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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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Born to Make History Pt. 1/3

Summary: Jaskier is preparing for his first Grand Prix Final. He's skating to On Love: Eros and his routine tells the story of the seductress that woos a certain silver haired hockey player. The only problem is Jaskier can barely stay on his feet whenever Geralt is in the room.

An Ice Skating AU (With Yuri on Ice references but you don’t need to have seen it)

Geraskier - AO3 __________

Jaskier cursed as he felt the edge of his skate catch the ice. He landed ceremoniously on his arse. The take off into the quad salchow had been perfect. He’d gotten enough speed and height as he hugged his arms to his chest as he span in the air. He’d spread his arms wide for the landing but his fucking skate had hit the ice wrong.

“Shit!” He groaned as he went flying across the ice on his butt. “Fucking, cock, balls!”

The grand prix final was flying towards them at breakneck speed and he was beginning to flail. No one had expected him to qualify this year. It was his fifth year in the senior division and whilst he’d done well in regionals and nationals, he was still trying to break into the international league, and this was apparently his year.

“Julian!” Yennefer snapped as she skated over to him. “What the fuck was that? You can land a Salchow in your sleep!”

Yennefer Vengerberg. The bane of his life, otherwise known as his coach and choreographer. She’d also hooked him up with a ballet teacher, Triss Merigold, and he had never been so elegant on the ice. She was still the bane of his life. She was an incredible teacher and was in her prime the best female skater in the world. She’d retired from competing three years ago following an accident on the ice that had injured her spine. She was no longer allowed to make the jumps but her skating and step sequences were still to die for.

She was also insanely strict and honestly scared the shit out of him.

“I fucked up the landing.” He moaned.

“Yes.” She said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “I can see that. Do it again.”

Jaskier scrambled to his feet and skated a loop around the rink to find his feet again. He would have some lovely bruises but everything seemed to be in order. His ankles weren’t damaged which was the main thing. He sighed as he closed his eyes, picturing the music in his mind as he ran through the routine just before the quad salchow. He licked his lips as he took a deep breath before pushing up off the ice.

He soared through the air as the music sang in his head and then landed perfectly. He grinned and moved through onto the next part of the routine.

“Not terrible!” Yennefer called which was Yennefer speak for actually pretty damned good.

By the time he’d finished the routine he was panting slightly and there was a dull burning in his thighs. His butt was sore but that was probably more to do with his crash than the routine. He skated over to the edge of the rink and rest his arms on the side. “Better?” He asked Yennefer with a wink.

“Your triple axel combination needs work. Your arms were all over the place and would you please stop sticking your tongue out during the step sequences? You look like Roach.” Yennefer rattled off, counting each mistake on her perfectly manicured fingers.

Roach. That was her ex’s cat. He’d seen photographs whenever Ciri, her daughter, joined them at the rink. Ciri was an adorable young girl who was eager to join in once they’d finished up their practice. Jaskier would always guide Ciri around the rink by her tiny gloved hands and help lift her as she jumped from one foot to another. She had ice-skating in her blood. Her father, Geralt Rivia, was a professional hockey player and owner of Jaskier’s heart. Every time Geralt came by to pick up or drop off Ciri, Jaskier stumbled on the ice. He was just so gorgeous that Jaskier apparently lost control of his limbs and turned into a puddle of Jaskier goo on the ice.

He sighed wistfully as he pictured Geralt’s lovely amber eyes and shining silver hair. Of course he was an ice-skater. He even looked like he’d been blessed by some ice spirit or something. Jaskier had had many a dream about pair skating with Geralt, the feel of his strong arms lifting Jaskier high up into the air.

“Jaskier! Are you even listening to me?” Yennefer prodded him in the arm. She sounded completely exasperated, which Jaskier supposed wasn’t entirely uncalled for. He hadn’t been listening and he had no idea how long he’d been daydreaming for.

“Umm.”

“Give me strength.” She groaned and skated away from him with a roll of her eyes. “Can we go through it again with music? Lower the jump difficulty if you’re tired but I want to see your performance.”

He sighed and pushed off from the barrier, tossing his fringe from his eyes. “I. You… My, My performance is excellent!” He muttered.

“Your performance is shit.” Yennefer countered. “Remember your tongue is supposed to stay inside your mouth. Otherwise you’ll bite through it and I’m not taking you to hospital.”

“Urgh.” Jaskier groaned but moved into his starting position. “Just press play already.”

“Oh and Jaskier?”

“What?”

“Geralt is coming in with Ciri. Please do try and stay on your feet.” She smirked and clicked play. The strumming of a guitar filled the room as On Love: Eros began to play.

Jaskier stumbled over his first few moves. Stupid Yennefer and Geralt. He yelled with frustration as he settled into the routine. He knew this. He was good at this. The costume always helped his performance but he was Eros. He was great at seduction. He could charm just about anyone… who wasn’t Geralt. He moved with grace and elegance as he glided around the ice like the seductress that he was. In his mind Geralt was the playboy lover that had come to town and Jaskier was Yennefer. He would seduce the man who had stolen his heart. He had been doing it all season, not that Geralt had ever seen any of his performances but that didn’t matter.

He lowered all his quads to triples. They’d been training for hours and doing quads at this point was too dangerous. His muscles were tired and this run through was about the performance.

Seduction.

Lust.

Love?

The music stopped and the only noise that was left in the rink was the sound of his panting.

He’d done it.

“Yay! Jaskier!” Ciri yelled and clapped. He spun round to see her and Geralt watching from the edge of the rink.

“Oh fudge!” He muttered as he caught Geralt’s eyes. Oh good lord he was so handsome. At least Jaskier was already red in the face from his performance. He could pretend the way his heart was racing was solely to do with exertion.

“Jaskier that was amazing!” She shrieked and grabbed at the rails.

“Ciri, your skates aren’t tied up.” Geralt reminded her as he scooped her up into