, turn it over, add another one, say what the previous one and this one was, turn them over, and continue until i couldn’t remember every single card in order, and then i’d start again. i wrote a lot, especially poetry, and used a thesaurus often because i loved words. i had a very very vivid imagination and refused to live in the real world until the age of about 11 or 12. then from 14 onwards i read almost nothing (apart from like idk two of the hunger games books) until i was 17, when i finally started reading classic literature, triggered by the great gatsby, which changed my attitude to learning completely. until then i’d despised secondary school partly because of the way learning was presented (i got good grades at gcse but went through the syllabus and exams mechanically with little genuine love) and partly for… other reasons, and had almost given up on taking academics seriously. but i got very lucky and had an incredible english teacher throughout sixth form, who encouraged me to take risks and break from methodical, formulaic writing. at the end of the first essay i had to do for him i still remember that he wrote ‘literature is for you. now and always. carry on.’ at the bottom, and that changed my life. he also introduced me to philip larkin and romantic poetry outside of class. after that, i was gripped by the desire to read and discover as much about the humanities as i could, make links between works, discover new ones, recover the feeling that i was possessed by after finishing gatsby. tumblr genuinely helped with art, literature quotes, and making it all seem accessible, e.g. seeing text posts making jokes about shakespeare, keats, etc helped to demystify a bit. yes, dark academia, i’m also looking at you for making learning seem exciting, but tentatively and with narrowed eyes. general knowledge-wise, it helped me to begin to break down the barriers between ‘subjects’ at school (even if you’ve left school, it’s pretty branded into our brains); they’re sometimes very fuzzy and even arbitrary, and to separate into strictly-defined categories like this is not the only way learning can or should happen.

a work that i thoroughly recommend to everyone who asks where to start is letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke. he relates so perfectly this idea that the first step is to let yourself be filled with how amazing and vast the world is, and how much there is to read, listen to, and see. that’s not something you can learn from reading, and it’s not something you can be taught by anyone (unless being inspired by someone counts). it’s instrumentally important because it will drive you, but i also think it’s inseparable from understanding (and to me, it is understanding, just understanding without the right words yet). this is the highlight, and it was the mantra stuck up on my wall at 17 when i decided i wanted to learn, and learn seriously:

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

i was relatively articulate before i started reading the classics/ reading widely, but not exceptionally articulate. here’s an example of two essay openings - one i wrote when i was 16, and one i wrote during my first term at university (2 years apart):

i’d say that since then my essays have probably improved by a similar proportion, as i’m as embarrassed to read the second as i was the first when i wrote the second, and the typos r annoying me (am too embarrassed to post recent writing :’( - doesn’t count if over a year and a half ago, hence posting the second :p). obviously, then, this isn’t natural intelligence (everyone has to get knowledge, big words, etc from somewhere, right?), this is natural receptivity and willingness to learn, which i genuinely believe anyone can gain at any point, coupled with A LOT of reading the opinions of others (i.e. literary criticism and theory), and reading literature from many different periods to discover how language is moulded by individual poets and by ‘eras’ more widely. but this is also synthesising everything i absorb into a personal vision (this is the hill i will die on soz i don’t think theory should be ‘objective’ like what does that even mean). you can and should put yourself into it!

in terms of what to read - if you like the rilke (really hope you do!!) then depending on what you like about it, you can search from there. try some of rilke’s poetry. or if you like that ineffable feeling it brings, try the romantics (keats’ ‘ode to a nightingale’ and blake’s songs of innocence and experience are good to start with!), or larkin’s ‘high windows’ and ‘the mower’. also try shakespeare’s hamlet, because that is INCREDIBLE (watching it is always easier, and the more shakespeare you watch/ read the easier it gets! andrew scott’s hamlet is the best imo). from there it’s a question of asking what you liked about what you just read (time period/ vibe/ themes/ subject/ style of writing) and finding things similar - often google works and i made use of it a lot to start with, tumblr too, otherwise ask people who you know (on the internet/ teachers/ friends etc). this is a personal journey, especially to begin with, i think (you have to jump in somewhere), and there’s no one who can give you a list of books to read in the order best for you, because - annoyingly, i know - that’s something it’s best if each individual works out through trial and error, and part of the fun in truth. there are western canon lists out there, e.g., which contain some fabulous works, but have very obvious problems. 

a really really rough chronological development of english lit: beowulf, any of the canterbury tales, hamlet, paradise lost, pope’s satire, romantic poetry, victorian novels (e.g. david copperfield, jane eyre), the waste land, waiting for godot (it would also help to read the iliad, the aeneid, and metamorphoses too, and as much of the bible as you can, especially genesis, exodus, isaiah, job, and the gospels, but genesis and the gospels first if ur stuck/ overwhelmed). this is the lightest of pencil sketches, but if they’re works that go some way towards defining each ‘era’ or ‘period’, then it becomes a little easier to search for works branching off from these that are influenced by or chafe against them. you can always come back to me if you’re struggling with what to look for next :+) also, i have a list of my poetry favs, if you want to check that out (it includes the stuff mentioned in the previous paragraph, as well as others).

hope this helps (?!) ❤️

[ba-mi-soro-orisha]

What books are on your nightstand?

“All the Stars and Teeth,” by Adalyn Grace; “Ninth House,” by Leigh Bardugo; “The Last Arrow,” by Erwin Raphael McManus. I always have an itch for great fantasy, which Grace and Bardugo provide. And I’m always interested in self-development and books that feed my soul like “The Last Arrow.”

What’s the last great book you read?

“Daring Greatly,” by Brené Brown! I was really moved by her Netflix special, and listening to her audiobook came at the perfect time in my life. She has a way of perfectly describing some of the most intimate human emotions and experiences, and she provides concrete, actionable solutions. She gave me a new level of self-awareness that’s helped me navigate my life in a meaningful way, so I’m a big fan.

Are there any classic novels that you only recently read for the first time?

Recently, no. The vast majority of American classics were ruined for me because schools made me read them too young. If I remember correctly, I think I had to read “Self-Reliance,” by Ralph Waldo Emerson, in seventh grade. I remember reading “Death of a Salesman” in high school and hating it, but when I read it in college I loved it. I was blown away by what Arthur Miller had created. Because of that, I’m saving my reread of the classics for a time when life isn’t too crazy and I can focus. I want to make sure if I don’t like what society has deemed a classic story, it’s because I don’t like the actual story, and not because I didn’t understand it when I was 12.

Describe your ideal reading experience (when, where, what, how).

My ideal reading experience is on the beach, under an umbrella, with my Kindle, and with a tasty drink and snack by my side.

What’s your favorite book no one else has heard of?

I don’t think I have one? I’m a pretty basic person. I’m not even cool enough to like niche anime. Everything I gravitate to is pretty well known because they are such amazing stories.

If I had to pick one, I’d say most of my younger readers probably aren’t familiar with “The Souls of Black Folk,” by W. E. B. DuBois, and most of my older readers probably aren’t familiar with “Six of Crows,” by Leigh Bardugo.

What book should everybody read before the age of 21?

“The Poet X,” by Elizabeth Acevedo. It’s a stunning story told in verse about a young Dominican poet learning to use her voice and take up space. I think as we grow up and start to discover who we are, we also have to discover what we want to say. Then we have to get comfortable saying it. I think this is the kind of story that makes you feel strong when you’re reading it, and then you can lean on that strength when you need to use your voice and take up space in your real life.

Which writers — novelists, playwrights, critics, journalists, poets — working today do you admire most?

For novelists, I’m a forever-fan of Sabaa Tahir. Her debut fantasy — “An Ember in the Ashes” — was the epic tale that inspired me to write “Children of Blood and Bone.” It moved me in ways a story hadn’t moved me before and gave me a chance to imagine a fantasy world with characters I’d never gotten to see before.

For journalists, Shaun King. The work Shaun does for the black community is incredible. I respect his strength, tenacity and passion, and I admire him deeply for the commitment to getting our stories out.

For critics, I think YouTubers like Cosmonaut Variety Hour and Alex Meyers? I get a lot of entertainment from their television and movie reviews, and also get refreshers on good storytelling.

What writers are especially good on adolescent life?

Angie Thomas, Nic Stone and Jason Reynolds!

How do you distinguish Y.A. books from adult fiction?

Honestly, the main difference to me is how quickly I’m captured and transported into the story. I find the best young adult novels have all the best parts of adult fiction — the extensive world-building, the complex characters, the beautiful prose — layered over a fast-paced, exciting plot. Most of the adult fiction I read takes its time building to the climax.

Which young adult books would you recommend to people who don’t usually read Y.A.?

I always recommend “An Ember in the Ashes” and “Six of Crows” after one of my readers has finished “Children of Blood and Bone.” I find those three fantasies crossover really well and help hook people into reading other young adult books.

What’s the most interesting thing you learned from a book recently?

That you’re not supposed to fight your anxiety, you’re supposed to fight the things that are causing your anxiety by setting better boundaries for yourself and for others. That’s one of the golden nuggets in “Daring Greatly.”

Which genres do you especially enjoy reading? And which do you avoid?

I love a good romance! I’m always game for young adult fantasy and sci-fi. I want to read more adult books, contemporary books and poetry. And sadly, I avoid nonfiction. When I read, I like to go somewhere else in my mind with stories that touch our real world without taking place in it.

What makes for a good fantasy novel?

I think the most magical fantasies will always be the ones with a world you want to live in forever. For example, I think we loved Harry Potter, but we were in love with Hogwarts. We all wanted to go to class with him. We all wanted our own wands. I think great worlds are important because they allow readers to play in that world with their imagination long after the book is done, but a great world isn’t complete without a great protagonist.

What moves you most in a work of literature?

Acts of love. Be it familial, friendly or romantic. A beautifully described, tender act of love destroys me.

How do you organize your books?

ORIGINAL STORIES: I have a lot of the stories I wrote when I was young on my Kindle — they are hilarious and incredible and always funny to read.

BOOKS ON WRITING: I always want to be a better writer/storyteller than I am now. I love books and YouTube videos that break down the art of story.

FICTION: Most of my library is Y.A., so this is where my “I’m an adult” fiction goes.

SCI-FI: Though I’m a child of fantasy, my interest in the stars and spaceships is growing.

FANTASY: Includes all the great franchises of the past and all the exciting, diverse stories that are being published today.

Who is your favorite fictional hero or heroine? Your favorite antihero or villain?

Antiheroes: Zuko, from “Avatar: The Last Airbender”; Logan, from “X-Men”; Kaz Brekker, from “Six of Crows.” Villains: Light Yagami, from “Death Note,” and Magneto, from “X-Men.” I guess my Slytherin is showing, because I love my antiheroes and my villains more than my heroes.

What kind of reader were you as a child? Which childhood books and authors stick with you most?

I was a voracious reader when I was young. I lived for the summer reading challenges where I could read 50 books and get like three Airheads at the end of August. The authors and books that worked themselves into my heart were Mary Pope Osborne and her Magic Tree House series, J. K. Rowling and Harry Potter, Masashi Kishimoto and “Naruto.” I consider myself a creative child of fantasy and anime.

How have your reading tastes changed over time?

My Kindle is loaded up with several of the stories I wrote as a girl and as a teenager. It’s wild reading them now because I vaguely remember the nights and weekends I stayed up writing these tales, and I see the plots and character types that I’ve loved reading about and imagining since I was young.

I’ve always loved sweeping romances and magical fantasies. I’ve loved headstrong, determined female protagonists and epic battles. I still like to read the same things. I think the difference now is that I get to read all the things I like with characters who look like me. My childhood stories didn’t give me that. Even in the stories I wrote myself, I was only writing white characters and biracial characters. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that erasure was painful and damaging to my sense of self. So getting to create and read stories that fight that erasure and build on my sense of self is the only significant change in my reading tastes.

You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?

Oprah Winfrey, Octavia E. Butler and Toni Morrison. I would be extremely uncomfortable in the midst of all that greatness, and I probably wouldn’t speak. But while stuffing my face with little lobster rolls, I would get to learn from and be inspired by those three incredible women.

Whom would you want to write your life story?

Honestly, me, because I’m a perfectionist. But I don’t think I’m the best person to write my story because while I have a unique take on my story, I also lack a lot of necessary perspectives that would be needed to write an accurate life story. I’m going to cheat this one and say I would like Shonda Rhimes to do a highly dramatized mini-series of my life story.

What do you plan to read next?

“Blood Heir,” by Amélie Wen Zhao. I’ve heard really great things. I’m excited to check it out!

[dalamjisung]

a cliche for when you need one ❁ lee minho

genre: fluffiest fluff out there

word count: 3650

pairing: reader x lee minho

description: everyone needs a cliche in their life. Is that true?

Books were your life; and not to say that in a ‘quirky’ or ‘nerdy’ way, but in the most literal sense of all– books were your life. Your dad owned an independent book shop right under you guys’ apartment, and that was the only source of financial income you guys had. So yes. Books really were your life. It also didn’t help that you worked there every day after school and every afternoon on the weekends. The Literary Corner was never closed. 

To say you grew to love books was wrong; it felt more like it was engrained on your DNA. There was no way you could’ve come out not liking to read, and even if you did, you wouldn’t have much of a choice. Your dad didn’t have enough money to hire someone to work the store while he was gone, so he pretty much relied on you– not that you minded, of course. To work at the store meant that you had enough time to do your homework, and sit on the bay window, in between Fiction U-Z and Non-Fiction A-D. That was your favorite spot, especially in between the times of 4PM and 6PM, when the sun is low enough to shine that golden light it produces after a long, tiring day, warming to the heart, but carrying no actual heat at all. 

It was just one of those days; perfect weather, perfect feeling, perfect everything. You walk out through the gates of school feeling relieved– you couldn’t wait to sit on your window and read your brand new edition of if on a winter’s night a traveler. Italo Calvino was one of your favorite authors, and the sun that shone bright as you walked home would be the perfect company for a great read. You were excited to get home, chatting away with you best friend, Kim Seungmin. As weird as it sounds, you both met at the store, when he came in to buy the mandatory books for you advanced literature class, and that’s when you found out that he was a student in your school. Better yet, that you were in the same literature class.

“Did you see who’s getting transferred to our class?” Seungmin asks. “Professor Jeon said that he didn’t enroll to take them, but the principal thought that the other class was too easy for him…”

“I didn’t hear about any of this!” You gasp. “Who could it be? We didn’t really get new students this semester.”

“Rumor says it is one of the trouble boys,” He wiggles his brows and laughs. “Maybe one of them is secretly smart.”

“Pff,” You snort. “What a cliche.”

Laughing, you guys forget about the subject altogether. It was good that your school was starting to demand more from its students, but you really hoped it wasn’t the case Seungmin was talking about. You never had an encounter with one of those boys, and even though you hear plenty about them, you never cared enough to pay attention. The truth was that literature class was your favorite– one of the few things you were able to excel at school,– and you didn’t want someone who didn’t really care about it running it for you. 

“I have to go,” You point to the store. “But I’ll see you at school. And don’t forget that we have our scheduled movie night after my shift tomorrow!”

“How could I forget, Y/N?” He laughs and waves. “We have it every week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle. “See you later!”

You take it all in as soon as you’re inside; the smell of books–your personal favorite– surrounded the place as if it owned it. Your dad ran past you, kissing your forehead and bidding you goodbye, as he was probably late for another date with his mysterious girlfriend. You smiled, shouting a ‘good luck!’ into the air as you watched him run with a bouquet of flowers. You walk behind the counter, already listing your daily tasks as you drop your bag on the floor. 

#1: Restock the best-sellers at the main door.

You walk to the table where a few books were missing and count them in your head, memorizing their names and authors, treating each one as a different person. You go to the back room and star collecting the necessary items. Enjoying while the store is empty and silent, you put some music on, allowing your earphones to drown the world outside into nothingness. 

#2: Put the disorganized books back into their place.

#3: Dust the shelves.

Humming, you were quick to get the job done. This was something that you did everyday, with the utmost care in the world. You liked getting home and doing your tasks; the repetitive actions turning into a natural de-stressor. 

#4: Count the cashier.

#5: Water the plants.

#6: Check stock.

And for your favorite part:

#7: Help Ms. Lee with her weekly search for a new book.

For the past five years Ms. Lee has come to the store in search of new books. They could be newly published classics or newly written contemporaries, she’d buy them all. She would come in and look at the book that you’d have in hand; I have a grandson, you see, she’d chuckle. A handsome boy, around your age, and he loves to read. What could you recommend, dear? 

For the past five years, you’ve been reserving two copies of the same books; one for you, and for Ms. Lee’s grandson. You started to adore the boy even without meeting him. As Ms. Lee would tell you what he said about the novels, you noticed you started having book debates with this boy through his grandmother, and you completely adored it, so you’ve started patiently waiting for her to enter the store, with the reserved book and a glass of water. 

As the door dings, you smile from where you’re crouching down behind the counter. You were working on a delivery package of three books and you were looking for boxes. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee!” You say, smiling as you get up. Your smile was quick to shatter, though, noticing that the tall figure in front of you wasn’t the adorable old lady you were expecting. Well, it wasn’t a lady at all. “Oh?”

His mouth is covered with a black mask and he is wearing a beanie. His brows go up in surprise, probably from you popping up out of nowhere. You signal him to wait and walk to the front door, peeking outside in search of your customary client. Nothing. 

“Hm, excuse me?” You hear from the inside of the store. “Are you Y/N?”

You halt. How did this stranger know your name? You mind starts racing; your dad was occupied with his girlfriend and would take too long to come help if anything were to happen, same with Seungmin, and you were alone with this stranger who apparently knows who you are-

“I’m Ms. Lee’s grandson,” He chuckles. “She told me to look for you.”

Before registering what he said, your mind goes crazy. “Oh my, is she okay? Did anything happen?”

“She’s fine,” He says, and you notice he’s smiling because of his eyes; they were smiling too. “She’s just tired, so she sent me instead. I hope that’s okay?”

This is when it downs on you; this is the boy you’ve been admiring for the past five years. He was finally here. In person. Talking to you.

“Y-yes, of course!” You chuckle awkwardly. “… nice to meet you?”

“Yes,” He says pulling down his mask and he was indeed smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

“So,” You clear your throat. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, yeah!” He digs inside his backpack and pulls out a sheet of paper. One that you were surprised to find out you knew too well. “I hope it’s not too much trouble, but I need those books.”

“Wait,” You frown. “You go to the school near the shopping mall? Just a few blocks away from here?”

“… yeah,” He frowns too. “How do you know?”

“I go there too,” You say, and your heart is beating rapidly. “I’m actually in this class.”

“Oh, how do you like it?” He asks leaning on the counter. His eyes are innocent and curious, just like a cat. “I’m being forced to switch, so I’m a little scared.”

“Don’t be,” You laugh ducking to pass under the counter and walk to the shelves where you knew those books laid. “It’s really fun. You clearly like reading, so I don’t think you’ll have any problem.”

“That’s good to hear.” He chuckles from behind you as he watched you struggle with a high shelf. “Let me help you.”

And you can just feel the warmth of his body as he stepped closer and grabbed the copy of harmless person to you by Choi. This collection of short stories was really dear to you, and you were happy to be able to discuss it in class. 

“I’ve read this before,” He mumbles. “It’s really good.”

“It really is,” You nod, and as you both fell in a rhythm, the comfortable silence accompanied. After a while, all books were pilled in the counter. “Finally done.”

“These are too many.” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve read two thirds of these already,” You mumble, scanning all of the items. 

“How do you know?” His voice seems genuinely surprised.

“Because I have too,” You chuckle. You eyes travel to the copy of if on a winter’s night a traveler and you extend it to him. “Although I am pretty sure this one is new to you.”

“It is,” He checks the back. “I like some of his other works, though. The way he switches his style of writing even new book is amazing.”

“I know, right?” You squeal, a little to excited.

“How much for this one too?” He asks with a wide smile. So genuine, you think. 

“A present.” You say, blushing. “Consider it a present from me. See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely!” He grabs the bags. “Thank you Y/N!”

“No problem!”

And it’s only when he’s gone that you remember.

I didn’t even ask his name.

———————————

For the next day of school, you don’t wake up late. You wash your face for the first time forever and you take your time brushing your hair. It’d be stupid not to, now that you knew Ms. Lee’s grandson was in your class. 

“What are you doing?” You dad asks from the door, squinting his eyes. “Since when do you get all pretty to go to school?”

“I look the same, dad,” You laugh and somewhere in your mind you are sure you’ve read that conversation in a book. The character would later get ignored by her crush in school and bla bla bla. Just the thought of such cliche is funny to you, making you chuckle. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Every time you sat down to have breakfast, you thanked the lord for your dad’s girlfriend. She was an angel on Earth; always coming by to visit and check-up on you two, always making sure there was plenty of cooked meals in the house, since neither you or your dad were reliable enough to cook, always inviting you to come over and stay with them when your dad slept over and you were alone in the house. After your mom died, it took a while for you two to get back on your feet, but she helped. She was there first as a friend, and then as something more. You loved her for it. 

Your walk to school was more peaceful than usual; you had your earphones in, humming the same song you were before, back in the store when Ms. Lee’s grandson came in. You smile, unconscious of the fondness of the memory. A tap on your shoulder is enough to drag you out of the music induced trance you were.

“Hey,” You hear someone say– him say. “Going to school?”

“Hey!” You say excitedly, smiling wide. You put your earphone on your backpack, sure that you won’t need them now that you had company. “Yeah, why don’t you walk with me?”

“Sure,” He smiles. “My name is Minho, by the way. Lee Minho.”

Now that you knew this information, you chuckle. You’ve definitely heard of him before. Heartbreaker. Player. Lazy. All adjectives used to describe this one boy that now rambled on and on about the first three chapters of Italo Clavino’s book, and how the usage of the second person narrator was a fantastic choice to involve the reader into the plot. You nod, not actually listening to him, but knowing what he’s saying anyways, because you’d say the same things. When it came to books, you two always agreed.

“Are you even listening?” He laughs, poking you with his elbow. 

“Of course,” You blush a little. “Second person voice and all; great choice.”

“I was talking about coffee,” He says with wide eyes and a playful smile on his face. “Wow. You really weren’t listening!”

“What?” You panic. “I’m sorry! What about coffee?”

“Wanna grab some after school?” He says, straightening his back and clearing his throat. “I know a great place nearby the bookshop.”

“I wish I could,” You say and for the first time you cursed the moment in which you’d have to go straight to the store. “But I take over the store after school, everyday… my dad needs to do some things, so I try to help him out.”

“Oh I see,” His eyes lower to the ground and he kicks a pebble. “What if I brought the coffee to you? I can buy some and stay with you in the shop– I could even help out!”

“Really?” You say, impressed. Your mind travels to a parallel world, in which you and Minho work at the store together, laughing and talking about book all evening. And when the golden hour washes the place, you two sit at the bay window, and everything is just calm and beautiful and golden. “I’d love that, thank you.”

“Great!” He says excitedly. “It’s a date then.”

And the rest of the walk goes by peacefully quiet. Just you two and the early birds chirping. Today was bound to be good– you could feel it.

Classes came and went, lunch too, and it was time for your final class of the day– advanced literature. You were excited because of the new vibe that would wash over the room today, Minho being a new factor into the dynamics of the place. You were all there except him, but he makes it seconds before the teacher, and sits way in the back, ignoring all the swooning girls that waved at him. You chuckle, but it doesn’t escape you the fact that he ignored you too. 

During class, he doesn’t say a thing, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. You thought he’d be different. What is wrong with me?, you think, rubbing your eyes. That’s such a cliche thing to think. You force your attention back to the teacher, and you remember absolutely nothing from the lesson except the moment that the bell rang. It made you jump from your seat and you heard someone snickering. You turn to Seungmin and see him holding his laugh in.

“Idiot,” You mumble, holding your laugh too. He get’s up but you hold him by the hand. “Oh, wait up really quick, I need to talk to someone.”

You turn around and see Minho looking at you. You smile and start walking to him.

“Minho,” You call, but he speed walks past you, his shoulder bumping into your and making you lose your balance for a second. Seungmin is quick enough to push you forward, stoping you from falling on your ass.

“What was that?” Seungmin asks as you two walk out the school. “Lee Minho. You know him?”

“Yeah,” You mumble. “We walked to school together and he was pretty nice. Maybe I said something to offend him?”

“I doubt it,” Your friend says and that was it about it. You two talked about anything and everything, but Lee Minho. You felt confused, and a little hurt; your fantasies shattering to the ground as you walked home. 

You barely noticed the bookshop showing up in your line of vision, and you definitely didn’t see the boy sitting down on the curb, with two cups of coffee in hand. 

“Y/N,” Seungmin says, stopping in his tracks. “Is that Lee Minho?”

Your head whips around and your eyes adjust to the image really quick. He wasn’t in his school uniform anymore; his hair was hidden under a beanie again and the glasses were back. He looked cold, breath coming out in small puffs, and jacket seeming to flimsy to handle the weather. 

“Yeah, that’s him…” You say, starting to walk to where he was. “I’ll see you later?”

“Call me right after this is done,” He says winking at you. “I wanna know everything.”

“Just… no.” You laugh as he whines. “Go home, Minnie. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You know what?” Seungmin says with a smile that you’ve known to cause trouble. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to movie night tonight… oh too bad, don’t rush him have fun bye!”

And before you could complain he runs away laughing like a maniac. Shaking you head your best friend’s antics, you go to where the root of your confusion was, trembling from the cold.

“Why are you outside?” You chuckle, feeling slightly awkward. “The place is open.” “I thought that if I was inside you wouldn’t be able to see me,” He sniffs. “And you would’ve thought I bailed on you. Which I didn’t.”

You were speechless at this point. “This makes no sense,” You say, brows raise. “I hope you know that.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” He laughs. “Let’s go inside and talk, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you walk in first, dropping your bag at the counter. 

“Give me five minutes,” You say, walking to the back where the stairs to your place were. “I just need to change real quick.”

Uniform discarded, and sweatshirt and jeans replacing them, you walk down, putting your hair up and making your daily mental list. 

“Okay,” You say, grabbing the coffee he got for you. “Thanks. Let’s talk after I finish the tasks? They take around thirty minutes…”

He shakes his head. “I want to help.” And that was it.

He checks the inventory while you reorganized the books. He dusted the shelves as you counted the cashier. You water the plants together, and it’s low-key adorable. Once you are done, twenty minutes later, the coffee is cold and the weather is unforgiving. There is no golden sun illuminating the store, and there is no peacefulness in the bay window. There is only rain and thunder, but Minho still insists in sitting and watching the water pour down from the skies. 

“I love rainy days,” He sighs. “They are perfect for reading.”

“I hate it,” You chuckle. “I don’t like thunders.”

“Are you scared?” He teases you, and open his arms wide. “You don’t have to be when I’m here. I can protect you.”

“Says the guy that almost pushed me to the ground today!” You gasp, laughing. You didn’t take it to heart, really; you were sure he had an explanation, but if he could tease, so could you. 

“What?” He shouts, looking actually surprised. “When?”

“After class, but it’s okay, I didn’t fall.”

“No, it’s not okay,” He says making a face. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, it was an accident.” And you just let your head fall to the side in a sign of confusion. “But I called your name…”

“I had my music on,” He chuckles, clearly embarrassed. “As soon as the class finished I put them on. I was on a hurry to get home, change, and buy the coffee before you got home. I wanted to get here first.”

“Oh,” You say, face blushing and smile wide. “Well, this is definitely a surprise.”

“I’m also sorry about kind of ignoring you in class, I guess,” He mumbles looking to his coffee. “I just… I get a lot of shit in school. My friends and I, I mean, and I just didn’t want people to bother you too, if they saw you talking to me and all…”

“Oh my gosh, Minho,” You whine loudly, laughing right after. “That is such a cliche!”

He smiles. “I can be a cliche,” He says leaning forward, just a few centimeters from your face. “Whenever you need one.”

You squint your eyes, and quickly kiss his cheek. “I don’t know when I’ll need one,” You say watching him gasp with your bold move. “But sure.”

“I’m in love,” He says dramatically, and you squeal.

“SO CHEESY!” You shout, laughing and stomping your foot on where both of you sat. “Look, look! I have the chills, that was so bad!”

“There is so much more from where that came from,” He laughs, pulling you by the ankles, making you slide close to him. He kisses your forehead and you cannot stop laughing. “I read a lot, you know?”

“Oh my god,” You hide your face on his chest. “Stop. I need to breath.”

And that was how the afternoon went by. Minho would keep blurting out romance novels cliches and you’d laugh and run away from him, as he chased you with open arms, ready for when you decided to run to him. 

He was right, after all. Everyone needs a cliche once in a while… and he was yours. 

[sandersstudies]

Quirky - Chapter 3

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(US Boku No Hero Academia AU - Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - Sorry this chapter took literally forever - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome. Writers love feedback, guys!)

Chapter Four ->

<- Chapter Two 

Roman drove the tip of his pencil into the corner of his wooden desk, creating a minuscule pit of graphite. Mr. Picani was bubbling off about literature somewhere in the background, but Roman couldn’t focus.

I can’t believe Specs made me look so bad in front of the whole class yesterday.  Still twisting his pencil, he glanced to his right, where Logan was shifting his gaze from Picani back to his oilcloth notebook, much heftier than Roman’s wide-ruled pages.

How pretentious.

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose and raised his hand. “When did the Romantic poetry movement transition into Realism?”

“Excellent question, Logan, let’s talk about the influence of later authors...”

What a teacher’s pet, too. Roman’s thought was cut off by the crisp snap of the tip of his pencil breaking off, splintering fragments of graphite and wood like rubble around the edge of the tiny pit. He resisted chucking the pencil and stood up to sharpen it. The clunky roll of the pencil sharpener drowned out the lecture in the background.

He removed the pencil. The tip had broken off inside the machine, and he crammed it back inside to hear the grinding sound again. The machine was probably loud enough to be disruptive.

Big deal. Hope this lasts long enough that the nerd misses half the lecture.

Mr. Picani cleared his throat. Roman glanced up. The teacher had paused, apparently mid-sentence, to watch as Roman stabbed the pencil sharpener repeatedly. The whole class followed his gaze, and Roman thought he heard a snort from the kid who was always wearing too much dark eyeshadow. His grip on his pencil tightened, and he felt a final give and heard a resounding crack as the pencil broke in half.

Several students laughed, and Roman felt his face get hot. He turned around with half the pencil still in his fist and the other half in the machine, and dropped back into his desk.

Mr. Picani continued his lecture from where he’d left off, but Roman couldn’t hear anything except a sound like the ocean in his ears. He glanced to his left and right, and saw Logan continuing to take notes.

Smug bastard probably thinks this is real funny, Roman thought. He wouldn’t say so, though - he likes to act like he’s got no emotions. He’s probably a robot under all those layers of nerdiness.

Remy was just two desks beyond Logan, and was rolling gum between his teeth as he scribbled in his notebook. He hadn’t even glanced up when Picani had stopped class.

Somebody needs to put that guy in his place, too, Roman thought, tapping his half-pencil against his leg. I’m surrounded by a bunch of pretentious and quirkless jerks who all want to upstage me and make me look like crap.

He sunk lower in his desk. If he wasn’t coming out near the top of the class by the first evaluations, what was he going to tell his parents? They’d pulled all their own strings to make sure he’d get in on a recommendation, and after that first day on the field, it had looked like everything would be so easy.

That was the thing: when he had a chance to prove himself, by himself, he could do it—he could show everyone. It was only when other people got involved that he looked like such a fool. If Logan hadn’t totally abandoned him during the bomb exercise, Roman would surely have won easily. As it was, they’d come so close to losing that the match was almost a tie. It didn’t help that it was against Shades—what was his name? Remy—who’d already enjoyed embarrassing him once, and in front of the whole cafeteria and the upperclassmen, no less.

Roman tried to suppress the warmth in his cheeks and ears. Blushing wasn’t the way to start gaining back his reputation. He’d just have to prove himself, and that was only a matter of getting back onto that training field. He breathed deeply and rolled his fingers against the desk. Seeing the sparkles in his skin catch the light was always relaxing, and a little hypnotic.

No problem, no problem, he told himself. It’s only a few days in. Everybody will forget about all this stuff by the end of the semester. I’ll give them new stuff to remember.

The bell rang.

Kai tried to get Roman’s attention from across the room, but Roman only noticed Logan leaning in toward the eyeshadow kid and Terrence, and the three exchanged some comment.

Talking about me, I’m sure, Roman thought. No big deal, they’ll regret it later. It’s too bad Terrence likes those guys, his quirk isn’t bad, and he seems pretty cool.

But that didn’t matter, either. Kenny and Kai, who’d both gone to middle school with Roman, were still on his side. So were plenty of other kids. It was only a matter of keeping it that way.

***

Roman bounced slightly in his seat as Mr. Sanders entered the room. In the end, the other classes didn’t matter, including his embarrassment in literature. This was the Hero course, the real reason any of them were at UA, and if Roman was going to prove himself, it would have to be here.

“No exercises today,” Mr. Sanders said, sliding behind his desk with a grin as a few students watched nervously. “I bet you guys are tired after a couple days in the field. We’ll start today with a bit of housekeeping. You’ve started to get to know your classmates, and it’s time to elect a class representative.”

He held up his hand in anticipation as a few hands shot in the air. “Don’t stress yourselves out,” he said. “Just wait a moment.

“Selecting a class rep should not be about the student who is loudest or strongest or most popular, it should be about who you think is the best leader. It should be somebody who is organized and trustworthy.”

Roman’s chest expanded. Half the class was already on his side after the exercises of the first day of class, and only a few of the other students seemed like they could really compete.

“Students who would like to be eligible may write their names on the board now,” Mr. Sanders said. He held up a piece of chalk and was immediately rushed. Roman barely grabbed the chalk from the teacher’s hand before Terrence did, but as Roman reached the board he discovered that Logan had beaten him there, using a piece of chalk he’d taken from the board shelf.

Roman stewed as Logan wrote his full name in methodical cursive.

He sure takes notes faster than this - clearly taking forever just to spite me.

Roman jostled for Logan’s place as the shorter boy stepped aside. He wrote his own name above Logan’s before handing the chalk off to Dominic.

Not all the students had come to the board. Remy was leaning over to make some comment to the boy in the wheelchair, and the boy with too much eyeshadow was doodling absentmindedly in a notebook.

“All right!” Mr. Sanders said as the final student, Dahlia, wrote her name. “I’m always excited by student enthusiasm. We have…” He glanced at the board. “Six candidates for class representative!”

Roman read the list. His own name and Logan’s were at the top, followed by Dominic, Rafaela, Terrence, and Dahlia.

“We’ll be putting this up to a vote,” Mr. Sanders went on, holding up simple ballots. “The student with the most votes will be class representative, and the student who comes in second will be our deputy representative.”

There was a tap on Roman’s shoulder, and he turned around to see Kenny and Kai showing him a thumbs-up.

“Good luck,” Kenny whispered.

Roman gave a thumbs-up in return and smiled as Mr. Sanders handed out the ballots, and he covered his up halfway as he wrote his own name on the line.

No use pretending, he thought. Can you imagine if I wrote Specs’ name? He snorted to himself and folded the paper in half.

Mr. Sanders collected the papers in a small wicker basket, and tossed them a few times before pulling them out.

“Virgil, would you keep track of numbers on the board, please?” he asked.

Virgil slunk to the front of the room and picked up the chalk, scratching a shaky line each time the teacher counted a ballot. Roman bounced his leg as the numbers went up. He had four, five, six…

“And that’s it!” Mr. Sanders said. “That makes Roman our class president with six votes, and Dahlia our deputy president with five. Congratulations, you two.”

Roman only smiled and nodded, but inside he felt his heart turn over.

A few people still voted for me, even after that mess yesterday. And Specs didn’t even come second. The tally marks on the board showed that Logan was a close third behind Dahlia, but in the end he hadn't won. Being bookish doesn’t make a hero, kid, Roman thought, glancing at Logan and searching for a hint of disappointment. But Logan’s face was unconcerned as he opened up his notebook and picked up his pen.

Probably real torn up inside, I’d imagine, Roman thought. Or maybe not. Sometimes seems like he doesn't feel anything.

***

“Hey, Earth to Roman,” Kai said.

“Hmm?” Roman’s fork had been suspended between his tray and mouth for thirty seconds. “Sorry, just thinking about some stuff.”

“You’re class rep now, man,” Kenny said. “You have to be alert! Attentive!” He karate-chopped the air jokingly.

“Very funny,” Roman said. He turned to Kai. “What were you saying?”

“I asked if you heard about this new villain,” Kai said. “It was all over the news this morning.”

Roman shrugged. He’d woken up late and barely had time to get dressed before rushing out the door.

“A big logo was drawn on the sidewalk in front of city hall today - a black circle with half-circles for eyes.”

“Doesn’t sound like a villain to me,” Kenny said. “Probably just a street artist messing around.”

“Oh come on, right in front of city hall? Sure seems like a threat,” Kai retorted.

“Your dad didn’t mention it, Roman?” Kenny asked. Roman’s friends knew that the one-time Flying Falcon followed hero and villain news religiously.

“Oh, he’s been travelling this week,” Roman said. “Giving a speech at some college or something.” Despite his retirement, the Falcon still received frequent calls for visits, promotions, and sponsorships.

“I mean, considering how many heroes graduate every year, it’s crazy that villains can keep up,” Kenny said.

“Half of them are just one-time petty thieves trying to get on TV without knowing the first thing about actual methods,” Roman groaned. He couldn’t stand wannabes. “Their quirk is kinda cool and suddenly they think they’re the next supervillain of the century. They always get unmasked as some twenty-something who works as a barista or whatever.”

Rafaela slid into the cafeteria bench next to Kai in one fluid movement, courtesy of her elastic limbs.

“No need to show off,” Roman muttered. Rafaela had always been his biggest middle school competition.

“Says Roman,” she retorted. “What are you guys talking about?”

“That logo that appeared last night,” Kai said. “Looks like there’s a new villain in town.”

“Oh yeah, some villain,” she snorted. “What’s he gonna do, spray-paint the heroes into submission? I’m really scared.”

“Exactly what I was sayin,” Roman said. “It’s clearly just a stunt.”

“Well, we could pull a stunt of our own,” Rafaela said, taking a bite of her pasta salad.

“What are you talking about?”

“What, Roman Lightflight gets into hero school and suddenly leaves his deviant ways behind? Becomes a model student? Reforms from his delinquency?”

“Oh, come on, we never did anything all that bad,” Kai protested. “We went to a midnight movie once and didn’t pick up the popcorn we spilled.”

“Exactly,” Rafaela said. “We’re high schoolers now, we have to step up our game.”

“What’s your point?” Kenny asked.

“They haven’t cleaned up that logo yet,” she went on. “You know my mom is a secretary at the hall, and she said it’s going to be taken off tomorrow. They needed to buy a special cleaner, or something, I dunno.”

“And?”

“And there’s spray paint in my garage.”

Roman shifted in his seat. “You don’t think the area will be under surveillance?” he asked. “After this whole ‘new-villain-in-town’ thing?”

“Real heroes and police don’t talk like that,” Rafaela said. “You said yourself, some loser is just doing this for attention, and the media blew it up.”

“I’m in,” Kai said. “It’s like our rite of passage into high school.”

“It’s also sort of like a metaphor,” Kenny pointed out. “We’ve started learning how to wipe out villains, so we remove a symbol of villainy. It’s kind of poetic.”

“Ro-man,” Rafaela crooned. “Are you in?”

“Guys, we have homework,” Roman whispered, leaning across the table. He glanced left and right. The last thing he needed was getting reported to a teacher for this.

“Did running the course with Logan get to your head yesterday?” Rafaela asked, tapping Roman’s skull playfully.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Roman said, sitting back. He wasn’t fond of Rafaela acting like some kind of group leader. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Leave it to me,” she insisted.

***

“I can’t believe I left this to you,” Roman hissed, wiggling his hips in frustration.

“It’s not my fault your ass is so big,” Rafaela called back. “Doesn’t the window open any further?”

“It’s stuck,” Roman said. “Why couldn’t I just go out the door?”

“Oh sure, real advanced sneaking out technique,” Kai stage-whispered from the ground. “Just waltz out the front door. Are you insane? We’re in high school now.”

“My dad’s not even home, and my mom sleeps like a rock,” Roman insisted. “And it seems awfully convenient for you guys that I’m the only one who lives in a second-floor bedroom.”

“Oh, screw this,” Rafaela muttered. Her arms extended like eery eels under the moonlight and her hands reached out for Roman. “Come on.”

Roman groaned with humiliation as he took her hands. With a forceful flick, she retracted her arms, and Roman somersaulted face-first out the window and fumbled for a grasp on the shingles, skidding to a stop by jamming one foot against the drainpipe.

“Nice! Now jump down so we can get Kenny!” Kai said.

“Sure,” Roman said, keeping his screams internal. He slid onto his stomach and swallowed as he scooted backward and felt air under his feet. “How far am I from the ground?” He’d tried to sound casual, but heard the strain in his voice and tried to clear his throat.

“It’s not that far,” Rafaela said.

“I mean, it’s kinda-” Kai started to say.

Roman dropped. His landing didn’t jolt, but squelched, and he felt himself sink slightly. 

“Thought that might be safer,” Kai said as Roman tried to disentangle himself from Kai’s goo.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Roman said, finally scrambling to his feet.

It was only a few blocks to Kenny’s house, but Roman felt like they’d been walking for an hour when he finally said, “One of us needs to hurry up and get a driver’s license so we can stop sneaking out on foot.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Kai said. “Does the class president need a nappy-wappy?”

“It’s after midnight, cut me some slack.”

“Will you two hush?” Rafaela said as Kenny’s house loomed in front of them. Kenny was waiting on the step.

“Did you use the front door?” Roman asked.

“Duh, what else should I have done, climb out the window?”

“Whatever, let’s go.”

Rafaela claimed to know the fastest way to the city hall, and it was useless asking her it slow down; when she got excited, her legs tended to stretch an extra foot in front of her. Kai, the shortest, had to jog every third step to keep up. The only benefit of this was that the fast pace made the trip seem shorter, and it wasn’t long before they were near the center of town. Signs blinked the time lazily, and Roman groaned at the single-digit numbers. The streets were lit, but fairly deserted. It was the middle of the week, and even the pubs and clubs were mostly empty. A gas station and a 24-hour grocery were still bright, but most of the rest of the street was darkened.

“There’s the hall,” Rafaela said. “Let’s go see the logo.”

City hall was dark too, looming slightly in the darkness about a block away. Kai drew a deep breath to Roman’s left.

“You okay?” Roman asked.

“Rafaela is so fast,” he complained, standing with his hands on his knees.

“We’re almost there,” Roman said. “Come on.”

Kai groaned and began speed-walking again, and Roman fell in behind him

Roman felt a buzz on his thigh and fumbled in his pocket for his phone, trying not to slow down. As he glanced down, a passing man bumped into him, and Roman almost dropped the phone.

“Hey!” Roman snapped, turning over his shoulder to glance at the retreating man.

The man looked back. He was wearing a long coat with a hood and high collar, but under the sharp illumination of the streetlamp, Roman thought he recognized a sharp cheekbone and dark eyes. Roman turned around quickly and shuffled up between Kenny and Kai.

“What’s wrong?” Kenny asked.

“Shush,” Roman said. “I think I just saw Mr. Sanders.”

“What?” Kai exclaimed.

“I said shush,” Roman said as Rafaela slowed down to walk next to them.

“You think you saw who?” she said.

“Thomas Sanders,” Roman said. “I think he just bumped into me.”

Rafaela turned her head and scratched her neck, stealing a glance over her shoulder. “Well, if you saw him before, he’s gone now. He must not have recognized you.”

“He looked right at me,” Roman insisted, resisting the urge to look back down the street.

“What would Mr. Sanders be doing wandering the city at night?” Kenny said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re probably just nervous,” Rafaela said. Roman bristled. “Fine, fine,” Rafaela said, holding up her hands. “We’ll take the long way around, make sure nobody is behind us.” She yanked Roman’s arm as she turned down an alley, picking up speed again.

“What are we doing?” Kai groaned. “The City Hall is that way.”

“We’ll come from behind.” Rafaela said. “In fact...If we come from this direction, we’ll be right behind the hero’s honor statue. If anybody’s around, we’ll see them before they see us.” She kept one hand tightly grasped around Roman’s bicep, and he found himself being half-dragged as her strides increased with excitement.

“There’s the statue,” Rafaela whispered as they emerged into the square. “Come on.” She was only illuminated by the streetlamp for a moment before ducking into the shadow of the statue, and the boys followed her.

“Let’s get this over with and go home,” Roman hissed.

“Where’s the logo?” Rafaela asked. She stood up and peeked over the brick base of the statue.

“Everything clear?” Roman asked.

“Yeah. Wait…” She paused. “I think there’s somebody across the square.”

“Let me see,” Roman said, shifting into a crouch next to her. She pointed, and Roman stared between the bronze legs of the statue toward the intersection. There was somebody with a high coat collar walking slowly toward the building. Roman grabbed Rafaela and yanked her back to the ground.

“That’s who I saw before,” he hissed urgently. “It’s Mr. Sanders.”

“Lemme see!” Kai said, standing up. He was barely tall enough to look over the base of the statue. “It’s too dark, that could be anybody.”

“I saw him,” Roman insisted. “Why would I make that up?”

“What’s he doing, anyhow?” Rafaela asked. The figure was still in shadow, standing in one place outside the reach of the streetlights. He might have been gazing into the window of a nearby building. “Super creepy.”

“Is he looking at us?” Kenny asked, still sitting.

“I can’t tell,” Rafaela said.

“Should we go?” Kai slunk below the edge of statue again.

“I didn’t climb out that stupid window for nothing,” Roman said. Class president, he reminded himself. “Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

The only sound was the distant buzz of traffic, the occasional rattle of a train, and a faint hum from the nearest streetlamp as the four students crouched behind the statue. The man across the street seemed to gather his bearings and began moving toward the city hall.

“He saw us,” Kai whispered fearfully.

“Shush. He might just be looking at the logo,” Rafaela said. The logo was still hidden from their view by the steps to the hall. The man approached the place and stood staring down. Roman wasn’t sure if he imagined the familiarity of the man’s shoulders, his gait. The hum of the streetlamp seemed to grow louder in Roman’s ears.

“I expected you to be here.”

Rafaela stifled Kai’s gasp with one hand, pulling the smaller student against her. Kenny and Roman shared a fearful glance. They all knew that voice.

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” a second voice said. Roman and Rafaela squabbled for a look, frantically silent. A figure had appeared on the city hall steps, either emerged from the building or dropped from the roof, but it seemed as if he might have emerged from the shadows themselves. Rafaela gripped Roman’s arm so tightly he felt her nails dig into his skin.

Roman had to struggle to understand the next words over the roaring in his ears.

“It’s good to see you again, Falcon,” the first man said.

“I fear you may have the upper hand, my friend,” the Flying Falcon said. “You know who I am, and I’m afraid we haven’t met.”

The figure straightened up for the first time, revealing the face Roman had printed on his brain. Rafaela stared at him in astonishment.

“Multi-Man?” the Flying Falcon said. “There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, old friend,” Mr. Sanders said. The voice that was usually so warm echoed cold off the stone steps. “There’s a new era coming to the city. This is only the first sign. Forgive the publicity stunt, I needed you to be here.”

“And why is that?”

“Roman,” Rafaela whispered. “Roman, let’s go.”

“To make the second sign,” Mr. Sanders said. “By defeating one of the most iconic heroes of our era.”

“Roman, come on,” Kai insisted, tugging on Roman’s shirt.

The Flying Falcon took a step back, and Roman felt his throat grow cold — he couldn’t swallow. “I don’t want to fight you, Multi-Man,” Falcon said. “Let’s talk about this, you’re not well.”

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Sanders said. “Don’t tell me you’re too soft to fight, Falcon.”

The Flying Falcon straightened. “I notified the police when you approached city hall. They’ll be here any minute.”

“You’ll have to keep me there until then,” Mr. Sanders said. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and Roman felt his stomach tighten as, with a sudden transition, two Mr. Sanders stood in front of city hall. This was the power that had felled villains, saved cities, prevented disasters.

And now his father was facing it.

“Roman, we have to get out of here,” Rafaela said. “The police are coming.” Kai and Kenny were already dashing for the alley.

The first Mr. Sanders split a second time, and the copies rushed toward the Flying Falcon, who assumed a fighting stance. In a flurry of blows, he felled both copies, who disintegrated as they hit the ground.

There were police sirens in the distance. Rafaela let go of Roman’s arm and sprinted for the alley.

More copies appeared and rushed up the steps, and the Falcon was able to use the height to his advantage, striking downward to take out the copies. However, as they increased in number, the hero began backing up the steps, unable to defend on three sides. His breath was coming quickly, and Roman could see him tiring. He swung his leg around in one huge kick to drive the copies back, and jumped up two more steps, crouching. With one leap, he moved to take flight. He was suspended for one moment in the moonlight, and Roman’s heart jumped.

One of the copies reached up and just managed to grasp the Falcon’s ankle. Thrown off balance, the Falcon’s momentum carried him forward and down into the tide of copies, of which there were now over a dozen. He vanished under them.

Roman’s hand flew up in a motion that was automatic. Something swelled inside him, and he felt his body grow hot. A tremor ran from his shoulder to his hand, and a blinding light shot through the legs of the statue, and into Multi-Man’s face.

Mr. Sanders cried out, raising his hands to his eyes, and as he stumbled backward, the copies melted into the air. The Flying Falcon was illuminated on the steps for an instant before the light also dissipated. A police car screamed around the corner, followed by two more.

Roman felt paralyzed, as if all the heat had streamed out of his body with the light and left him frozen.

Mr. Sanders was still recovering from the light, but heard the sirens and sprinted for the opposite intersection. Officers were streaming from the vehicles, and the first of them paused to reach for the Falcon.

“Don’t worry about me.” The hero’s voice was so quiet Roman could barely hear him. “He went that way, you have to stop him.”

More officers were following, but the dark figure was already out of sight. They were asking questions, shining lights, dashing around. One car drove in the direction of the fleeing man.

None of them noticed a teenager fleeing the scene.

[airariaira]

Final Thoughts - 24/04/2020

Here we are, at my very last blog entry... What an experience it has been. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.

First of all, I would just like to thank NZIIU from the bottom of my heart for giving me this incredible opportunity. This would never ever have happened without all of the help I got from NZIIU. All throughout my exchange, the team at NZIIU was incredble. From their help during the application process, to their clear and helpful instructions and guidance for my travel and arrival, to their answering any questions or concerns I had while on exchange, even to how quickly they arranged my early travel home due to the current pandemic situation. NZIIU are a helpful organisation with a friendly personality, and I’m very glad I chose them to go on exchange with. They made the process of going on exchange a comfortable and very enjoyable one.

I have wanted to go on exchange for most of my time at high school, and decided to finally apply to go at the start of my gap year. My initial desire for going on exchange was fuelled by wanting to improve my French skills and knowledge, and being inspired by others I knew who had already been on an exchange. Another personal reason that I wanted to experience an exchange was because I wanted to have the opportunity to experience a new culture, living like a local, and meet some realy cool new people all the way on the other side of the world. The reason I decided to go on my exchange during my gap year is because I really wanted to be able to focus all my energy into getting the most out of my exchange experience, rather than feeling hung up on grades and school stresses from back home. In hindsight, it may have been nice to utilise my improved French skills in class, but for the most part I am very glad I made this decision. 

I went on exchange to France, and was placed in the beautiful and historic city of Troyes, in the Champagne region. Troyes was a really cool place to have been placed in, and I could not have chosen a cooler place myself. Because Troyes is so close to Paris (just a train ride away) I also had the opportunity to take a few day trips to Paris with my host family, which was so cool - I was very excited to be able to explore a bit of France. School was great, too - it gave me a chance to meet some really cool people who would become my peers, classmates, and friends. It was really awesome being able to speak and learn French with people the same age and in the same classes as me. I also loved having the opportunity to take new classes I hadn’t taken before back home in New Zealand. I was placed in the Litterature (L) stream, which meant I had lots of history and geography, English, Literature, art... And I even had the chance to learn philosophy! Though sometimes I felt pretty out of my depth at school (I didn’t have any French as a second language classes, and only recieved one tour of the campus on my first day in terms of exchange student support), the feeling of independence this gave me did help me feel like just a normal student at school.

One of the best parts of my exchange experience was my incredible host family.I feel so incredibly grateful for them - how they opened up their lives and home to me so that I could have a wonderful exchange experience. They were all lovely and supportive, always helping me to feel included in their family and encouraging me to practice and improve my spoken French at every opportunity. Some of my favourite moments from exchange I would have to say were mealtimes with my host family, sitting around the table and chatting and laughing casually. When I left, I didn’t know how to adequately express how grateful I felt for them in words. I wish I could have had a better opportunity to give them some more nice gifts before I left. Thank you so so much for inviting me into your lives with such open arms!

Now, while an exchange is as a whole an incredible and very rewarding experience, it (like most things in life) wouldn’t be without it’s drawbacks and challenges. I would say some things to be aware of before committing to going on an exchange would be these challenges. One of the main ones would of course be missing out in things back home. Personally, I missed being there for the birth of my half-sister, which was hard but we all decided that it would be okay for me to simply meet her a little later. Some other things one could be missing out on might be more minor things like school, jobs, hangs with friends, etc. But then again, I’d say to that, what good things don’t come with a little sacrifice? Another tough part of exchange for me would have been the language barrier. It was pretty overwhelming at the beginning feeling like everyone around me was speaking French at a million miles a minute and I could barely keep up... I will admit I also made a good number of silly mistakes! It does all get lots better and a whole lot easier with time, though. In addition to that, it can sometimes feel hard to fit into a whole different culture. We might experience some culture shock, or feel a little isolated at times because we come from a different background. However it’s important to remind ourselves that it’s our differences that make us so rad! Having mentioned all of these challenges, though, it’s important we’re not too discouraged from taking the leap and going on exchange - they’re simply challenges, not barriers, and the good parts outweigh the harder parts by far.

One of the best parts of exchange, as I already have mentioned, was the awesome people I had the opportunity to meet and get to know. These included my host family, my classmates, my friends... even other NZIIU exchange students I met through pre-departure orientation. I feel so lucky to have met all of these incredible people, none of whom I likely would have ever had grace my life without my exchange. Another benefit, of course, would be the immense improvement of my French. I feel a lot more comfortable and confident now speaking French than I ever would have been before going to France. I remember on the bus home after my last day of school, one of my classmates said to me how happy she was for me that my French had improved so much. I’m happy for me too! Now, just to maintain the motivation to practice without French being spoken all around me all day every day... (I kid, of course I don’t want to lose the valuable language knowledge and skills I’ve gained). A third incredible benefit of going on exchange would be the great experiences I had and the awesome memories I made. Trying to frantically take notes on Kant in philosophy class, getting confused by the metro system in Paris, goin skiing and falling on my butt many times, going to a local burger restaurant with my host family, getting bubble tea and going to the carnival with friends... The list goes on. I feel so grateful and happy that I was able to gain these amazing experiences, and I will treasure the memories for all time.

Before I finish off this last blog entry, I’d like to give some advice for anyone considering whether an exchange is for them, or anyone about to head off on their big exchange adventure. First of all, if you’re heading to a predominantly non-English speaking country, don’t be too hard on yourself when your language skills aren’t perfect. You’re still learning! It’s okay and completely natural to make mistakes, and you can’t expect yourself to magcally become fluent overnight (or really throughout your exchange, for that matter.) Don’t place your expectations too high, and be kind to yourself. Secondly, I’d like to remind you how important and kind and lovely your host family is! They are there throughout your whole exchange, looking after you, they’ve got your back and they’re providing for you so that you can have the best exchange experience possible. Appreciate them! I would definitely recommend getting them some really nice gifts. I think if I could recommend some gifts to my pre-exchange self, I would say maybe a book or something on native New Zealand birds, and perhaps some famous New Zealand snacks (everyone loves some jaffas or whittakers). Get things that to you really represent you and your Kiwi culture. And don’t stop being grateful for the support of your host family. Next I’d say, write a travel journal! I know for sure that my future self will feel so grateful for me because I wrote not only this blog, but my travel journal too. Having that journal is something special and personal that you will always have to look back on when you want to relive one of the coolest experiences of your life. Speaking of, I’d also say don’t miss any opportunities. Take charge and do anyting and everything you have the chance to do. An exchange is what you make it!

Finally, I’d like to say that I want everyone considering going on exchange to know that it isn’t as big, scary or impossible experience as we sometimes tend to convince ourselves it is. Anyone can do it if they have the desire and motivation to make it happen! It’s so weird to me now, thinking back on how nervous I was to apply to go on exchange, all the scary “what if”s that were floating their ways about my mind. I’d tell that anxious part of me, try to stop thinking “what if...” and instead consider; “why not?” If you want to make an exchange happen for you, why not just do it!?

Thanks again for reading and coming along on this super cool experience with me! This is me signing off. ❤️️

[echodrops]

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

For the past thirteen years, I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve compiling a list of fifty promises I intend to keep or fulfill over the next twelve months. The results have been truly amazing, and I have kept some promises I never thought I could. 2019 was… a nightmare that I can barely believe I survived, but I still kept some promises that I honestly did not expect I ever could.

This year, for New Year’s, there will be a new set of promises for to me keep, but here are the old ones, for review!

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

1) Be more proactive about tracking and following up with struggling students to decrease the number of students who drop from my class when they realize they cannot pass. Status: Somewhat broken? I tried really hard to be proactive with my students; however, there were some massive issues outside the classroom this year that made it extremely difficult to keep the focus on the students. When administration drags your attention away from the class, there is not a lot you can do…

2) Find a place to put in volunteer hours because uhhhh like this is actually important to my work evaluation and I definitely need something to write in that section… Yikes, this spring is my last chance to do this!! @_@ Status: Kept. I volunteered with the Utah Shakespeare Festival and it was super fun!

3) Install the fire escape window in the Utah house, no matter how much it might cost, because I can’t get a totally unrelated tenant in that basement without said window… Status: Somewhat kept. Okay. This one is a LONG story, but to be fair to me, I worked my ASS off to try and make this happen; just every single thing in the world prevented me from completing this promise, up to and including the city telling me I needed a permit AFTER I had already dug a massive hole in the ground for the window…

4) Buy sod to add grass to the front portion of the lawn so that it no longer looks like garbage. Status: Broken, but I did buy grass seed and put that out there. Unfortunately only some of it sprouted, but there is indeed SOME grass now growing there…

5) Fix the bricks near the windowsills on the Utah house to prevent long-term damage. Status: Broken. After dealing with the stupid window disaster, I had no time for this at all.

6) Get a watering system for my roses at the Utah house because I think my bro is probably killing them and that’s just not cool. Status: Broken, see above.

7) Work on the patio at the Utah house before it just flat out falls down. Status: Somewhat broken. Again, I tried to make progress on this—I called a patio guy to come out and assess how much it would cost to fix the patio—but the price I was quoted was so high that there was nothing I could do at the time.

8) Paint the stairwell so that there’s no chance of anything like lead paint or asbestos being exposed. Status: Broken. The leftover wallpaper glue continues to confound me…

9) Trim the backyard bushes so the neighbors don’t hate us anymore… Status: Broken. We trimmed a few bushes and at least got to the trees out front, but definitely a majority were left uncared for.

10) Move into a new house in Texas where I can get real internet, please for the love of god… Status: Kept. I moved into a very nice house with no scorpions!

11) Save money for my upcoming trip to Japan! 2020 baby! Status: Uhhh, broken. I’m not sure how I thought I’d be able to move into a new house AND save money for an international trip at the same time…

12) Get my wisdom tooth removed because it’s still there and still killing me, yikessss. Status: Broken. AUGH. I’m an idiot.

13) Make an appointment with an eye doctor for like the first time in years. Good job, Yehn, good job. Status: Kept. I got my glasses fixed and even got a new pair of glasses too!

14) Get my prescriptions refilled because I’m dwindling on asthma medicine and like… I could die from this… I should never have been left to care for myself; I’m not mature enough for this responsibility… Status: Kept, surprisingly. But I still need a new doctor because the last one I was going to wouldn’t give me any refills…

15) FINISH THE GIVEAWAY PRIZES I PROMISED LAST YEAR because holy shit I am incompetent and the worst and everyone has permission to hate me for starting things and never finishing them, fuck. Status: Broken. So broken. I am the worst.

16) Go dolphin watching in the Gulf for real this time. Seriously, it’s $10 Yehn, you can do this. Status: Kept, amazingly. It wasn’t as impressed as hoped; however, there was a lovely sunset.

17) Return to the Channel Islands to take better pictures. D; Status: Broken. T_T

18) Level all my classes to 70 in FFXIV before next expansion, please. Status: Somewhat broken. I didn’t have everything to 70 before the expansion, but I kind of feel like I should get credit for this one, because HEY, look at me now:

19) Organize and properly label all the photos on my computer so that I’m no longer desperately combing through folder and folder in blank confusion, looking for a single picture in a sea of thousands… Status: Kept. It took me like eight hours of work, but I actually did this.

20) Update Home and a Half more than once? PLEASE??? The guilt I feel over this currently is crushing. Status: Broken. And the guilt grows…

21) Complete the online American Literature class I am designing on time and with no corrections needed. Status: Kept. I’m counting this as kept even though TECHNICALLY there was one thing I forgot to finish and it came back and bit me in the ass; however, I was approved with no corrections needed.

22) Earn 100% completion for Kingdom Hearts III. So excited! Status: Broken. Um… This just didn’t happen.

23) Update my calendar with important dates—holidays, birthdays, etc.—and be productive about sending cards and well-wishes. Status: Somewhat kept. I wasn’t any better about sending cards really, but I did at least save all the birthdays in my phone so I remember them.

24) Get the garbage disposal in the Texas house fixed ASAP so I don’t have to wash the dishes by hand anymore because I absolutely hate that particular chore. Status: Kept. Then I moved, so it didn’t even matter.

25) Finish all the books my coworkers and friends bought for me recently so I can thank them for their recommendations! Status: Broken. So broken.

26) Actually move into my new place instead of leaving it completely undecorated and lifeless. Status: Remarkably, kept. Nothing has plastic on it, unlike at my old house where the nightstand didn’t get unwrapped even after two years of living there lol.

27) Try hard to get Creative Writing into a different area of the general ed. core so that more people will enroll in it. Status: Kept. I’m counting this because I did my darn best, but we are still waiting on the state to tell us whether or not the class will be accepted.

28) Get caught up on my Ebird reports, even the old, old, old ones I never put in because I was slacking. Status: Kept, actually. Whoo.

29) Throw away/return/sort all the stacks of old mail in the house (OMGGGG they’ve made me look like paper hoarder and I’m nootttt). Status: Broken. There’s just… a lot of papers to go through…

30) Clean up the garage before moving so that I don’t have to fight spiders to move when the time comes. Status: Broken, in that I did not clean up the garage in advance and did, in fact, have to fight spiders when it came time to move.

31) Find a way to boost grading productivity so that each class takes only two days to grade, maximum. Status: Somewhat kept. I was definitely better this year than last year; however, I really think the “two days per class” thing was too optimistic, so for the future semester, I allotted myself three days per class and I think it will work better.

32) Go to a totally new restaurant and try their food. Status: Kept. We went to a Mexican restaurant and I had trompo tacos (al pastor) which is probably not anything special to anyone else but it was my first time so lol.

33) Cancel old credit cards to make sure my credit is good before trying to buy a house (although I just checked my credit score and I’m in the great range already, so this is mostly for posterity’s sake). Status: Broken. But it didn’t affect my loan, so I guess it was okay. And it ended up being good I didn’t cancel my Best Buy card because I was able to get good financing on the new appliances I needed for my house.

34) Get official contracts from my tenants so I can use my rental income in my next loan calculation. Status: Broken, but I ended up not using that as part of the loan calculation anyway >_> so…

35) Talk to an HR rep about my retirement savings so that I can consolidate all my retirement accounts into one. (Man, look at all these ADULTING promises.) Status: Broken. Look at me failing all these adulting promises.

36) Really finish decorating my office so it looks super cute and all my students want to visit me. Status: Broken, but I think it sucks that I have to write this because it was really not my fault I couldn’t finish decorating my office. Our offices were all moved and disrupted by building remodels so I spent the entire year basically working out of a couple cardboard boxes.

37) Not sign up for ANY more new responsibilities at work in the spring semester. This is the biggest challenge. D; Status: Kept, by technicality. I was able to avoid signing up for anything new in SPRING… But fall… was a whole other story. XD

38) Migrate all the rest of my books to the new Texas house instead of leaving them in Utah… SOMEHOW. Status: Kept. I’m going to count this as kept. The only books left at the Utah house are my manga—I managed to bring literally every other book, which is very impressive considering I had only my small Camaro with its tiny truck space.

39) Use my twitter account more often to make it worth following. I will try!! Status: Kept… sorta? I mean, since I didn’t use the account AT ALL before, making even one Twitter post kind of counts as using it more, right? >_>

40) Keep my hair cut nicely so I look less like a mess (than I really am). Status: Somewhat broken. Although I think I got my hair cut more often this year than before, I don’t think I looked any less like a mess. XD

41) Successfully find a bridesmaid dress for my friend’s wedding that matches the rest of the wedding party. Status: Actually kept! It was incredible. The wedding I was in was even featured in a magazine because of how pretty it was!

42) Make sure my skin is in good condition for the wedding so I don’t look like a disturbing ghost… Status: Kept? I mean, in the end, looking like a ghost ended up being the whole point since it was a Halloween themed wedding so I kind of won either way.

43) Complete my BNHA manga collection. Since my bro bought me a bunch of the volumes for Christmas, I might as well. Status: Broken… I bought like… one volume. XD

44) See a groove-billed ani. (It’s another type of bird.) Status: Broken. Very illusive bird. T_T

45) Respond to messages, asks, and comments more quickly. I promise I’m not ignoring people… D; Status: Um, broken. I left many people on read this year, sorry.

46) Lose ten pounds so that I feel more fit and comfy. Status: Broken. I didn’t exercise at all this year, uff.

47) Pay down credit card debt by at least 1/3. Yikesssss, I really need to do this quick. Status: Broken. It’s hard to pay down a credit card when you pour all your money into buying a new house…

48) I will finally fucking finish that chapter 73 analysis of Noragami… I swear to god… Status: Broken. Uh yeah. This didn’t happen. V_V

49) Reach 1700 followers on Tumblr. You should follow me—I’m only marginally a waste of time and space! Status: Kept. Over 2500 followers now!

50) I will keep these promises. LOLLLLL. Status: Somewhat kept/somewhat broken. One year I really will keep them all…

 Totals Kept promises: 18 Broken promises: 24 Somewhat kept/broken promises: 8

Well, there are more kept promises than last year at least… It was another really hard year, what with moving in the middle of the year, over-working, dealing with so much drama with the reaccreditation on our campus, and just EVERYTHING all at once this last year… I keep thinking things are going to calm down and then they never do. Please 2020… just let me rest…

My new set of promises will be up on the 1st!

[thelifeoftuan]

Journalism Hell

There’s a little known fact about me. Or a fact that is usually forgotten. Either way. In college, apart from my Biochemistry major and pursuit of a career in medicine, I was also a Journalism major.

We’ll backtrack a little bit. Spring 2010 of my sophomore year of college, following a meeting with my advisor within the College of Arts and Sciences for my Biochemistry degree towards the end of that semester, I sort of spun out of control into this existential crisis. Hahaha! Why, you might ask? Well, it was at that meeting that my advisor was reviewing all of my credits and told me that I was on track to graduate the following Spring. And I was like, “What?” He looked over all of my requirements and said that with some good planning, I am set to graduate the following year. And in my head, I, for some reason, started to panic. Hahaha! I was like, “Um, excuse me dude, I’m only a sophomore. I haven’t even taken the MCAT yet, let alone apply for medical school. I’m not ready to graduate.” I remember asking him what my options were, and he was like, either book it and take the MCAT two months ago and apply to medical school yesterday then saunter on over to the commencement department and get ready to apply for graduation... or, do something else. I went home and stewed. ...like stewed to the point where the stew burned. And I was like, “what the shit! I didn’t plan for this!” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, why am I complaining, right? The prospect of graduating a year early from college isn’t something to be butt-hurt about. But at that time, I was definitely not ready, mentally or emotionally. Not to mention I was nowhere near ready to really plunge into the horrid process of applying for medical school. That would have required me to get together letters of recommendation, transcripts, take the MCAT (and do somewhat well), apply for our pre-medicine committee interview (a stupid and unnecessary process, honestly, in retrospect), decide where I wanted to try to go to medical school and get those applications together... within a matter of weeks, because if memory serves me right, the application cycles started in the summer. So after I (rather unnecessarily, I will admit) agonized about this, I was like, “nah bro, we’re staying the full four years.” And it was at that time that I then embarked on my existential crisis. What the crap was I gonna do that will effectively prolong my stay in college to the appropriate four years? And it took a couple of days. I didn’t want to squander my time (or money, to be honest) doing something that wasn’t worthwhile. But I also didn’t want to over-tax myself. At first, I was like, well? I’ve always seen myself as a writer, maybe I should delve down that route. I initially thought about picking up an English major or minor. I spent hours and hours pouring over the coursework and projecting my class schedules and how that would pan out or if it would even work. And I discovered that it would if I picked up an English minor. And this department was within the College of Arts and Sciences, and so I wouldn’t have to really branch out too far from “home base.” But then I delved further into the required classes and read up on the syllabi (syllabuses? ...silly buses?) and looked up the instructors on the university online database, and review after review for course after course... they were all mostly bad with, at best, a B- average for grades, and I was like, “...I actually don’t think this is for me.” Being a literature buff was not my thing, and I think the English minor/major at my university trains students for that... which, in my opinion, was not worth my time or energy. I barely knew how to read, let alone critically analyze literature. I definitely was not going to risk something that would take shots at my already teetering GPA if I could help it, especially if it was something additional I was taking on. At that point, I would’ve rather graduated a year early and figure it out from there. So I scrapped that idea. And then it was back to the drawing board. Another several days of searching and seeking counsel... and then one day, a random thought came into my head. There was this nice building at the southern corner of the campus that was one of the newer colleges of our university, the College of Journalism. I would always walk by this building but never ventured in. One nice summer day that Spring semester of 2010, I did. And immediately, I felt sort of the same “at home” vibe I had felt all those years ago when I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician. Another little known fact. I actually started writing (for lack of a better term, honestly) before I even decided medicine was my calling. I remember in kindergarten, I had started writing and I remember my teacher reading some of my stories to my classmates. It wasn’t talent. It was a whim. Some sort of strange whim that has carried me forward throughout the years, just like how my aspiration for a career in medicine did. Within the College of Journalism was a major known as Professional Writing. I went home immediately after that day and did all the research I could on this. There was, unfortunately, no minor offered for any of the journalism majors. But the more I read about the Professional Writing track, the more and more I was sold. This major would train me and give me the skills I needed to become a more proficient writer and actually give me an avenue and motivation to continue writing as a potential career. None of that literary crap that made me despise high school English class, but stories that I would actually enjoy writing. I meticulously planned out my current coursework remaining for my Biochemistry major and overlay the required coursework for a Journalism-Professional Writing major... and it was like over-packing for a trip (another one of my wondrous qualities), borderline impractical and insane, but doable if done correctly. I asked myself, “how invested are you in this, Tuan?” I remember taking an afternoon to think about this, seeking opinions from some of my friends. And then, by the end of the day, I decided to go for it. I scheduled a meeting with an advisor at the college who, honestly and I think appropriately, questioned my sanity. I concretely remember him, one, looking at me with his eyebrows raised when I told him my background and experience (or lack thereof), and two, asking me repeatedly, “Are you sure about this?” But when I expressed my extreme interest and drive, he complied and laid out the requirements for me. I would have to take an entrance competency exam (basically a reading and writing exam). Thank goodness the foreign language requirements were the same among colleges, because I was not about to go down that route again (Spanish 3 is a story for another time...). That summer of 2010 would end up being my busiest summer. Because I picked this new major, I would have to get the required prerequisites out of the way before I could even think about starting any Journalism classes. So this required me to take two journalism classes over the summer. And I had also enrolled in a Biochemistry course that summer. So, three classes during that fateful summer of 2010. Hahaha! Not my smartest decision. But it felt like this new endeavor into the world of Journalism breathed new meaning in my life, and I felt rejuvenated and excited. Well, that feeling did not last too long. Hahaha! Mind you, yes, the entire way until I graduated college, I loved my Journalism major and classes, and it was definitely a reprieve away from my science classes and the stress of applying for medical school. But the very first class I had to take, and I will always remember the course ID to this day, was JMC 2033: Writing for Mass Media (JMC stood for Journalism and Mass Communication and was the ID used for all Journalism classes at my university). This was the introductory “weed-out” class for Journalism majors... which shocked me when my teacher, an impassioned writer and, in my opinion, rather poorly directed masters student who took pride in making this class the hardest it could ever possibly be, said to us on our first day, “If you are taking this class in the summer thinking that it was going to be easier, think again.” In my head, I was like, “oh shit.” No biochemistry professor of mine ever said that in any of my classes on the first day, and here I am, at a place I thought was the greener side of things, and there’s this crazy 20-something-year-old lady with an ego the size of the screen projected at the front of the classroom ready to skewer each and every one of us for the next 8 weeks. ...and skewer us she did. She definitely found some sick joy torturing us students in that class that summer. And I was so out of my element. I knew that I had a disadvantage and that this wasn’t something I had a true strength in. Other people in my class seemed to have read all the time and knew how to pick apart articles, had an eye for ads and design, understood the basic workings of PR and broadcasting. Me? I was the lowly writer who really only had the skills of an unpolished kindergartener. ...but I will be damned if I let my first step into the Journalism world be a misstep. So that summer, even more than my Biochemistry class, I worked my ass off more than ever before. Because it was a summer class, we crammed 16 weeks of work into 8... which was not the healthiest thing, honestly, because that required working and studying every single night, because this lady would present us with quizzes almost every single day of class. And this class was Monday through Thursday. Not to mention you had to make a C average or above in this class to be accepted into the College of Journalism (which, yes, is a given for anything, really), but as you will see from the quiz averages of this particular class, that was kinda touch and go, and I feared for my life and the life of my classmates at several points. And thus arrives the main topic of this post. Hahaha! (That took a while, right?) These quizzes we were subjected to tested absolutely everything (but truthfully, essentially nothing) about the supposed skills a journalist should have. Looking back... honestly, it was mostly hogwash, as you’ll come to see. Hahaha! This class was so bad and so hard that I ended up making daily Facebook status posts about it and then compiling them all together in a singular post titled “Lessons in Journalism Hell” posted on my Blogspot exactly 9 years ago today. I think the funniest (and frankly most appalling) thing this teacher did for this class was each morning, she would post the quiz averages of the day before on the large projector in front of the class, which I always wrote down so that I could relay how horrid this class was, and she also put the highest score and the lowest score on the projector and always, without fail, revealed to the class who made the highest score. ...if she had revealed who made the lowest score, she probably would’ve been murdered, honestly, because no one in the class liked her. And if someone made a perfect score, she would put the student’s name up there for all to see. ...it was kinda insane what this lady did. I look back on this course with such comical contempt, because I was like, “if all of my Journalism classes are going to be like this, I have made a grave mistake.” Thankfully, this was not the case. JMC 2033 is, notoriously, and especially when taught by this one particular crazy lady, is the hardest class in the college. I think what made it hard was it was an introductory course that attempted to teach all Journalism majors the basic concepts of journalism and mass communication, which included advertising, broadcasting, PR, and professional writing, and incorporated the necessities of media literacy and competence. I will say that I learned a few things from this class. But was any of it particularly useful? I mean, a good majority of our assignments and preparation for quizzes was to read or watch or listen to something that was published within a specific time window the day/night before and remember every single goddamn detail we possibly could and hope that we even read, watched, or listened to the right thing so that we could answer quiz questions the following morning. ...perhaps that only useful thing I did pick up from this class was a stronger resilience and work ethic than what I had previously. Haha! And so, without further ado, I would like to repost my Lessons in Journalism Hell on my tumblr today, to commemorate a rather miserable yet pretty laughable time in my life 9 years ago when I decided to pursue a Journalism major the summer before my Junior year of college. Each lesson is numbered and dated with a short sentence or two I devised to describe what the quiz was about, followed by the class average (and often my own personal commentary on such average). I don’t remember my own grades from these quizzes, as I didn’t write them down. It felt like it was poor form. Also, the teacher took back our quizzes after we had five seconds to review them (for some dumbass reason I will never understand), so I don’t have them in any archives of mine. But anyway, I present to you, Lessons in Journalism Hell, June 9 - July 29, 2010. June 9 | Journalism Hell Lesson #1: Copy-editing marks. A journalist MUST learn how to copy-edit using the CORRECT symbols and marks. Class avg: 57.7/100 ...HOLY CRAP! June 10 | Journalism Hell Lesson #2: Making distinctions. A journalist MUST learn how and when to use who vs. whom. Class avg: 79.6/100 June 14 | Journalism Hell Lesson #3: AP Style. A journalist MUST learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 63/100... and teacher said she expected great things from this quiz -.- June 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #4: Newspapers. A journalist MUST learn how to read a newspaper--and figure out what content the teacher will quiz over. Class avg: horrendously low... T_T June 16 | Journalism Hell Lesson #5: Language Lapses. A journalist MUST learn that you feel bad NOT badly, that mobs are always angry and beatings are usually brutal, and finally, that you are usually nauseated, NOT nauseous...unless you make OTHER people want to vomit. Class avg: 97.3/100 :] June 17 | Journalism Hell Lesson #6: Newspapers Round 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read the newspaper (again), analyze it, memorize important facts, and rely on sheer gut about what the heck the teacher will ask on the quiz. Class avg: 68.2/100 ...my Buddha. -.- June 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #7: Diversity. A journalist MUST know the difference between an oreo and a twinkie. Enough said. Class avg: 75.7/100 June 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #8: Diversity Part 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read online news sources about blacks, Native Americans, and gays. Class avg: 43.7/100 ...OH MY SNAPS! We're getting killed by these quizzes! June 23 | Journalism Hell Lesson #9: It's anyone's guess. A journalist MUST know that if he/she WERE smarter, he/she would have made a better grade on this quiz. Class avg: 77/100 June 24 | Journalism Hell Lesson #10: Huffingtonpost.com. A journalist MUST... oh, what the hell. This quiz was completely insane and taught me nothing besides how terribly vague and untimely the quiz content was. All I learned was that huffingtonpost.com updates multiple times and the time frame we journalism students were given was within a 10-hour time span. Class avg: 58.8/100 -- I'm starting to get worried... June 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #11: AP style round 2. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 70/100 June 30 | Journalism Hell Lesson #12: The Week (online magazine). A journalist MUST not give up. As we are all getting tired of this, refer back to lessons 4, 6, and 10. Class avg: 71.9/100 July 1 | Journalism Hell Lesson #JUST KIDDING: There was no quiz today. WHOOPEE! July 6 | Journalism Hell Lesson #13: Us Weekly. A journalist MUST not let his/her brain melt while reading this tabloid-esque trash. Class avg: 78.1/100 July 7 | Journalism Hell Lesson #14: AP style round 3. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP style of writing. Class avg: 93.2/100 ...WOOHOO! July 8 | Journalism Hell Lesson #15: Pluralizing. It's bitches and hoes! Class avg: 85.9/100 July 12 | Journalism Hell Lesson #16: AP style round 4. Class avg: 85.9/100 July 13 | Journalism Hell Lesson #17: AP style round 5. Class avg. 82.1/100 July 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #18: NPR. A journalist MUST listen to 20 stories of Morning Edition on NPR (National Public Radio) and remember all the details. Class avg. 76.4/100 July 19 | Journalism Hell Lesson #19: NBC Nightly News @ 5:30 p.m. A journalist MUST watch the 5:30 p.m. programming of NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. Class avg. 89.3/100 July 20 | Journalism Hell Lesson #20: AP style round 6. Class avg. 85.7/100 July 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #21: Advertising Age (AdAge.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with AdAge.com. Class avg. 70.9/100 ...and we were doing so well. -.- July 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #22: PR Newswire (prnewswire.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with a PR tool website. Class avg. 72.9/100 July 26 | Journalism Hell Lesson #23: ESPN.com. A journalist MUST ...seriously?! This is by far the stupidest thing I've studied. Class avg. 75.4/100 July 27 | Journalism Hell Lesson #24: The First Amendment. A journalist MUST memorize the First Amendment... word for word. Class avg. 81.5/100. Awesomeness! July 28 | Journalism Hell Lesson #25: TMZ.com. A journalist MUST read more trash. Ugh. Class avg. 68.6/100. ...GEEZ! July 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #26: Gawker.com. And so, the last lesson in Journalism Hell before the shit hits the fan. A journalist MUST read even MORE trash. -.- Class avg. 71.2/100 Hahaha! There you have it. Needless to say, I got through this class with an A (thank Buddha. I honestly would have been a little upset if the decision to pick up a second major in college brought down my GPA and further hurt my chances of getting into medical school). My teacher called out my name a number of times because I had made the highest grade on a quiz, and I think my name showed up on the board twice because I had made a perfect score on two quizzes. Each time, I just sunk into my seat and avoided eye contact. I definitely did not take these instances as accolades, because it made me feel really bad because the class averages were so low, and my classmates honestly were not having it with this lady, so I definitely did not appreciate her putting me on the spot. But regardless, I persevered and left JMC 2033 in the rear-view mirror as I started my actual Professional Writing classes the following fall semester. It gave me a giggle to go through this post again. Some comical memories of a pretty grueling summer, for sure, but productive and successful nonetheless. In the end, I definitely enjoyed my classes at the Journalism college, and it was definitely a decision that I did not regret. Anyway, just thought I’d trek through memory lane for a bit on this late night. Till next time. :]

[haydenstudiesblog-blog]

Paper Tips + Tricks in Lit(erature)

Sorry for that super lame title

Tip #1: Summarize in Lists

It’s always a good idea (BUT NOT REQUIRED) to include some sort of brief summary in your paper, but a common problem is allowing this summary to take up too much space on the page. We don’t need a run-down of the entire story; whoever is reading this paper has already read it. You just need enough to jog their memory. I suggest making a list of the important events in the story, the events that relate to your thesis, and pick the most important ones to use in the summary.

Tip #2: Include Author and Title 

It’s 100% required to mention both the author and title of the story you are analyzing or discussing in your paper. Like, non-negotiable. This may seem annoying, but there’s a super easy way to accomplish this... Just put it at the beginning of the thesis. Super easy, right? 

Here’s an example of an introductory paragraph I recently used in one of my paper, which got high marks (9.5/10 points) - 

Although many refuse to believe it, Christianity has a history of absorbing Pagan traditional values and forms. In her short story “The Company of Wolves” Angela Carter uses the fairy tale “Little Red Riding Hood” to demonstrate the complex relationship between Christianity and Paganism through the use of symbolic religious imagery.

So. Simple. And I didn’t even include a summary (which I did not get docked points for doing).

Tip #3: Include Genre

I took note of this the other day in my literature class. We cover up the name of whoever wrote the paper and project it onto the board to talk through together. One person included the genre in the middle of the author and title mention, so it looked something like this - 

In her fantasy-horror short story “The Company of Wolves” Angela Carter blah blah blah...

My professor commented on that, how she loved the inclusion of the genre, so I took note of it. It’s always nice to take note of the little things your professor likes to see in papers.

***However, I only recommend doing this if you’re super confident in the story’s genre. Or you can always look it up online.

Tip #4: Vampires Don’t Always Work

You may be thinking, “Uhh, vampires? When are there ever really vampires in literature? Why would I assume they always work?” Well, my friend, listen to this... There are more vampires in literature than we think. No, not the literal kind. I’m talking about literary vampire imagery. Example? You got it - 

Karen Joy Fowler’s “Heartland” is a short story about a young girl, Willina, who feels trapped in a tourist-trap version of Oz. She finds solace in a tourist who flirts with her at work, and she makes plans to run away with him. Then he leaves her behind, and she is so lost in anguish and longing that she decides the only way out is to take her own life. In this short story, Fowler plays with feelings of longing, ambition, and love; she successfully connects these feelings to victim-shaming and sexual assault through the use of vampire imagery.

Not my best introductory paragraph OR thesis, but you kind of get the idea, yes? It’s easier to understand if you read my paper, which you can; I posted it on my blog recently, the paper is titled “Vampires in the Heartland” and you can find it by going to my tag. But anyway.

Vampires in literature are any selfish character. They destroy others for selfish reasons. In the case of this story, the tourist is a vampire on this young girl Willina. He does not literally suck her blood, but she does end up killing herself so maybe in a way he sucked the will to live out of her. Vampires can be found in a lot of stories. But they don’t always work, so you have to be careful. If someone is acting purely out of desire and not selfishness, they aren’t a vampire.

Tip #5: Plan Structure

Let’s get straight to the point here - the best way to give your paper good structure is to just word vomit all over the page. But organize it into paragraphs. Word vomit everything you need to say about one point or one piece of evidence, and keep that all in one paragraph. Once you’re done, move on to the next piece of evidence or point and do it all again. Just keep it all separate.

I have a few ideas on how you can stay organized this way, whether you prefer to type or write everything down first.

Typing - Use a Word document, or your preferred place to type (I love Scrivener) and put each major point that you use to support your thesis on its own separate page. Word vomit on each page, then go through page by page and organize what you did until each page has a paragraph for that particular point that includes all of the evidence you want it to have. Once you’ve done that for every point, you can start organizing them in the order you want. The way they all flow together the best from one point to the other. After they’re in the order you want them, you have to create transitions between each point/paragraph. This is always the trickiest part for me, but once you have everything in the best order it makes it a lot easier.

Writing - Use a notebook and do the same thing; put each point on its own page and word vomit on each page. Keep it all separate. Once that’s done, mold each page until they are paragraphs instead of word vomit all over the page (also don’t worry about being neat with the word vomit, just make sure you can read it). Then consider ripping out all of the pages and physically laying them out in front of you, that way you can sort them into the desired order. Then of course you have to create transitions between each point/paragraph. 

If you are unsure about whether or not your points are in the best order, just hold tight...

Tip #6: Evidence/Points Order

Super basic advice here - decide what evidence is the strongest that supports your thesis and put that last. It’s easy to jump right in at the beginning out of excitement to talk about the best evidence you’ve ever found in your life that will make your thesis amazing and your paper a banger, but that leaves a very serious problem. What happens at the end, right before your conclusion? Your reader will be left disappointed. You got them all excited with that amazing evidence at the beginning, and left them hanging with the weakest evidence you had that really doesn’t do much. No. Leave them in amazement and put your best evidence last. Also a good reason to practice those structure processes I just talked about above.

Tip #7: Reevaluate Your Thesis

There’s a great chance that your thesis has somehow wound up in your conclusion. As you were writing, you probably got more and more excited and inspired and your mind created an amazing thesis and disguised it as a conclusion sentence. No. No. No. We’re not letting you get away with that. Hopefully you went ahead and waited until the end to do your introductory paragraph, because everyone knows those never hold up once you finished the rest of the paper, but in case you didn’t - go back and read it. Your thesis probably isn’t amazing anymore. Consider changing it.

Tip #8: Edit Forever

Up until now, you’ve just been writing your life away and organizing. Now, after you write your introductory paragraph (maybe before?), print out that paper and read it. It’s actually super important that you print it out to proofread it because our minds process it differently this way. You’ve been staring at it on the screen for a while now. Not only is your mind used to it, but our brains automatically skim things we read on screens. We read more thoroughly when things are in print. So print it out and proofread it. I recommend making marks in a color that’s NOT black, so it’s easier to see. And when you make a grammatical correction, circle it so there’s not a chance you’ll miss it when you go to fix it later.

Tip #9: Sentence Structure

Have you noticed that the rest of these tips are shorter? That’s because we’re almost done! But not yet.

You have limited space in this paper. You have a lot of points to make, and not a lot of room to do it. So you don’t have time for ramble-y sentences. Go through and get rid of those unnecessary words, like “that” (yes, 9 times out of 10 you actually don’t need the word). Where there are a lot of words where one will do, change it, but don’t do this so much that it doesn’t sound like you anymore. Your professor will notice if you sound like you have a PhD on paper and in person you couldn’t even tell them what half those words even mean. That doesn’t make you sound smart, it makes you look silly.

Also try to avoid going on long tangents in your paper. It can be hard, but try to notice them when you’re proofreading. Be concise in your sentences. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Tip #10: Double Check Citations

I’ll make a completely different post next week(ish) dedicated to citing literature papers. Until then, good luck. 

Tip #11: YOUR Title

You didn’t think I’d forget to address the title of your own paper, did you? Gosh. The key here is to just know your professor. I know my professor loves puns, so I try to make my titles appropriately punny. 

Here’s a secret - you actually aren’t allowed to just use the name of the story you’re writing about as the title of your paper. Annoying, right? Because that’s totally what I’d do if I could. You can use words from the title in your title. For example, the title of my paper of Karen Joy Fowler’s “Heartland” was “Vampires in the Heartland” but there’s a reason for this. The term “heartland” is actually what is used to describe the midwest, which is why it’s the name of the story. It’s used as a clue that this story takes place in Oz in Kansas, since that’s never explicitly stated in the story. There are just a ton of clues and hints dropped in that are meant to help you draw that conclusion. So I decided to use that in my title. And since my paper was about literary vampire imagery in this story, I settled with that name. My professor put a little heart next to it.

It’s fun to come up with punny names for your papers. Another example is my most recent paper, which was over a re-imagination of the Little Red Riding Hood fairy tale as a short story that demonstrated the history between Christianity and Paganism (my thesis statement for this is above). So for the title of that story I used “The Better to Preach to You With” which is actually super corny and I didn’t get a little heart next to it, but I almost got full points on the paper so she must’ve been fine with it.

You have to take the time to come up with a name, you might as well have fun with it.

That’s all I’ve got for now. I hope this was helpful. Feel free to add your own tips. Most of these are tips straight out of my literature professor’s mouth. Look for my post next week on citing a literature paper, which will be 100% tips by my professor. Of course every professor is different, but I’ve been using all of these tips on another literature professor of mine and she’s been good with them as well.

[madstermojo2000]

Hiii its your carat anon and I want to say that I am extremely sorry for being so late to respond, I have to just moved into my house and I should be able to reply faster now that everything has been sorted!!

Wahhh I will look forward to seeing your powerpoint, it will be so cool to see what you put!!

School really does drain you of wanting to do any hobbies, which is why I normally read in the summer and winter when I have finished my exams!! Omg shadow and bone, I have watched the first 2/3 episodes to far and I may even read the series as the whole concept is super cool!! I am so glad you're enjoying it!

I have watched Peter Pan but surprisingly I have never read it! I also have never heard of a Golden Age Children's Literature class, it sounds so interesting! But thank you for the recommendations!!

And if you don't mind me asking some other questions to get to know you? You don't have to answer them of course but do you watch any netflix series? or anime that you would recommend?? And also what are some of your favourite seventeen songs??

I also saw that we have a third mission which is to create a playlist!! Hmm it would be cool to see a playlist that are full of song recommendations or a playlist that is based on your aesthetic as I loveeee aesthetic things and I think it would be interesting to see!

Hopefully, the move went well!!! I'm excited to be able to talk a little bit more!!

So I finished the PowerPoint, but I think it's a bit long to post on its own so I'll share the link. Hopefully, that works fine and you can see it!! Here's the link!!

The show was so good!!! I'm excited about the second season!! Hopefully, I can finish the books before then but we shall see...

I would love to answer more questions!!! I watch a lot of kdramas so most of my recs will probably be kdramas, hope that's okay!!! Some of my favorites on Netflix (at least US netflix) are Her Private Life (WHICH THEY JUST ADDED AND I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT IT), Because this is My First Life, Signal (one of my all-time favorites), and Busted!! For non-kdramas my favorites are Jane the Virgin, New Girl, iZombie, and The Umbrella Acadamy!! I also really like the Terrace House series, which is a Japanese reality tv series!! It's been a long while since I've watched any anime but my favorites from when I did watch are Ouran High School Host Club, Fruit's Basket, Soul Eater, Death Note, and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. For some reason, I can never remember my favorite seventeen songs because I like everything and my favorites constantly change depending on my mood lol but if I were to name a few I would say Second Life, Kidult, Home, Thanks, and Space!! I could probably go through their discography and list a bunch but these are the ones off the top of my head!!

I tried to create a playlist based off of my aesthetic but I'll be honest I have no clue what my aesthetic would be lol I think if I were to describe it as anything it would be like a chill but happy aesthetic. Like I imagine the vibes of a sunset where everything looks pretty is it's kinda quiet but in a comforting way... maybe that was a bit of a weird way to describe it lol but that's what I feel like my aesthetic is. Honestly, the playlist is just some songs that I vibe with and I think fit my vibe and all songs I would recommend!! I hope you enjoy the playlist!!!

[agirlnamedally]

Allyyyy I start hsc on Monday and I'm supppppeeer nervous. I have been studying a lot but ofc enjoying my time with everyone at the library and talking etc. I'm stressing about my atar bc I really want to get in to social work bc I really wanna help people :((((( I wanna do psych but it's 99!!!!!

My tips for anyone starting Year 12/HSC/Senior Year:

Know that it’s perfectly normal to be nervous! I’m pretty sure I was scared to start VCE from Year 7 onwards, it always seemed like this giant, scary, looming monster that would destroy my happiness and suck out my soul like a dementor. Mostly, I just assumed I would have no free time, wouldn’t be able to keep up with the workload, and would fail absolutely everything.

Then, something funny happened. Year 11 came around and I realised… nothing had changed. The work might have been harder, but I had done the required training (aka Years 7-10) and was fully equipped with the skills to handle it. The transition from Year 10 to Year 11, and then again from 11 to 12, is really not that significant or scary! Your workload might increase a tiny bit, because (and in hindsight now I can look back and 100% support this) practice really does make perfect. Teachers don’t make you write 100 essays because they hate you and want you to be miserable or have no social life, it’s because they want you to be a good writer, but more than that, they know that the more essays you write, the easier it will be for you to write one come exam time. It will be less stressful, less terrifying and so much simpler to just regurgitate a piece of writing you’ve practically memorised because you’ve ingrained it into your memory throughout the year. That’s just an example for say English or Literature, but I think the same thing applies for all subjects, no matter how you’re tested. Practice makes perfect. Or at least, practice makes progress, haha.

Now, ATARs. Those finicky little bastards. I’m not going to tell you to forget about it, because I know that when I was in the midst of VCE it was always on my mind. I even had older kids, who had already graduated, constantly telling me how insignificant it was and that it wouldn’t matter one year from now, but I didn’t believe any of that. Now, looking back, I know that they were right. In terms of measuring your intelligence or potential for future career success, ATARs mean nothing. No matter what score you get, I promise you, you can go on and be anything you want to be in life. There will always be obstacles and challenges between you and your dreams, but if you want something and you’re willing to work hard and be nice to others, nothing can stop you. The only difference an ATAR can make is the journey and how you go about it. The only thing an ATAR determines is which course you might do. You might have your heart set on a dream course with a super high ATAR. If you want to shoot for that, go for it! Just know that if your number is lower, there are still ways to pursue it. You can take a gap year, travel, discover the world and find out who you are, uncover your passions, gain some experience. Do a TAFE course, start somewhere else, transfer. Defer it, reject it, volunteer somewhere, change your entire perspective on life, completely change directions. You still have the choice. Unis will often accept someone who didn’t get a first or second round offer initially as a mid-year enrolment, or you could do a semester or two somewhere else and then jump across and hopefully they’ll let you keep those credits under your belt. You may not even want to go to uni! There are many many options and paths you can take, don’t let a number limit or define your future.

Personally, I knew I wanted to further my education but wasn’t entirely set on any particular existing occupation. I knew my two favourite subjects were Psychology and Health and Human Development, but that I also enjoyed writing for English, so I could envision myself happily doing something that encompassed those things. For me, an Arts degree was the perfect choice because it allows you to dip your toes into many different areas of study, test the waters of various fields before arriving at a favourite – your major. The course I most had my heart set on had a pretty high entry score, one which I actually thought I had no possible chance of achieving, but I set it as my goal anyway because as I was so undecided, I didn’t want to ‘limit myself’ (typical Year 12 brain thinking). It worked out wonderfully for me, somehow I found the drive and ended up doing a lot better than I’d expected, really surprising myself (and probably everyone else) and guaranteeing a spot in the course. However, I wholeheartedly believe that had I not achieved the score I did, had I gone to a different university or course, or even taken some time off from studying, I would be just as happy. I would have found another way to continue learning, whether it be by sitting in a lecture theatre or travelling to see it myself. I could have enrolled in a different course, disappointed in myself and thinking it was only temporary, and ended up LOVING it. Maybe even more than this course! Who knows? These are the kinds of ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s that make my brain want to explode. Being a human can be exhausting.

Whether you have a goal course you’re hoping to get entry for, a dream uni, hopes of studying abroad, a plan to defer for a year or no desire to study at all – but they’re all okay and all achievable! No matter what it is you want in life, there are ways to get there. Not just one, but limitless varying courses of action you can follow. One might be more direct, but it might also be more boring, or less challenging. It might grow you less as a person, or prevent you from meeting some really interesting people that another path will introduce you to.

Year 12 is an awesome time. It can be stressful, overwhelming, demanding, sleepless. It can invoke self-doubt, nostalgia, fear of plummeting into the depths of the unknown (your future) and leaving behind the safety and security of routine (your past). However, it can also be rewarding, exciting, bonding, enriching, growing and deliriously fun. I say delirious because there will definitely be times when you and your friends are so overcome with work and anxiety that you just have to laugh. Misery loves company and Year 12 is proof of that. Study dates are perfect for simultaneously motivating each other and collectively crying into the bowl of chocolate you just devoured. I’m probably not painting the best picture here, but seriously, it can be a terrific time.

If I could give you one piece of advice for entering VCE, it’s to maintain a balance. Balance in life is the key here, because otherwise you will either burn out from too much studying, fall behind from not enough, get sick from not taking care of yourself, or something else just as un-fun. When you’re studying, dedicate proportionate amounts of time or energy to subjects depending on their current level of significance. If possible, do assignments as soon as you get them, but prioritise the ones that are due first or worth the most. More importantly, ensure you have balance throughout your whole life, holistically. It’s just as important to take care of your mental, social and physical well-being as it is to reach your education goals. Make the time to keep active, even if it seems like there is none. I can’t even tell you how beneficial it is to get outside, clear your head and get your heart rate up. Endorphins are your best friend and a powerful stress-buster, so keep a pair of runners at the ready. If you’re not a fan of solo workouts, can’t stay motivated or simply don’t enjoy it, I highly recommend joining a team sport! In fact, I recommend this for everyone, because it’s beneficial to your mental, social and physical health. All at once. Plus there’s the accountability factor – you can’t just skip the workout or hit snooze when you don’t feel like it  - you made a commitment and your teammates are counting on you! Honestly being a part of a group like that will make you feel so needed or wanted, and it’s great to make new friends or connect with like-minded people. SPORT RULES. Taking care of your physical health also means nourishing your body with the right foods, getting enough sleep and drinking plenty of water – all the basics. Back to balance – it’s also essential to dedicate time to doing things just for you. Bubble baths are a great choice, there’s also reading, meditation, getting a massage or mani-pedi, having a movie night, seeing a friend, anything that makes you feel relaxed, happy and at peace. These are the things that keep you going! Imagine a pie chat, split into 3 sections. One section is school and schoolwork, one is health and fitness, and the last is dedicated to me-time or fun activities. The three sections represent mental, physical and social wellbeing = all equally important and necessary for not only success, but holistic health in general. If you’re feeling stressed out, look at which of the three sections might be out of balance. Are you not getting enough sleep? Have too much on your plate? Need some alone time? Not fuelling your brain and body with enough or the right nutrition? Try to keep these things in check and remind yourself that they’re all significant and deserving of your attention.

Most of all, know that VCE is completely unique to your own experience. Like karma, you will get out only what you put in. You can make it an easy time, just for socialising and blowing off class, you can dedicate 110% of yourself to studying every waking hour, never lose a mark and never see anyone else, OR you can have the best of both worlds and strike that beautiful, sweet balance.

Decide what your own goals are. Make your own rules. Ask yourself what motivates you, and then go after it. Use this time to challenge yourself, grow as a person and exceed any expectations, limitations or barriers that have been set by anyone – including and especially yourself. It’s an exciting time that you should definitely make the most of, because it will be over before you know it. I know it’s hard, but try to forget about ATARs, or at least diminish the all-mighty power and holy-grail presence that it can take. It’s just a number. If you try your best, that’s all you need to do. I have complete faith in you anon, 

YOU CAN DO IT :D

[goblinfruit]

End of the year writing reflection 2017

I’m trying out this thing where I gather all of my thoughts about my writing and growth as a writer-person from the past year into one place. This is a long post, fyi. Here goes:

I had two workshop classes this year, one in the spring and one in the fall, and a writing conference during the summer. At the end of all this, right now as I calm down after finals, I feel like I have more self-doubt than I had at the beginning of this year, but I also feel like I’m more okay with that self-doubt. I can live with it more easily now. I might change my mind tomorrow, in a week, in a few months, but this feels like a real change and not a mood.

Before I always had this background noise of “you have to be good. You have to be the best. You have to be amazing. You’re not right now, so you have to work and get there sooner rather than later. You can’t miss any opportunity because it might be the only one.”

Maybe this thought is true in some respect. Maybe I shouldn’t let my guard down. But I wrote some stinkers in my fiction studio in the spring. I felt like my prose was okay but the stories were scattered and too much lived in my head and not on the page. The story I presented to my workshop group in my summer writing conference still deeply embarrasses me. I had written it a year ago, and it was a short story that was trying hard to be a modern folktale, as if the genre made up for the fact that nothing in the story was grounded. No concrete characters, setting, the plot was a thin moral. I love the concept or trope or whatever-it-is of reincarnation in stories but I put it into that Terrible story so now I have this weird heartburn whenever reincarnation comes up in shows or books. I had to re-watch the entire first season of 90s Sailor Moon to lessen it with overexposure (sure, that was totally the only reason I did that). To be fair to myself, I thought that workshop group in particular was a stinker. They made me doubt if I wanted to be a writer or befriend any writers because writers seemed to be, on the whole, a species of pretentious assholes trying to show-off or belittle anyone who makes the mistake of breathing in the same air as them. I’ve gotten over that doubt, partly.

At the end of the summer I just… let go. I tried to stop thinking about possible, future publication while writing every story. I stopped looking up story contests and submission deadlines. In the fall semester fiction studio, I still got righteously angry at some stories and commentary in my workshop because getting righteously angry over minor social interactions is my thing. But way back at the beginning of this year I also started a job as a writing center consultant. I leaned into that training, I started treating workshop pieces as if they were brought to me by some courageous student just trying to do well in their classes.

This was so freeing. It didn’t feel like much, in my mind I thought of it like briefly giving up, a hiatus. I knew that I would try to summon up all of my ambitious feelings again but I needed a break from myself. I needed to shelve the perfectionist within me and go on a mental pilgrimage to just ...think about storytelling as a concept and not specifically about ME and my DREAMS. The fall semester helped. I had to take a required algebra class on top of classes that needed a lot of mental energy. I tried to do NaNoWriMo but got too caught up in everything else. I was too busy to care or feel devastated that I didn’t draft a long manuscript.

I wrote around three short stories for my classes, and all of them were about haunting in some way. Still can’t tell if this is from my mood or if this is my new(-ish) interest. Two of them were throw away stories that were one or two scenes that I’ll either never touch again or will have to completely rework. But one of them, the longest and first of the three, is the ghost garden story, which I’m excited about. This was the first story I felt like I made progress with in the revision assignment for class. I see so much potential in it, I want to explore that world. I want to make it hopeful, bittersweet, and pretty, dammit. I don’t know if this will be a serious project or something I use to make myself a better writer. Technically, the start of this school year is my fourth year as an undergrad, but I have a double major in Brit Lit and in Creative Writing, so I’m going to be here for another year trying to fulfill all of these dumb requirements. Maybe this has also contributed to my change in mood—I’m more relaxed about this now. I have a new project and a new school year ahead of me, and I can settle in and stay put for a while. I’m not going anywhere in a hurry and that’s okay.

Tl;dr: This year I learned to chill out, a little, and this helped me grow as a writer, a little.  

Some related but miscellaneous thoughts:

On writer friends: This was true in high school and I guess it’s true in college, too. At least for me, I always feel settled into a school during the last or later years I’m there. I have been at this university for three and now almost four years and just this last semester I finally feel like I’m making friends. Some of them are writers. There are writers around me who are not condescending or pretentious! I’ve found them! Just now, this year. This actually came about, partly, from the summer writing conference. I didn’t make any friends there, but the two other people from my school who were nominated to go are awesome and the summer conference gave me a reason to talk to them. They also complain about the conference, I’m not paranoid or a debby-downer. So thank you, writing conference, for killing my confidence and showing me the friends that were near me all along. No, I kid. Kind of.

On prose versus story: Moving forward, I’m going to try to write cohesive stories. Everything grounded—solid characters, solid settings, solid conflict. I’m still the kind of writer that puts logistics last on my priorities list, but I think I lumped in “development” in with logistics before and that’s not good. I’ve had this goal for a while, but the Terrible summer workshop story has made me even more determined. If this means writing extremely short, simple stories as exercise, so be it! I think that I’ve helped myself by figuring out why my stories haven’t been very grounded so far. I took the creative writing lesson of “your reader is smart, don’t tell us everything, show” too much to heart. My studies in just the last semester helped me realize this and brainstorm ways to work past this.

I had to read several books for a current writers class and I had to read a fiction by an established “master” writer for my senior level fiction studio, and then reflect and write essays about how these works ticked. I ended up writing three to four essays railing against the teaching that makes us hold back on exposition. Each of these writers used exposition effectively in their unique narration style. I think this is the key—I think that I’ve been afraid of using exposition because I’m a fantasy writer. I think that I should be afraid of clumsy, clunky exposition, instead. Showing, not telling, is great but my reliance on this, and not using much exposition, has left my workshop readers confused and slightly angry for each story, so I need to learn moderation.

Books: one of the books I read for the learn-by-reading reflection assignments was Margaret Atwood’s collection of short stories, Good Bones, Simple Murders. I didn’t read all of them because of time, but the many I did read were amazing. Most of the stories are concise, at about two pages long, and are brilliantly written. Beautiful, poetic, evocative, righteous, hilarious. There were also little pen-drawing illustrations by the author which were also amazing and complemented the stories so well. One of the main features in the stories is this close, personal narrative voice. The person is either first or second, or a mix of both, and usually reads like a letter, a diary entry, or a piece that addresses the reader directly. One or two were fake magazine ads. You kind of have to have a bit of exposition when your narrator is so direct, but this was coupled with a vivid voice and poetic language, so it totally worked. My next writing exercise idea is to write a flash fiction that mimics this style.

More books and stuff: I took a Chaucer class, which was fantastic. The Canterbury Tales are great and made me think more deeply about framing devices than I ever have before. The Canterbury Tales also were way more interesting once I had read more of Chaucer’s work first and got a sense of his meta and satirical style. If anyone wants to read The Canterbury Tales, I’d recommend some critical edition or something with a lot of academic notes if you can afford it, because there is so much in academic studies and even in the allusions and themes Chaucer himself uses. It’s a great thing to dig into.

I also took an Arthurian lit class in the spring and this did not make me want to read more Arthurian literature. Instead, I want to read more by Marie de France. We read her lai “Lanval,” and I remembered reading “Bisclavret” (a great werewolf story to check out if you haven’t read it) from Medieval Celtic Lit.

Also, reading her short stories made me want to start reading Margaret Atwood’s work. I’ve read The Handmaid’s Tale but that’s it for novels. This last weekend, I binge watched the Netflix series Alias Grace. It felt very Gothic to me, and had a lot about haunting, and since I’ve been obsessed with haunting as a theme, I should probably read the book. Idk what it is about haunting that’s caught me lately. Probably it’s a quick, easy way to evoke the feeling of the uncanny in a story. I mean, what’s more familiar-made-unfamiliar than a haunted house? Liminal spaces, man. They’re the best.  

That’s it for this reflection. If you’re a reader and/or follower who has made it this far, kudos to you! No, seriously. I wrote this mostly for myself and I have no idea if any of these thoughts are of interest to anyone else. But I feel like writing is so much an individual, lonely thing that I like to share my thoughts or be as direct with people as I can be, when I’m allowed. This isn’t always a good thing, but despite the crushing embarrassment I feel sometimes, I prefer to be optimistic and put myself out there (sometimes) rather than have no chance to be heard at all.

[hailmegawritingsandpoetry-blog]

An Anonymous Letter to High School Freshman

May 4, 2017

Salutations new Freshman! Welcome to Central High School. By the time you receive this letter, I will have graduated, so you will not see me at school (obviously). My name is Hailey and for the past four years, this was my locker. You may be wondering why I’ve left you this. Simply, I want to pass on the wisdom that I’ve gained during my time at Central. The next four years may be arduous or exciting, depending on your choices, but they will fly past you and, before you know it, you too will soon be preparing to graduate. My greatest aspiration with this letter is to help you through what could be some of the toughest times that you experience. For this full length guide of my opinions and wisdom, we’ll start in chronological order… with Freshman year.

The most important thing you must learn about Freshman year: It is a lie. I mean that in the most loving way possible. In Middle School they tell you that certain behavior will not be tolerated and that information will not be spoon-fed to your brain. Allow me to tell you the truth. Teachers in the Middle School have no idea what happens up here. While what they say is, to an extent, truthful, you will not experience the horrors your past teachers have described until at least your Sophomore year. This is the year to get acquainted socially to the High School setting, not academically. In the most basic sense, your Freshman year is a fourth year of Middle School. During this year, teachers grade easily (especially Mr. Keith, the Freshman history teacher,) and information is just a question away. No higher thinking is required. Even though, it is, in the academic sense, a repeat of Middle School, you must remember that this is your chance to start over, make yourself anew. The most important thing; however, to remember is that in four short years, you will be an adult. While I, nor anyone else, expects you to know what you are going to do with your life at this point in time, you need to start figuring out who you are and what you want to do in life. Don’t be afraid to voice your own opinions and break away from the crowd. Having an idea about what you want to do makes Sophomore year a lot less stressful… kind of.

Get ready, because here it comes. The moment (stress) you’ve been anticipating for four years. It is now, during Sophomore year, that you will learn very, very, very quickly how to organize your work and create a schedule, because if you do not, you’ll be swamped with work and awake until 3:30 in the morning annotating Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey for Mrs. McCloskey’s World Literature class (B.T.W. This class is awesome if you enjoy mythologies). At the end of Freshman year (again, obvious) you will schedule for this (Sophomore) year. It’s now that people, especially the guidance office will push you to take the Honors/Dual Enrollment (College) courses that allow you to gain College credits before you even apply to any college. Now, as much as I am grateful for the credits that D.E. has given me (it knocked out five different classes for my freshman year of college), I must strongly advise that you only take these types of classes if you absolutely know or if you think you might go to college. Do not put yourself through the extra stress, and pay a bunch of money, if you’re never going to use the credits. Also, if you do take these classes, make sure that you take the classes that will pertain to your college major. Don’t repeat my mistakes and take an upper level Chemistry course when you are an English Education major. Make sure that you make the decisions that are best for YOU. If said decisions anger others, let them be angry; in the end, it only matters how you fare and how your decisions will affect your future.

Moving On…

“Oh, we’re halfway there, oh oh, livin’ on prayer.” ~Bon Jovi (Since you’re probably too young to remember when that song was big. ;) )

Anyway, here we are, the greatest (worst) of them all, Junior year. I don’t mean to scare you, but when I say this, I say it with utmost truth: Everything that can, will go down your Junior year. It sounds terrifying, but, in a way, you kind of want shit to hit the fan now so that when next year rolls around, you have your life figured out and you’re ready to go.

If you haven’t already, you really, really, really, really, need to decide (or have a very strong idea about) what you want to do with your life. If you know for an absolute fact that you are going to college, look at as many different schools, in and out of state, as you can. I wouldn’t recommend that you apply, quite yet, but you definitely need to decide on your entry major so you know which schools to look at. This is a very stressful time, trust me, I understand that, and it doesn’t help that teachers don’t seem to care about you anymore, but you must keep your head up and know that everything will get better.

On the other hand, if you know for a fact that you are not going to college, this year is the year to start taking classes that will aid you in life, no matter what you decide to do. Even though Central is very small, and quite limited in what classes are offered, you can find different classes to help you, as long as you know where to look. I would tell you where, but by the time your Junior year rolls around, things will have probably changed drastically since my graduation.

I would love to tell you that everything is going to be okay this year, and maybe in your own personal circumstance it will be, but in my experience, along with many others’, Junior year was the worst. It was this year that I decided I wanted to be a high school teacher. In my Junior year, I discovered that my teachers didn’t give one flying f… about us. I write it bluntly, but it’s true. In my Junior year, I saw the best of the best students have multiple mental breakdowns because of homework and the complete disregard of empathy by our teachers. But, you know what, we were better off from it. I hope, in your case, that it will be better, that you will know how to balance everything life throws at you, but in the worst case scenario, keep your head up, look to the future, and don’t let life or people get you down, because, in the end, it just isn’t worth it to give up completely. You can ALWAYS make any situation better with a little faith and hard work.

One final piece of advice for this year: If you are going to college, take your SAT/ACT tests at the END of Junior year, not at the beginning. A lot of people will take it early to send in their applications, but there are questions on said test that you will learn in at the end of the year. Your score will be higher for it.

DA TA DA DA DA. Let the bells ringeth from the heavens. Your Senior year has finally arrived. This year IS the year to take it easy on yourself… as long as you have everything in your life sorted out. If you do not, this year is the year to finalize everything before the school kicks you out of the nest and into the real world.

Take your time this year and savor the small moments that make life worthwhile. Go to Prom if you didn’t last year, hell, go both years. Don’t worry about what people will think if you don’t have a date. Go with friends (you’ll have more fun that way). Attend sports events, go to some parties, slip and slide down the hill at Senior Slip and Slide. Do whatever makes you happy, just don’t get in trouble, because if you slip up majorly, you may not like the repercussions. I’m not saying don’t do anything, I’m just saying be safe.

Just remember, even if you do hate the rest of your graduating class, you will never be forced to see those people again, for the rest of your life.

Well, I think I’ve told you all I have to say. Please use this as a guide, don’t throw away wisdom when someone is willingly giving to you. If you don’t want to listen to me, then that’s your choice, but just remember one thing, above all else: You have the power to be who YOU want to be. Only you can make a difference in your life. Also, even if everything seems overwhelming, seems as though you aren’t getting anywhere, do not give up.

Best wishes,

              ANON

[stardustbabies-blog]

my birth stories

I have two beautiful, healthy daughters. They are so perfect that I don’t know how or why I am so lucky, so let me start with that.  But bringing them into this world was a trauma.  It doesn’t affect my love for them, but it affects my life and my mental health every day.  

I’ve realized I can’t really tell the story of my second delivery, the one that almost killed me, unless I tell the story of the first one.

In the last week of 2012, I was 36 weeks pregnant and spending my time reading books about natural childbirth, practicing pain management, talking constantly with my wife about how together we would deal with my pain and anxiety during labor.  We had been together for over seven years and she was well-versed in helping me through my mental health challenges, of which I had many. I completely trusted her to get me through it – I even looked forward to it as a bonding experience.  

That said, I am a big fan of modern medicine and never considered anything but a standard hospital birth.  I wanted to try to manage labor without intervention if I could, and my California hospital was friendly to that decision. Unfortunately for me, nobody checked my daughter’s presenting position until I was already full term, shortly after the turn of the new year.  At my 37-week appointment, my OB couldn’t find her head through the cervix.  An ultrasound confirmed that she was frank breech.  I tried everything on spinning babies, contorting my pregnant body into so many awkward positions that I gave myself migraines.  I found a chiropractor and tried the Webster technique; I found an acupuncturist and tried moxibustion.  A week later, I was headed for a C-section unless I wanted to try an external cephalic version (ECV).  

For a first pregnancy, the success rate of attempting to manually reposition the baby in the womb is about that of getting heads on a coin flip.  I read extensively about the risks, which seemed acceptable to me, and certainly not worse than those associated with a surgical birth.  My wife completely deferred to me on the decision; most other people uniformly disagreed with, or didn’t understand, my decision to try it.

I have terrible doctor anxiety, so the morning of the procedure, I was terrified.  They gave me a dose of terbutaline to relax my abdominal muscles, and it felt like an awesome caffeine jolt, a feeling I sorely missed after eight months of pregnancy.  But fun fact: ECVs hurt, a lot.  I was cursing and grunting and crushing my wife’s hand while two doctors pushed and twisted my huge pregnant belly.  Two tries were unsuccessful, and I was crying from pain.  They asked me if I wanted to try one more time.

“Baby’s okay?” I croaked.

“Ultrasound and monitor look great.”

“Go for it.”

I left disappointed, but glad that I tried everything I could.  They told me that I would schedule my C-section at my OB appointment the next day.  Wife and I grabbed lunch on the way home since I hadn’t been allowed to eat anything before the procedure.  On the drive home, I noticed a lot of discharge.  I worried that they had broken my water, but didn’t say anything out loud.  I could not acknowledge that thought.  

In the bathroom at home I learned that it wasn’t amniotic fluid leaking onto my underwear, but bright red blood.  On the drive back to the hospital I numbly thought, “Well, either they’ve damaged my internal organs or it’s a placental abruption.”

It was the latter, of course.  They occur in 0.1% of ECV attempts, and I knew that, and I’d accepted those odds.  After an agonizing wait for a doctor to examine me, I learned I’d be having a baby that day.  I told that doctor over and over again that no, I couldn’t today, I wasn’t ready, no no no.  But the baby was full term, and the placental abruption had the final say.  Seven hours later (because I’d just eaten a big meal and was considered non-emergent), my E.M. arrived by C-section, healthy and beautiful.

Pretty much immediately after her birth, I plunged into the depths of post-partum depression.  Looking back, I think that the birth experience was a huge contributor, and that I actually had undiagnosed symptoms of PTSD.  I cried every day all the way to and from work.  My panic attacks were on a hair trigger.  I couldn’t read news stories about anything involving violence without feeling it had just happened to me; the internal screaming was deafening.  And I knew – I just KNEW – that either my daughter or I was going to die.   I didn’t know how, and I wasn’t suicidal, but I would console myself by saying, at least you got to know her for three months.  

I had never planned to have more than once pregnancy.  We had planned that my wife would carry the second child and after that we would foster or adopt.  But by the time EM was four months old, despite my mental state or maybe because of it in some desperate cry for a do-over, I knew I wanted to carry another baby.  And I was already completely immersed in VBAC literature.  

In the spring of 2016, seven months pregnant with my second daughter, I told my VBAC class my birth story.  When the instructor asked what I wanted from my second birth I said, “I want the chance to try it vaginally, and naturally as much as possible.  But mostly, whatever happens, I want to feel connected to it.  I felt so out of control with my first birth; I was completely unprepared.  This time I understand that anything can happen… I just want to be emotionally present for it.”  

I understood that I could wind up with a second surgery, but I was okay with that if I got to hold her right away, got to feel excitement and positive anticipation about her arrival in my arms.  

Facts are facts:  1% of VBACs end in uterine rupture.  Of those, 6% of the babies die.  

If that were to happen to my baby, I knew I would never forgive myself.  But I trusted my hospital, my doctors.  It was absolutely crucial to my mental health, to my experience as a mother, that I give myself the chance to try.  

They had been concerned about my blood pressure the entire pregnancy.  At my first appointment at 8 weeks, my reading in their office was 180/95.  When I say I have doctor anxiety, I’m not kidding – my readings at home, well into the ninth month, were in the 120s/70s.  That did not matter when I clocked a 165/100 at my 39 week appointment.  I got sent to labor and delivery.

I had known that they were going to try to strip my membranes to trigger labor at that appointment, and so my older daughter was already tucked away at my parents’ house.  When I called my wife and told her to come to the hospital, neither of us was terribly surprised that the doctors felt it was time for new baby’s arrival.  My cervix was 1cm dilated, high, and not effaced.  I was given three options.  Go home and wait (not recommended, but ultimately my decision), have a C-section that afternoon, or be induced.  

Induced?  For a VBAC?  I was confused.

A “gentle” induction involves a Foley bulb to widen the cervix and a slow, low dose Pitocin drip.  I was told it could take days.  For all my desire for the chance for a vaginal birth, at that moment that did not sound like a marathon I was prepared to run.  But I didn’t want to go home; I wanted to have the baby that day. My daughter was taken care of.  My wife was there.  I was ready.  I wanted to meet my baby girl.  I was scared and the “devil I knew” was appealing and even, in that moment, comforting.  I told the resident I wanted the C-section.

One of my doctors, whom I had talked to extensively about my VBAC desire, heard about this decision and put a hold on the proceedings.  He sent in another doctor to talk to me further.  She was warm, empathetic, and extremely forthcoming about the procedures when I asked a million questions.  Ultimately, she confirmed what I truly wanted and talked me down from my anxiety-induced decision.  Despite everything that happened after, I am extremely grateful for that doctor.  I wish I had told her that when she visited me the next day in the ICU with tears in her eyes.  Now I don’t even remember her name.

With the decision made, they wheeled me into my delivery room.  It was around 3PM.  I hadn’t eaten since 8, so they let me order lunch, knowing delivery was a safe distance in the future.  I can’t remember what I ate.  I think there was pizza.  

The placement of the Foley bulb was the first procedure.  It hurt, much like bad period cramps.  She had to try it twice because she couldn’t get it to stay the first time.  When she told me I was all set, I smiled.  She said if I could smile after that, I was going to do great.

They hooked me up to the Pitocin, and the waiting began.  I watched the electronic trace of the contractions rise and fall on the monitor.  I couldn’t feel anything besides muscle tightening, and wondered when the pain would begin.  A few hours later, I went to the bathroom and the bulb fell out in the toilet.  There was bleeding, and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.  But my nurse was thrilled – it meant my cervix was dilated.  The blood was normal.  

More uneventful waiting ensued.  The contractions got stronger; I could feel (and see) my abdomen tightening.  Sometimes it would be strong enough that I would get a little breathless, but I still didn’t have any pain.

Women who have VBACs are highly encouraged, though not required, to get an epidural.  I’d had to make peace with that months earlier, because in the event of an emergency, having an already placed epidural can be lifesaving when seconds count.   It can also provide the mother with the chance to be awake for the surgical birth of her baby instead of having to undergo general anesthesia.  By 9PM, I knew in my gut it was time.  I cried the whole way through the procedure.  I didn’t want it.  I was scared of the side effects, scared of the unknown.  But most of all, now I knew I was about to have my second baby, and would never get to feel a single labor pain.  The feeling of loss was immense.  It is not an overstatement to say that the feeling of disconnection from my body and the work it was doing was devastating.  

The epidural placement went smoothly.  The anesthesiologist was wonderful and tender with me through all of my emotions.  When it took effect, I was surprised to feel I could still move my legs a bit, that they just felt heavy and sluggish.  About an hour later, I felt like I had to pee.  The nurse seemed surprised, because usually the epidural takes away the feeling in your bladder, but she gave me a bed pan.  I couldn’t go.

The nurse said at this point, my job was to try to get some rest before things really got going.  Wife and I lay down, and put on the TV.  Ocean’s Eleven was on.  

As I lay there, sleepy but knowing full well the idea of actually sleeping was laughable, I felt a little nauseated, a little dizzy, and a little sweaty.  I knew labor could do that sometimes, and I knew I had drugs in my system.  It may have been normal.  It may have been a series of warning signs.  I’ll never know.

Around 11, I think, I felt my whole body jolt, like an electric shock had run through me.  That was followed shortly by a gush of fluid between my legs.  I threw off the blankets and looked at the sheet, and touched the fluid on my body.  It was clear – not blood, not greenish or brownish.  Relief.  I had to wake Wife up.  “Sweetie… my water broke.”  

I am so grateful for the classic labor milestones that I did get to experience.

But I was definitely not feeling well by this point.  Woozy, sweaty.  I have terrible anxiety and shit was getting real, so I chalked it up to that.  At one point a doctor came in and repositioned my fetal monitor, the belt of electrodes around my belly.  

“Is she okay?”

“She’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I’m not sure exactly what time it happened.  It feels to me now that it was very soon after my water broke, but based on the timing of the birth it must have been at least an hour later.  

Out of the blue, like a truck hit me, I was enveloped by the worst pain of my life. (And keep in mind, I’d had an epidural already.)  It felt like someone had reached into my body and was pulling apart my abdominal muscles.  It felt like a vise gripped my bladder and twisted.  It coincided with contractions.  I became the classic “woman in labor screaming in the hospital bed.”  I curled up on my side in the fetal position to try to get away from the pain.  My nurse asked me questions, but I was in too much pain to answer her.  She told me I needed a bolus of my pain relief.  Wife put the controller in my hand, but I couldn’t hold onto it, and it dropped to the floor.  

I thought, “Well, I guess now I know what labor feels like.”  And that conclusion came with a bit of disappointment, because I knew I could never withstand that level of pain for hours, no way in hell.  

But… that wasn’t labor.  

The timing of the next events is hazy to me.  I know that I underwent a couple more of those excruciating contractions before the frenzy began.  I know that the doctor who had been occasionally checking me for dilation progress was called out of a meeting, and I know the room began to flood with people, some of them in scrubs, some of them with walkie-talkies.  I know now it was because my daughter’s heart rate was dropping.  

Suddenly the lights were bright.  The doctor sat down at the foot of my bed and reached inside me and I will never, ever forget the puzzled look on his face.  

“This baby is sky-high,” he said.

I’d read enough to know that the baby’s loss of station in the pelvis is diagnostically indicative of a uterine rupture.  

The doctor went to the monitors, scanning readouts, clicking on things.  “Doctor, should we get her to the OR, given her history?” a woman said.  

“Just get her out,” I said.  “I’m scared.”

Wife noted, and told me later, that at this point my heart rate was 155.  I was tachycardic and going into hypovolemic shock.  They had to wheel me to the OR without Wife, who had to get dressed and, I later learned, had to be held outside until the doctors were sure that our baby wasn’t dead.  As they wheeled me down the hall, I heard one of them say the word rupture.

“My uterus ruptured?” I asked.

“Your membranes ruptured,” she said.  She was protecting me, I know that now.  They saw me bleeding as they were wheeling me down the hall.  They knew.  Wife heard them call “Condition O” over the loudspeakers.  Obstetric emergency, all hands on deck.  

From the time the doctor was called to check on me to the time I was cut open, a total of nine minutes passed.  I was heavily drugged and woozy from blood loss, staring up at the ceiling, bright lights in my eyes.  Wife wasn’t there yet.  I noted that I did not feel the tugging sensation that I’d felt when they delivered E.M.  I didn’t hear the baby cry, either.  

I wanted to pass out.  My brain really, really wanted to go to sleep.  My eyes were closing and I had to fight it.  I kept thinking, “If you pass out, that is bad.  Don’t do it.  Stay awake.”

Every time I started to feel my head spin like I was going to faint, I would look up at this woman who was standing by my head.  I didn’t have to say anything; she would look at my face and know I was in trouble, and she would do something to my IV and it would fix it.  I still don’t know who she was or what she was doing.  Nobody has been able to answer me that.

Wife finally joined me, sat down next to my head.  She had tears in her eyes but I was a little too out of it to register at that time what she must have been through.  I cried and she held me, at least as much as she could while I was strapped to an operating table.  

The first time we saw our daughter C.J.’s face was in an iPhone picture taken by an OR nurse.  I remember gasping and sobbing twice with joy when I saw those pictures.  She was okay.  She was here.  She was real.  Her APGARs, miraculously, were 5 and 8.  

I was on that operating table for two hours, about three times as long as a standard C-section procedure.  I’d experienced a complete uterine rupture, which means that the contents of my uterus were open to my abdomen.  When they opened me up, the placenta spontaneously delivered, and C.J. was in my upper abdomen.  When I later asked how long she had been like that the answer was, “Well… it couldn’t have been very long.”

They estimated that I lost three liters of blood.  They did not give me a transfusion, but did give me two units of platelets to make sure I didn’t bleed more.  My rupture extended to the broad ligament on the left side, which is a long, flat, structure that connects the uterus to the abdominal wall.  When I get menstrual cramps now, I still have sharp pains in that ligament – a lovely monthly reminder.  

When they were confident they’d repaired the damage and the bleeding had subsided, I had some time in the ICU.  I know I got to hold the baby that night, but I don’t really remember doing so.  I was pretty drugged and actually slept a little; Wife sat in a chair next to me, crying.  The next day I got visits from some familiar faces, many of the doctors who had treated me throughout the process.  I don’t remember much about what they said to me. I tried to eat and drink but vomited everything back up.  I barely had the energy to hold the baby.  I felt numb.  

That night I got transferred to a standard recovery room.  On the surface that was great news, because it meant I was healthy enough for standard and not intensive care.  But it also meant I was treated like a standard C-section patient and not one who had undergone a life-threatening event.  It was one of the worst nights of my life.  My anxiety was nearly unbearable, I was shaking and in pain.  The oxycodone was the only thing that kept me from losing it.  

For all of that night, I was unable to urinate on my own.  I felt a terrible urge, but once I dragged my shredded body to the toilet, the muscles would not work to make it happen.  I don’t know if that’s because I had a catheter for 24 hours or because of the rupture.  Either way, it was nearly unbearable.  I would send for the nurse and then sit there on the bed in agony for nearly an hour before she would finally acquiesce and straight-cath me to empty my bladder.  Because the volume was too low to warrant such an extreme urge, she took me less and less seriously each time.  My wife, who is not confrontational by nature, had to demand that the nurse get me Ativan to rescue me from my torment.

It’s clear to me now I must have sustained some damage to my bladder or those muscles and that caused the feelings – it was the same thing I felt soon after getting the epidural.  In the morning, I was finally able to pass some urine on my own, although it would take minutes and minutes.  

I spent most of the recovery period alone in the hospital.  My family did visit for a few hours the next day, but for the remaining three days I sent Wife home to get rest and take care of our E.M. I needed her to be well rested so she could take care of us when we got home.  

In those bleary, painful, lonely days of recovery. . . when I held C.J. to my chest, skin to skin, it was pure bliss.  I was connected to her immediately, which was not the case with EM.  

Which is not to say I was okay.  I broke down in tears upon being woken up from a precious nap to have my blood pressure taken, and the technician chastised me sharply.  “With your blood pressure history, we have to cover our butts.”

The morning I was due to be discharged, the doctor who had delivered C.J. came to check on me, and I was curled up crying.  She was the first person to mention PTSD to me.  I was interviewed by more than one social worker about my support network and how capable I felt to take care of my daughter.  

The recovery at home was brutal.  When your body has been pregnant and realizes it no longer is in that state, it works to reduce your blood volume.  This is a reasonable physiological response, but when you lose three liters of blood and need to build up your supply, it is a counterproductive one.  I was weak and devoid of energy.  I needed so much sleep that my wife was practically a single mother for the first few weeks.  The guilt was horrible, but I couldn’t fight my physiology.  I literally didn’t have enough blood in my body.  I ate cheeseburgers and spinach every day to combat the anemia.  

The nightmares where I am being shot in a hospital parking lot, or torn open by wild animals, or holding a shriveled dead baby have only recently begun to subside.  

My daughter is a year old today.  I have a toddler again.  She is absolutely perfect, with big blue eyes, little curly flips of hair on the back of her head, four tiny teeth, a round kissable tummy, and rolls of chub on her arms and legs.  She dances like a maniac and shrieks when she’s excited, or angry, or bored, or about everything, really.  Sometimes I still don’t understand how she is with us, except to realize that my doctors and nurses may not have been perfect, but I owe them her life and probably mine.  

I am not religious.  My spirituality derives from the science behind the mysteries of life and reality – from physics, from neurobiology.  I am a human animal, and my connection to life, to nature, to evolution, is something I recognize in my rational mind and also in my gut… or in my soul, if you will.  If I am to borrow the language of religion, there is nothing more “holy” in my heart than making a human life.  It is a horrible, brutal, messy, terrifying, indescribable, transformative experience, and one of the most unifying components of being alive on Earth.  It is one that should never be undertaken lightly and never chosen by or forced upon someone who doesn’t unequivocally want to experience it.  

And for me, it is going to be a years-long, if not life long, process to accept that my experiences with pregnancy and childbirth have left me feeling disconnected from nature, betrayed by my body, and inferior to the mothers of all the generations before me.  In that sense I am processing a trauma on two levels – the physical near-death experience for myself and my baby girl, and a profound sense of loss.  The latter has left me unsatisfied in a very deep and spiritual way.  I do NOT glamorize the pain of childbirth, but I deeply wanted to feel a baby being pushed from my body. I wanted to feel myself accomplish that.  I wanted to be held by my wife while I birthed our child, whether it was in a delivery room or an operating room.  I wanted a bloody, messy, wailing infant to be placed on my chest after we went through birth together.  

And yes, I wanted us both to live.  My gratitude that we did doesn’t erase what I feel as a loss.  Those who would say things like “a healthy baby is all that matters” or “just be grateful, because 100 years ago you would have been dead” are of no use to me.  Those statements tell me that you don’t see mothers as autonomous beings separate from their status as a vessel.  You are no better than the people who would force a woman to go through this experience against her will.  And in that vein, while my healing proceeds, one of my greatest hopes is that we as an animal species can cultivate a sense of the vitality of the dignity of mothers, in pregnancy, in labor, in birth, and in recovery.

[benwvatt]

peraltiago bookstore AU

fandom: brooklyn nine-nine

word count: 9.3k

genre: fluff

warnings: none :))

here are the first 3 chapters of this au // found here on ao3

When Amy Santiago was in high school, in a contest to see who could make the best senior project, she ran a book drive for a year and a half. She remembers quietly marching into the public library, scouring through stacks of used books for the perfect ones to buy. The staff came to know her by name, and learned to always have spare change on hand when Santiago was in the building.

When people ask how she could afford to run the book drive, ultimately storing ten or fifteen boxes of books in her cramped bedroom, Amy looks at the ground. She doesn’t buy books from Barnes & Noble. She keeps her eyes open, visiting used bookstores and city libraries in search of good deals and willing people. Amy isn’t especially proud, but she carries a sack of quarters and dimes in her backpack to buy books.

Once she runs out of coins, once she’s reduced to paying with pennies, Amy ups the ante on donations. Kylie helps her organize posters, promising service hours in exchange for books. People flood — no, they trickle — into the school library, offering lightly used copies of books the English teachers mandated.

Amy should be disappointed students never bothered to flick The Scarlet Letter or Great Expectations open, but she grows numb to the phenomenon. After all, a book is a book. She can’t complain.

She’s always been frugal. Once, she wore the same glasses for three years because renewing her prescription was too expensive. Growing up in a tight-knit family of ten as the youngest and only daughter, there hasn’t always been room for extra expenses. Amy recalls wearing hand-me-down school uniforms and reusing her brothers’ binders from school, in a desperate attempt to make ends meet a little more. With her mother staying at home and her father earning a policeman’s salary, life isn’t easy.

After high school, when all the books are donated, adversity does ease its grip on Amy Santiago.

For one thing, she can finally afford a nice pair of glasses. She studies art history in college, filling her small-but-orderly dorm (later, apartment) with used textbooks. Amy works at Foster High School in Brooklyn, spending half her day teaching art history and the other half working in the library. Her salary isn’t bad, seeing as she technically has two jobs, and she finally has time to breathe.

Amy stumbles into her apartment one morning, after staying up talking with the home economics teacher, and realizes she needs something new to fall in love with.

Charles Boyle is a good person. He’s excitable and friendly, more positive than he really should be, and Amy wishes she could be that energetic. She’d probably need two or three shots of espresso, or maybe a drink of straight-up vodka, to get on his level. New to the district and full of ideas, Boyle is the kind of person Amy has never met before. He brings all the teachers snacks when it comes time for staff meetings, and his creations are of the arcane sort: sourdough bread with a touch of tradition, cupcakes covered in lacy frosting flowers.

One quiet Saturday, Amy confronts Charles about this emptiness, stopping by his apartment to confess. She tells him of the dreams she has to do more than work two jobs, and he recommends she visit someplace new.

Come to think of it, Charles says in that hopelessly ecstatic voice, his best friend just started working at a store across town.

“Want to come with?” Charles asks, already grabbing his coat from a chair. “I’ve been thinking of visiting.”

Amy’s unsure of what kind of place Charles’ friend works, but he promises she’ll like it, so she races to the car and feels seventeen again. Not in the angsty, stressed way, but because Amy has long since wanted to experience breathlessness and awe again.

They spend half an hour driving there, battling bad traffic and the rising need to honk at the cars ahead, but Charles finally pulls up.

“It’s better than I thought it’d be!” Amy lets out a deep breath of relief. She knows, before ever stepping in, that this place is home.

Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner have been married for ages, first in an emotional sense and legally a handful of years later. When Kevin earned a promotion and a bonus from the private college where he teaches, he and his husband made an investment for the long run.

A short commute away from their apartment, a small but beloved bookstore now stands where a video store once did. Raymond ‘Ray’ Holt is the proud owner of this establishment, looking out across the street as a Mustang pulls up.

McGintley, the most relaxed entrepreneur Holt’s ever met, recommended he hire the old workers for the bookstore. Kevin and Ray decided to do so, seeing as Jake and Gina weren’t making much more than minimum wage at the video store.

Raymond suggested they name the store ‘Shelf Life’, earning a laugh from his husband. McGintley feigned amusement before telling Siri to look up the meaning of the phrase.

Jake Peralta and Gina Linetti carpool to work, apparently a tradition they have from grade school. When they first began working at Shelf Life, they had trouble adjusting. In particular, Jake had some fixation on the Die Hard franchise. With time, though, both Linetti and Peralta adjusted to working at the bookstore.

The store isn’t especially large to begin with, but Holt instructs both Jake and Gina to memorize its layout. He and Kevin have saved for who-knows-how-long to afford this place, and they’re not giving it up anytime soon. Though Jake and Gina groan when asked to draw maps of the store as a test, they later thank Holt when a reporter gives Shelf Life a five-star review, with a special paragraph praising the workers.

Although Jake and Gina had general knowledge of films when they worked at the video store, they’re supposed to go the extra mile now that Holt’s their boss. For one thing, knowing about books helps sell and recommend them to customers. For another, Shelf Life has a used books section with lower prices. Jake and Gina often go to library sales, searching for deals, so the bookstore can resell books.

The excited look on a child’s face, as they hug faded books to their chests, makes everything worth it.

While Gina knows more about realistic and romance novels, Jake is an expert on adventure and fantasy books. They try to familiarize themselves with other genres, knowing how hard Holt and Kevin have worked to run the bookstore. Within a few weeks, Jake and Gina can’t hear ‘Dickens’ or ‘Steinbeck’ without thinking about Shelf Life.

Every effort adds up. Jake and Gina quiz each other about the New York Times Best Sellers and plan weekend trips to book sales. They walk into work with a box of books and a receipt. Holt reimburses them, sometimes making fun of their taste, but always looks out across the store with pride. His to-do list is always completed, no matter how minimal the improvement.

Someone needs to put up the string of pride flags above the LGBT aisle, or choose the music to play in the store. (Every day, Jake says John Philip Sousa was not the Skrillex of his day, but Holt never listens.)

Before long, Holt realizes he can’t do everything. The store is growing, with a reliable clientele, and it needs more workers. Jake and Gina get promotions after learning so much about literature. They put up a ‘we’re hiring’ sign in the front window, and people wanting to interview soon line up. Holt hires Terry Jeffords as manager, and Norm Scully and Michael Hitchcock as cashiers.

Orientation day is interesting, to say the least. Terry is the most enthusiastic manager Holt can imagine. He shows everyone pictures of his twin daughters, and Holt makes a mental note to start stocking more children’s books. It’s clear Terry Jeffords is a good leader, even if he won’t stop referring to himself in third person.

Hitchcock and Scully are nothing like Terry. They only agreed to take the jobs if they could sit all day, which Holt agreed to, because he finds it ridiculous cashiers are expected to stand for eight hours. Hitchcock and Scully easily learn the ropes, scanning without a second thought. Holt’s a little worried they’re not charismatic enough, though. He hopes they improve with time.

With three new employees and a bustling store, Holt makes plans to open a second bookstore with Kevin. Terry leaves about ten notes in the suggestion box, recommending books to order, and Holt knows he hired a good manager.

Now, his cashiers might need a bit of training. That’s another story for another day.

Amy excitedly walks up the steps to Shelf Life, with Charles behind her. He’s winded by the time he reaches the storefront. Upon opening the door and hearing the bell ring, Amy is greeted by Jake, Charles’ best friend. While Amy takes in the scent of books and furniture polish, Charles and Jake chatter away. Amy introduces herself as Charles’ work friend, then shakes Jake’s hand.

“Wow, firm handshake,” he remarks.

“I took a seminar,” Amy brags.

Jake seems to take Amy’s peculiarity in stride, joking she should give him pointers. She can see why Charles is such good friends with him.

“So, how’s life working at the high school?” Jake asks. “I do not envy you. Give me a bookstore any day over home ec class.”

“You work retail, Jake,” Charles retorts. “After the first couple of years of home ec, you learn what mistakes kids’ll make before they even make them. Anyway, I only teach four classes. I’m not like Amy.”

“What does that mean?” Amy demands, pretending to be insulted. “I like having two jobs!”

Amy explains, “See, I majored in art history, but there aren’t enough kids who sign up. So I teach in the mornings and I’m the librarian during the afternoon. The other librarian covers for me in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a librarian?” Jake asks, motioning toward the shelves. “Okay, I hear about your handshake lessons, but not this?”

“Jake, she’s just really proud of the handshake seminar,” Charles jokes. “She keeps a binder at home, full of notes from the lectures and practice sessions.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding about the binder,” Jake groans.

Amy shakes her head, and Jake asks to see pictures of the binder. “My handshake is pretty weak, if you haven’t noticed, and I could use the help.”

They switch phone numbers so Amy can show him the binder once she gets home.

“Hey, it’s been great talking with you, but I have to run,” Jake says. “The local library is having a book sale, and it’s about to start.”

“Oh, can I come?” Amy asks. “I’ve been thinking about doing a book drive at the library, and the opportunity just presented itself.”

“Yeah, feel free to come!” Jake answers, with a wide smile. “Charles, you want to join us?”

“Nah,” Charles replies. “I have to prep a lesson for Monday. We’re making meringues, and my class has the hardest time with them.”

“Alright, Charles,” Amy responds. “See you Monday morning! Good luck with the meringues.”

Jake stops by his manager’s office, checking out of Shelf Life, and calls his friend Gina to take over for him. “She goes on the shift after me,” he explains. “We used to do more book sales together, but Saturday is when her girlfriend’s free so I go alone now.”

“If you want, I could go with you,” Amy offers. “You know, more than just this once.”

Jake takes her up on the offer. “Thank you so much. Gina’s training to become a dance instructor, so she doesn’t work very many hours anymore. The training, along with her relationship with Rosa, really limits her working hours.”

Amy thanks the heavens Gina has a girlfriend. “Wait 一 Rosa Diaz?”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “How do you know her?”

As they walk to to the parking lot and reach Jake’s car, Amy notices Jake opens the passenger door for her. It’s only polite, she knows, but still very nice.

“We were college roommates.” After getting into Jake’s car, Amy conjures an image of Rosa in her mind, and wonders if Gina is anything like her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I knew her back then. I’ve seen photographs of her teen years and everything. Did you know she had pink hair for a while?”

Jake laughs, while Amy texts Charles a ‘thank you’ for introducing her to Shelf Life. It’s a short ten-minute drive, and Amy recognizes the library when she and Jake exit the car. “Oh, the sale is here?”

“Yes, that is why we drove here,” Jake remarks. He and Amy grab red plastic baskets once they enter. They ‘divide and conquer’, so to speak, to best serve their interests. There are rows and rows of books, spine side up, laid out on the tables.

“Jake! Get over here!” Amy hisses, after a good ten minutes of looking around. “Look! Someone donated all the Harry Potters.”

“Nice! I’ve never read Rowling, but I know a good deal when I see one.”

Amy takes the first four books from the series, while Jake puts the last three in his basket. She tries to ignore the fact that Jake hasn’t read Harry Potter. He works at a bookstore, for heaven’s sake.

They spend twenty-five minutes shopping at the book sale, before mutually deciding to go to the check-out. Jake looks over at Amy’s basket, impressed. Moby Dick and Heart of Darkness sit at the top. Meanwhile, he has The Raven Boys and Paper Towns above a bunch of other contemporary novels.

“Amy Santiago?” asks the woman counting the books.

“Mrs. Frederick! It’s so good to see you again!” Amy responds. “Um, this is Jake. He works at the bookstore on 8th Street, Shelf Life, so I came with him today. He's a friend of a friend.”

After an awkward pause, Amy explains she ran a book drive in senior year and now works at Foster High School. Jake nods appreciatively (he later explains he’s horrible at small talk, which Amy kind of already knew) and doesn't question Amy’s ‘friend of a friend’ explanation.

Mrs. Frederick, thankfully, doesn’t chat for long. She charges Amy and Jake for their baskets, gives them brown paper bags, and hugs Amy on her way out.

Once they find Jake’s car in the parking lot and put their bags in the trunk, Jake asks where she wants to go next.

“Not to be weird or anything, but do you want to come over? We could trade books. My brothers and I used to do it all the time as kids,” says Amy.

“That sounds … nice,” Jake replies. “I’ve never traded books before.”

“Oh, you’ll love this!” Amy answers, grinning unashamedly. “Plus, I can show you my handshake binder. I know you’re just dying to see it.”

“Yeah,” Jake rolls his eyes. “You know the book sale was all a ruse so I could go over to your place and read your hand-shaking binder.”

Amy tells him the directions as they make their way to her apartment. “Alright, when we get there, it might be a bit messy,” she apologizes.

They get out of the car and into the elevator, each carrying a bag of books. Jake feigns a horrified gasp when he enters. “Amy Santiago! You have a wilting houseplant on the windowsill and and a book open on the sofa! I cannot stay here. That’s final.”

“Shush, some of us have high standards when it comes to cleaning,” Amy says. “Now, let’s see what we each bought.”

They make their way to Amy’s carpeted living room and sit down. Amy spreads out all the books she got, and Jake does the same.

Amy wagers, “I’ll trade you The Outsiders for The Book Thief.”

“You have a deal.”

They spend half an hour making trades, while discussing their work-related book struggles. Amy’s sure, if she were talking with anyone but Jake, they would make fun of her.

“I know! Why doesn’t Goodreads have half-stars ratings? What if something’s not quite three stars but it definitely didn’t make four?”

“You know what I hate? Mike Lupica sports novels. Nobody reads them, but they’re everywhere.”

“Definitely. Books with those serrated deckle edges are the worst. They take so long to flip through!”

“What’s the deal with Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants? It’s unhygienic, if you ask me."

Before Amy knows it, her alarms goes off for her three-o’clock Skype call with Charles. Since she’s so terrible at cooking, he gives her lessons every Saturday. It’s a nice way to stay in contact and improve at the same time.

“Can I learn, too?” Jake asks. “I’m not so great at cooking, either.”

Amy scoffs, not out of pride, but because she doesn’t think anyone could be worse than she is. “Sounds good! I mean, I hijacked your book sale, so you might as well join in on my informal cooking class.”

“You didn’t hijack anything, Amy. Thanks to you, I got to trade books and rant about deckle edges!” Jake says. “That sounded sarcastic, didn’t it? I’m serious. I hate deckle edges.”

Amy walks Jake to her kitchen, her laptop set up on the counter. She calls Charles on Skype, who picks up after a minute. He’s wearing a flowery apron and a green oven mitt, holding a tray of meringues.

“I’m going to change for the cooking class,” she says, before disappearing to her room.

“Hey, Amy! Amy?” Charles calls. “What’s Jake doing in your kitchen? And where are you?”

“Amy went to change. We went to the book sale, and then came back to Amy’s apartment to trade,” Jake explains. “Finally, I found someone who agrees with me about deckle edges!”

“Please don’t ever stop talking to her,” Charles says, half-joking. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that rant?”

“Shut it,” Jake shoots back. “You know how terrible deckle edges are. They’re inefficient and expensive! The worst combination!”

“What’s this I hear about deckle edges?” Amy returns, wearing a grey sweatshirt and jean shorts. “Also known as Earth’s most unhelpful innovation?”

“See, someone agrees with me,” Jake taunts. He takes off his plaid button-up, walking around Amy’s kitchen in a white t-shirt and jeans.

Charles begs Jake and Amy to shut up about book edges before sending them a recipe for coconut macaroons. “I anticipated you’d be stressed lately, Amy, so I picked a really easy food.”

“What’s wrong?” Jake questions.

“National exams,” Charles and Amy respond, almost robotically. “Art history is an advanced placement class, and the test is in two weeks.”

“Yet another reason I don’t teach,” Jake smirks.

“It’s really fine,” Amy says, dismissively. “I’m not even allowed to be in the testing room. I think my students are fine.”

“I bet you’ll get good scores this year, Ames,” Charles encourages. “Come on, let’s bake! You know it calms you down.”

Amy reads the recipe, cheering when she sees there are three ingredients, and navigates around the kitchen to find them. Jake preheats the oven, bragging about how easy it is, until he finds he forgets a metal pan inside. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll get an oven mitt and take it out.”

Emptying coconut flakes, condensed milk, and vanilla extract into a bowl, Amy and Jake swirl the mixture around with spoons.

“Bless you, Charles, for picking an easy recipe this time,” Amy exhales. “Last time, you wanted me to bake an angel cake,”

“Amy, you just bought cake mix,” Charles retorts. “They gave you a sack of powder! All you did was add water and eggs, and put the mix in the oven.”

“Hey, don’t attack cake mix!” Jake interrupts. He’s been busy tasting the macaroon mixture, so there are coconut flakes stuck to his chin, but he does have a point. “It’s cheap, easy to use, and it tastes great.”

“Yeah, Charles,” Amy says. “Well, except for the taste. I’m afraid of getting salmonella, so I don’t taste the batter.”

Jake tells Amy she’s unbelievable, while Charles tries to prove the statistical chance of contracting salmonella is vanishingly small (Amy argues she would say infinitesimally, while Jake says the odds are teenily-weenily small.)

“Anyway, you can taste this batter,” Charles states, “because there aren’t any raw eggs in here.”

Amy takes some of the mix and makes a face when she first tastes it. “Wow, there’s a ton of sugar in here.”

“That’s the point!” Jake says, and Charles admits he’s correct. “Some people actually dip the macaroons in chocolate once they’re done.”

Though she looks about ready to faint, and promises to not eat these dreadful sweets, Amy gets out the cupcake wrappers and drops macaroon batter into them. She and Jake work alongside each other, trying and failing to critique the other’s performance.

“Only one of these has the perfect amount,” Charles murmurs, “and I won’t tell you which one.”

They all look pretty similar to Amy, but she desperately hopes the perfect macaroon is one she made. Jake probably has the same wish, Amy thinks, just by the look on his face. The oven beeps a few minutes after Jake and Amy finish putting batter into the cupcake tins, and Charles actually claps with giddiness.

Amy can’t imagine being as positive as Charles Boyle. She can try, though, so she puts on oven mitts and puts the tray in. “Ten to twelve minutes,” Charles recommends, so Amy chooses eleven.

While they wait for the macaroons to bake, Charles starts telling Jake and Amy about his afternoon. He made the meringues, just as planned, and videotaped himself for his ‘flipped classroom’ teaching idea. Even if few people care about home ec, Charles is deeply devoted to his foodie blog and its posts. (The high school staff get his weekly email blasts. Amy’s learned quite a few things about baking, suffice to say.)

The conversation turns around. “What’ve you two been up to?” Charles asks, a false air of innocence hidden in his words. Amy notices his subtle wink; she’d call him out on it, if Jake weren’t over at her apartment. They only just met, after all.

“Shut it, Charles,” Jake says, before Amy can even speak. Thank goodness he picked up on Charles’ insinuations. She wasn’t the only one. “We went to the library, and then we arrived here. All we did was trade books and talk shop.”

“Talk shop?” Amy asks, crossing her arms and turning to look at Jake. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are greying and her hair is sticking out of its messy ponytail, but she can poke fun at Peralta in any state. “What are we, carpenters?”

Two split seconds after talking, Amy realizes she shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t insulting or anything, but she can’t believe she’s this old and still bad at conversation. Her fingers fly up, nails piercing into the nape of her neck in a stressful frenzy.

“Sorry, you wouldn’t believe how many weird terms I’ve picked up from reading so much,” Jake responds, laughing and looking at the ground all at once. His ears turn pink, Amy notes, and his smile has a nice crookedness to it.

The beep of the oven interrupts whatever poor discussion was taking place, and Amy rushes to turn it off. She takes a deep breath, opens the oven door, and removes a neat tray of macaroons. They’re white-gold, with stylishly browned coconut flakes at the top. Charles cheers, Jake moves to pick one up, and Amy has to keep herself from slapping his hand away.

They just met; she shouldn’t care this much about him.

“My mistake. I … didn’t want you to get burnt,” Amy apologizes, the realization of how strange she sounds sinking in. Jake thanks her before inching toward the pan of macaroons yet again, deciding they’re now cool enough to taste.

“Well, what do you think of the macaroons? They’re my own recipe,” Charles boasts.

Jake can’t say anything, still chewing while his mouth is covered in coconut flakes, but he’s in heaven. The macaroon is kind of falling apart in its silver cupcake tin, but everything is delicious and he’s satisfied. Amy reaches for a sweet, carefully unwrapping it and taking a bite. The sugary confection takes its time to sink in, but she’s soon thanking Charles for the recipe.

“They’re everything I ever wanted,” Jake says. “Easy to make, tasty, healthy, and fancy.”

“Healthy?!” Amy demands. “Didn’t you just eat one?”

“Hey, it has coconut as its main ingredient. Coconuts are fruits,” Jake protests.

Ordinarily, Amy would point out the weaknesses in Jake’s logic 一 his argument is fallacious as hell 一 but the macaroons turned out so well and Charles is about to hang up. Amy realizes she’s had such a nice day, she doesn’t want to ruin it with her own argumentative self.

“Well, it’s been fun baking with you!” Amy almost shouts, faking a smile. She knows Charles is trying to go, but he hates hanging up. Besides, Jake has work tomorrow; he should probably leave, too.

“Alright, I should go,” Charles says. He yawns before explaining he has to edit the baking video for his blog. “Bye, you two!”

Amy smiles a little, hearing the enthusiasm present in Charles’ voice. He’s a good friend, and she can see why he and Jake are so close.

“I should probably get going, too,” Jake admits, putting on his leather jacket. Amy doesn’t really want him to leave, but she knows he should.

“You have work tomorrow, right?” Amy asks, sounding awfully simple.

Of course he has work, it’s Monday tomorrow.

“Yeah, why?”

Amy doesn’t have to look up to know Jake’s leaving, hearing the jingle of car keys in the air.

“Just wondering what your hours were. I was thinking of stopping by Shelf Life more often.”

“That’d be great,” Jake says, grinning. Amy jumps up to open the door for him. Her head is a blur; she doesn’t know whether or not to hug Jake.

She doesn’t.

“Thanks for having me over. Night, Ames. It was great meeting you.”

She’s hated pet names her whole life, but suddenly Jake is calling her a nickname and her cheeks are reddening in the dim light of the threshold. They’re standing in between the carpet and the hallway, face to face and foolish as can be.

Maybe, someday, he’ll stay over. He’ll listen to all her stories, all the secrets she couldn’t bear to carry anymore. Tonight, maybe he’ll blush as he remembers her, when he’s at home and she’s nowhere around. Just maybe. Amy can only hope.

“It was good to meet you, too,” Amy replies, her shyness disappearing as she continues. “Listen, how do you feel about being ‘deckle edge’ in my phone contacts?”

Jake laughs for a good ten seconds (time feels longer and better around him, okay?). “Sure, Amy, as long as you can be ‘angel cake.’”

Biting her lip, Amy decides to not tell Jake there are still two boxes of cake mix 一 chocolate and red velvet 一 in her pantry. Instead, she excuses herself and returns with a ziploc baggie of coconut macaroons.

“I put half of them in. You were baking, too, you know,” Amy says. With a black sharpie, she writes his full name on the bag in her nicest handwriting.

“Is this a font?” Jake jokes, his eyebrows raised. He whistles, looking at Amy’s careful writing, and tells her he’ll treasure the bag for ages.

“Goodnight, Jake. I’ll text you, alright?” Amy hugs him, only briefly, and hands him the bag of macaroons.

With a click of her front door, he’s gone.

Tonight was good, she thinks, as her heartbeat slows and she looks over to the living room. Amy knows she was awkward at times, making uncomfortable comments and strange gestures, but Jake seemed genuinely glad to meet her.

Books are strewn about the coffee table, hardcovers shining under the ceiling fan’s light. Making her way around the room, Amy picks up books until she has to hold the stack under her chin. She puts the books in her room, promising to take them to work tomorrow, and doesn’t touch them for the rest of the night.

Instead, Amy takes out her phone and changes Jake’s contact name to ‘deckle edge.’ He hasn’t texted yet, so she keeps herself from texting first. She has more self control than that, right?

Amy puts her hair down, eats two macaroons, and gets ready for bed. She falls asleep hoping life will be nice enough to let her be happy someday. When the clock strikes 11:11, Amy is already fast asleep, dreaming about living someplace with a secret wall and a private library.

In three days’ time, Amy’s done a lot more than she thought she would.

She and Jake have started texting (he messaged her just after he got home from her apartment!) and he’s probably the biggest dork she’s ever met.

[yesterday, tuesday: opened texts]

deckle edge: hey ames

deckle edge: amyyyyyy

deckle edge: did anyone ever tell you aNNE MCCAFFREY IS OVERRATED

deckle edge: i hate her sm

angel cake: what even jake,,,she’s SO old

angel cake: why is this relevant??

angel cake: are you drunk

deckle edge: nopee

deckle edge: just mad bc mccaffrey is taking up shelf space

deckle edge: how do u deal with this at the library ?

angel cake: uh, we just weed the books

deckle edge: i want to make a 420 joke but i shouldnt

angel cake: shush

angel cake: we just delete old books from the system and donate them

angel cake: are bookstores allowed to do that or no

deckle edge: ok, i checked, we can’t throw books out

deckle edge: great :/

deckle edge: all that junk about profit and revenue

deckle edge: hey, wanna buy all of the mccaffrey books so shelf life gets more space?

deckle edge: please?

Amy’s also begun going to the public library more often. To relive some old memories, she wants to begin a book drive. There are posters all around the school, advertising the cause, and Amy happily watches as students donate. They’ll do anything for service hours, she’s noticed, and uses this knowledge to her advantage.

Sophia, the other librarian, definitely appreciates Amy’s efforts. Although she doesn’t go to book sales, she helps put up posters and donates books from home. Most of them are dusty, old tomes, but a book is a book. Nobody can shush students or tell them to push in their chairs like Sophia can. Amy really admires Sophia, and they’ve become close since they began working at the same time, in the same place.

On Friday afternoon, five days and eight coconut macaroons after the book sale, Amy is innocently working at the library when Charles arrives in her office. His face is alight with a grin, and his hands are clasped behind his back

“Hey, Santiago,” he says, attempting some semblance of coolness. His voice is a bit pitchy, though, and Amy can’t help but notice.

“Hi, Charles!” Amy looks up from the hardback open at her desk, the address and name of the library blacked out with sharpie. “Anything wrong?”

Amy crosses her fingers under the desk.

“Uh, no. I have a class to teach 一 macaroons won’t bake themselves! 一 but someone came to see you.” Charles practically sprints away from the library, and Amy would yell at him for running, but Jake steps out from the hall.

He’s wearing a purple Shelf Life t-shirt, plastered in a maze of popular book titles, and Amy smiles at the sight. Jake’s eyes are soft and she spots ‘Harry Potter’ on his left shoulder, so she feels doubly happy and her heart accelerates at once.

“Hey, Amy,” he says, his cheeks turning pink as he speaks. “Since you visited me at the store, I only thought it’d be fair that I see you at school.”

“It’s good to see you,” Amy replies, pushing her glasses up her nose and promptly standing up.

“Uh, Sophia, can you cover for me?” she yells, turning away from Jake. Sophia walks out of her office and into Amy’s, asking what’s wrong until her smooth voice turns into a stutter.

“Ah, you’re, uh, you’re busy. Sounds good. I’ll, just, um, take over for you and make sure you’re off the clock for 一 for however long you want.”

With anyone else, Amy would be blushing and apologizing like mad, but Jake just laughs and thanks Sophia. He boyishly leans one hand on her desk, and she loves it, for some reason. “What, does she think we’re together? Did you tell her about meeting me?”

Amy says no because it’s easier, but she told Sophia this morning all about Jake’s various literary hates: Mike Lupica, Anne McCaffrey, anyone who puts a full-size photo of themselves on the back of their book. Sophia winked and said Jake was a keeper, if he hates deckle edges as much as Amy does.

“Can I get a tour?” Jake asks, sincerity in his eyes. He gazes out the window, toward the bookshelves, with a childish hope Amy can only hope he keeps.

“I didn’t get a tour at Shelf Life,” Amy shoots back. She’s smiling, though, because she really can’t stop herself.

“Come by a second time, and you’ll get a tour from yours truly.”

Amy really hopes Jake is serious, because she’s far too gullible to tell. She walks out from behind the desk in her office and motions for him to follow.

“Ready for your tour? Don’t expect too much; we’re a small school district.”

“No problem,” Jake responds, shrugging. “Shelf Life is a small store.”

They make their way past the offices.

“Okay, these are the fiction shelves. Sophia hates their height, but I think they’re just perfect. You know, calm and fortress-like. It’s like you walk right into a forest.”

“Amy, that’s pretty insensitive,” Jake jokes, feigning offense. “A forest died for these books.”

“Shush it, you.” Amy waves her hand in the air, a strange sophistication settling over her, and explains, “The books are organized by genre, and they’re alphebetized within the genres.”

“Noice,” Jake says, “just the way we do it at the store.”

“Great minds thinks alike.” Amy taps at her temple with her index finger, taking Jake past the shelves.

To the left are desks and chairs, out of place but loved nonetheless. Amy boasts about how the desks have power outlets on the sides, and Jake tells her he wishes Shelf Life had furniture like this.

Amy leads Jake all over the library, from the tables to the computers and the nonfiction section and fancy conference room. He looks impressed, truly the best compliment to a Santiago, and they both look up at the clock when a ring pierces the air.

“School’s out,” Amy says, plainly.

“You know, those were my favorite words as a kid, but I’m sad to have this end.”

Amy nods quietly. “This doesn’t have to end,” she answers. “Would you like to get a coffee?”

Jake’s grinning, and Amy’s already planning in her head.

“Okay, we can separately drive to the Starbucks on Eleventh Street. I’ll see you in, like, fifteen minutes, unless you want to go home first to change, or something,” he explains.

“No, I’ll leave straight from school,” Amy replies. “The sooner I see you, the better.”

She can see Sophia winking at her from the offices. When Jake isn’t looking, Amy glares at Sophia and moves to get her purse. Sophia is a world-class lip-reader, and this particular talent practically doubles her ability as an eavesdropper.

“Bye, Ames.” Jake shoves one hand in his pocket, and uses the other to open the library door for Amy.

“See you soon, Deckle Edge.” Amy steps past the threshold, walking down the stairs to the parking lot.

“Where are you going? There’s an elevator!” Jake protests. Amy says it’s for people with disabilities, or deliverymen, so Jake steps out and walks down the staircase with Amy. He walks her to her car and everything. Before putting her key in the ignition, Amy has to take a moment to smile at everything that just happened.

[today, friday: opened texts]

deckle edge: ames, i bet $5 i get there first

angel cake: ill take that action ;)

Amy wins the bet. Jake argues she parked in the morning, so she had a better space, while he arrived in the afternoon and didn’t park as well.

“What was I supposed to do, come to school with you at 8 AM?” Jake falsely demands.

“Some friend you are,” Amy retorts. “Just pay for my coffee, okay? That’ll take care of the five bucks.”

Jake orders a vanilla bean frappuccino, while Amy gets a cotton candy one, and they happily sit in the booth talking.

“If you’re going to take photos for the aesthetic, do it now, when the cup’s full,” Jake advises.

Amy rolls her eyes, but admits she has a Polaroid camera and a string of Polaroid photos in her room. Jake makes fun of her until he realizes he can’t think of a nickname for her. They decide their last names will be perfectly suitable nicknames, until they think of something better. ‘Deckle Edge’ and ‘Angel Cake’ are reserved for texting.

“How was work, Peralta?” Amy’s trying out the whole use-the-surname-as-a-nickname thing, and she feels like a police captain.

“Pretty good, Santiago,” Jake nods, trying to look serious, but he can’t help but laugh. “Business was pretty slow, but then a middle school came by and the kids were adorable. Shelf Life is doing a book fair, for some reason. It’s kind of weird, but everyone seems to like it.”

“Wait 一 from which school?”

“Uh, Casper Creek Middle School, I think.”

“No way! That’s my district, ‘cause I teach at Foster High.” Amy talks in between sips of her cotton candy frap.

“How do you like teaching?” Jake asks. “Is it tough holding two teaching jobs?”

“Well, I think it was harder getting enough degrees for two teaching jobs,” Amy replies. “It’s ridiculous how talented you have to be a teacher, and yet the income’s a joke. Beside the pay, though, I love being able to teach kids and see that eureka moment in their eyes.”

“See, some people only have one job, Santiago, and they hate it! You have two, and you love both of them. I’m so jealous.”

They’re sitting across from each other, folding their hands together. From her seat, Amy can see a flock of crows flying past chrome buildings and stick-thin trees. She takes one last sip from her frappuccino and rises to throw it away.

“You want to go?” Jake interrupts Amy’s daydreamy train of thought. “If you want, we could split up and go home, but I was thinking 一 what about heading to Barnes & Noble across the street?”

“Aren’t they terrible competition for Shelf Life?” Amy frowns, thinking of Jake’s loyalty (or lack thereof).

“Just listen, Ames,” Jake says, pretending to be exasperated. “We won’t buy anything; we can just brush up on book knowledge. And, you know, if we accidentally drop a couple business cards for Shelf Life, there’s no harm in that.”

“Sounds good, Peralta.” Amy stands up from the booth, puts three dollars in the tip jar, and rushes out of the coffeehouse. Jake isn’t far behind her, and they both run across the street into Barnes & Noble.

The bell on the door rings as Jake and Amy step in. A painfully cheerful employee greets them, and Amy pities retail workers right then and there.

“Ah, the smell of high prices and new paperbacks,” Jake murmurs. Amy shushes him, though she completely agrees. Luckily, the staff seem none the wiser.

“Okay, let’s do what anyone else would find strange yet dull: quiz each other on books,” Amy says, almost whispering. She gazes toward the dark shelves, widely spread and amply stocked.

Jake leads Amy toward a table, and they sit down across from each other. “Okay, here are the rules, Santiago.”

“Oh, I love rules!” Amy gushes.

“Perfect. So we list books. The other person has to name a book starting with the last letter of the title. If you spend longer than, say, ten seconds thinking, you lose. Gina and I play this all the time, but I think we should add some money to the wager.”

“Sounds good. How about, every time you ‘lose’, you owe the other person a dollar.” After Jake agrees, Amy pulls a legal pad and two pens from her purse. She draws a t-chart and explains they’ll tally each person’s earnings. “So, like, if you have nine tallies and I have ten, we each eliminate nine and you owe me a dollar.”

Jake begins the game. “Catcher in the Rye.”

“Ender’s Game.”

“East of Eden.”

“Uh …” Amy stutters. “North by Northwest.”

“Time out!” Jake has to stop himself from yelling, but his words still ring loudly in the bookstore. “That’s a movie!”

After they stop to look it up, it turns out ‘North by Northwest’ is a book after all. Amy lets out a sigh of relief and writes a tally mark on her side of the chart. Jake rolls his eyes but agrees.

This time, Amy begins. “Alice in Wonderland.”

“Um, Death of a Salesman.”

“New Moon.”

“Night.”

“The Giver.”

“Runaway Jury.”

Amy quietly curses for not being able to think of a book starting with ‘Y’. Leaning over, Jake writes a tally mark on the legal pad.

“Lord of the Rings,” Jake says.

“Sky Key,” Amy replies, sharp as a tack.

“You. I bet that’s a book.”

Amy pauses for longer than ten seconds, sure that no writer would write a book named ‘You.’ She’s willing to risk her loss - a potential tally mark on her side of the legal pad.

As it turns out, ‘You’ is the title of a book. Jake chuckles as he oh-so-slowly adds a tally mark. Amy throws her pen at his head, but she misses, and he jokingly writes another tally just for her bad aim.

Jake and Amy finally leave the bookstore two hours later, after playing a couple games (something about writing Hollywood plotlines based on book titles?) and ranting excessively. Amy now owes Jake three dollars, and he quietly gloats about this fact.

“People come in all the time looking for books, and they’re all ‘uhhh, it was blue.’ Unbelievable! The title is on the title and on the spine.”

“You know what I hate? People talk about ‘real books’ and ‘online books’ like they’re two different things. The text is just moved onto a different media. It’s not that new!”

“I’m sick of books with covers of women 一 you know, with their eyes artistically cut off so you can just see their lipstick and perfect skin. I never want to see a decapitated-woman book cover again.”

“What did we just do?” Amy asks, a bit light-headed. She walks out of Barnes & Noble leaning on Jake’s arm for balance, and nearly trips over her own feet. “It feels like time stopped in there.”

“Yeah, I get that vibe, Santiago,” Jake mutters. His voice is gravelly, and he rubs at his bleary eyes. “Oh, we act like we’re fifty.”

“And I’m only twenty-eight!” Amy whines, almost cursing at the air. She’s acting like such an old person, but is too exhausted to stop.

“I’m thirty and this is all I’ll ever come to,” Jake complains, scowling at the ground. “I wear literary t-shirts and play word games with the local librarian.”

“Hey!” Amy gently swats at Jake’s shoulders. She misses and he laughs.

“Want to come over?” Jake asks, opening the passenger door for Amy with a click. “I’m too tired to be alone. Anyway, you know, I like your … company.”

Amy shakes her head, getting into Jake’s car and buckling her seat belt. “Um, sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t refusing to go over. I was, uh, shaking my head to feel more awake. How about we go get coffee at Starbucks, hmm?”

“Again?”

“You know you’d feel better with some caffeine in your system. I’ll pay, so my three-dollar-debt is cleared. How’s that sound?”

Jake giggles (yes, he’s truly sleep-drunk), extending a hand to Amy. He hasn’t gotten in the car yet, so he just stands above her in the parking lot and locks the car again. Amy takes his hand 一 quietly, happily 一 and drops it once she’s out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

She wishes she hadn’t let go, though, because it’s now too awkward to initiate another hand-hold and everything’s a silly mess now. It hurts less now that it’s nighttime. Jake murmurs ‘the usual’ to Amy, sleepily sitting down. She arrives at the table a few minutes after, holding out Jake’s precious vanilla bean frap and sipping at her own pink confection.

“Cotton candy frap? Where’d you find that, one of those secret menu pages on Instagram?” Jake chides.

“I got it last time, Peralta. You didn’t make fun of me then,” Amy says, her voice heavy with a numb, late-night sort of satisfaction.

“I wasn’t this tired then,” Jake retorts. He yawns and grins slightly, looking at Amy before gazing up at the high ceilings of this picturesque place. His eyes return to Amy, though, and she smiles over at him.

“Why are we this exhausted?! We spent two hours talking about books on a Friday night. It’s not like we were drinking and partying.”

“We’re old, Ames.”

“You’re older,” Amy tactfully shoots back, and Jake laughs far longer than he realistically should.

Tonight is nice. Blissful, really.

Jake comes over to Amy’s side of the booth, and rests his head on her shoulder in exchange for his leather jacket. They fall asleep momentarily, Jake’s arms around Amy and his jacket on her back.

An employee named Wendy offers them free drinks for being such a cute couple. People like Wendy are the reason the world is still a good place. Neither Jake nor Amy rush to correct her, so they get another two frappucinos and continue to tease each other while in their sleep-deprived states.

Amy didn’t believe days like these were ahead, but all she needed were people like Charles and Jake and Wendy. Jake drives her home in his Mustang; he carries her to the car and lets her sleep in the backseat and everything. When Amy wakes up, she’s in Jake’s apartment, gazing up at the Die Hard posters with wonder.

“I can’t believe I met you last Sunday,” Jake muses, once she’s sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. “Now you’re wearing my jacket and making fun of my love of vanilla bean.”

“Jake, you know, we have, we have ….”

For a few seconds, Amy can’t even find the words to finish her sentence. “We have something, you know? There’s just so much to learn about each other, and we’re so similar … I have to admit I’ve never gotten so close so fast with anyone else.”

Maybe it’s the light, or the time of day, but Jake looks good when he’s tired, all soft and caring and kind-hearted.

“Yeah, I understand completely,” he replies. “I’ve never met someone like you, Santiago. I know, I’m being super sappy, but I’m okay with that right now. In all honesty, I love you for talking with me and texting me book memes during my shifts.”

“I love you, too. I like your jacket and your bookish t-shirt. Your apartment’s not bad, either. It’s … it’s all good.” Amy’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but her heartbeat just accelerated a bit, so that helps.

“Is that all you like me for? My wardrobe and my apartment?” Jake feigns demand, but he’s clearly too tired to do it effectively.

“Fine, Peralta,” Amy grumbles. She knows more than enough things to appreciate about Jake, though. “You’re funny. I mean it. You’re a nice guy without being one of those ‘nice guys finish last’ people. You have nice eyes, you know? And, um, you’re generous. I know because I’m never giving this jacket back.”

She smirks after saying that last line.

“Thank you, Ames. I’ll take what I can get.”

“What about me, huh? You think you can get away by only complimenting me for texting you?” Amy crosses her arms, trying to act stern, but she doubts it works.

“Okay. Amy Santiago. You are … really, truly incredible. You work two teaching jobs and you’re proud of yourself. You deserve to be. You’re really smart, because you try so hard. Your hair is super shiny, too. And you always manage to cheer me up, even when you’re texting me something dumb. So, yeah, you’re important to me. You and your nice smile and book memes.”

If it weren’t for the darkness, Jake would see her ears turning red.

“You know on Friends, how Monica talks about the night?”Jake’s words jar the quiet and Amy wishes she understood the reference.

After a few seconds of silence on Amy’s part, Jake explains, “It’s when you spend all night with someone and you learn everything about them. What do you say? Stay over with me and learn about me, scars and all?”

“It’s ‘warts and all’,” Amy unconsciously corrects.

“Yeah, but scars sound cooler,” Jake mutters.

Amy inches closer to Jake, hugging his jacket around her arms, and proposes they play ‘Never Have I Ever.’ He agrees at once, before she even rests her head on his shoulder and reads his t-shirt up close.

“Never have I ever questioned my sexuality,” Amy says. Jake slowly reached forward and writes himself a tally mark on the legal pad.

“This probably isn’t the best way to say this, but I’m bisexual?” he asks, his voice quivering a little. He knows you never can be too safe when coming out. People defy expectations. They flare up when you least expect them to. They leave when you think they’ll stand with you.

Amy smiles widely and takes Jake in a warm hug. She smells like him, thanks to the leather jacket, and he’s endlessly happy at the prospect of being loved. “I love you, you know that? I’m bi, too, and I know how hard it can be, but you don’t have to afraid around me.”

He knows this is sappy, and he didn’t expect Amy to be biphobic, but he still blushes and hugs her once more.

(Okay, maybe twice more. Or thrice. Tonight is one of opportunity, and having a fellow bisexual nearby never hurts.)

“You’ve never questioned before?” Jake asks, face filled with disbelief.

“I’m pretty lucky,” Amy admits. “My parents are really accepting, and I have seven brothers. Tons of them are part of the LGBT community, so I always had good role models growing up, and I just … always knew I was bi.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake replies, and they spend a whole hour talking about being bi.

“Never have I faked an orgasm,” Jake says, in between laughs.

Amy guiltily writes herself a tally, and Jake gasps dramatically. “No way! Who was it with?”

“My ex,” Amy admits. “Teddy. He was nice and everything, but he wasn’t exactly up to par. He told me he was nervous beforehand, and it was his first time, so I didn’t want to make him feel bad. I faked it and he believed me 一 for five months.”

“Oh, you miserable soul.” Jake shakes his head and Amy rolls her eyes. “Five months!”

“One night I just gave up pretending.” Amy giggles. “I just laid there and let him know how disappointing he was. We broke up right after he put his pants back on.”

“Never have I ever been walked in on,” Amy brags.

Jake thinks for a second before asking, “Does it count if the person came in after the sex?”

“Yes, unless you were fully clothed and back to normal.” Amy takes a leap, handing Jake the legal pad. Her guess is correct.

“Spill,” she encourages.

“Okay, it was years ago. I was in college, I was dating this guy, he stayed over, and my roommate found both of us in bed the next morning.”

“Oh,” Amy mumbles. “Uh, not as much spilling as I thought.”

“That sounds overtly sexual,”Jake says, scowling and batting Amy with the throw pillow on his couch.

“Never have I ever menstruated,” Jake says.

He writes the tally in for Amy, who scoffs and replies, “I mean, I’m on it right now. I’m not ashamed.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blurts out, “Do you need anything? There’s a bag of pads in the bathroom and I do … eat food, so you can share. Unless you want fancy cravings food. Then I could go out and get it? Unless it was really far, or foreign. Then try Charles.”

Amy puts her hand on Jake’s shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Jake. I’m fine, really. Also, I’m glad you do eat food.”

Jake awkwardly nods until Amy mutters, “I could tell you the story of my first period.”

“Do tell,” he responds, sitting upright.

“I was fifteen,” Amy begins, and Jake raises an eyebrow. “I was really jealous of all my friends, and I told everyone when I got it. My mom threw me a party and all my brothers had to sign the special card. At the time, I felt really mature, but it’s one big embarrassment looking back on it. After the initial surprise, I just wanted to sleep for a week.”

Jake carefully listens as Amy explains the various annoyances of blood. When he suggests he write Amy an updated period card, she begs him not to.

“Never have I ever dated a girl,” Amy admits. Jake puts his tally mark down and smiles softly.

“I’m so jealous!” Amy groans. “I’ve liked tons of girls, but it’s so hard finding another sapphic willing to date you.”

“I mean, I’ve liked tons of guys,” Jake defends himself.

“That’s different!” Amy protests. “You told me about that guy you slept with in college! It’s not the same.”

“You don’t have to date girls to prove you’re bi, Amy,” Jake replies.

“I know,” Amy says, “but dating a girl would be so fun!”

Jake hugs Amy and listens as she rants. They start talking about girl and boy crushes again, and end ‘Never Have I Ever’ to just confide in each other.

“Thanks, Jake.”

“No problem, Ames. I love you and your book memes and girl crushes. You wouldn’t be you without any part of yourself. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m glad you’re so easy to relate to.”

[yesterday, thursday: opened texts]

deckle edge: amy santiagoooo

deckle edge: pls cheer me up

deckle edge: my shift is super dullll

deckle edge: why dont people read more

angel cake: fiiine

angel cake: ill relate to you with literature!!

angel cake: not even joking

deckle edge: hey

deckle edge: we just got shipments of those illustrated harry potter books??

deckle edge: im in love and ive never even read the series

angel cake:  i hate you for never reading harry potter

angel cake: you want to hear a literature joke?

angel cake: cursed child

angel cake: thats it

deckle edge: ahaha i kinda get that

deckle edge: i only read reviews online tho

deckle edge: they made the trolley lady a monster???

angel cake: yeah they did

angel cake: hellooo?

angel cake: peralta you there?

deckle edge: sorry!!

deckle edge: i just started reading harry potter & the sorcerers stone

deckle edge: it’s so good,,,why didnt you make me do this earlier ?

angel cake: how far are you?

angel cake: are you crying yet

ao3 link  for future updates :))

thank you for reading!! please reblog if you liked it.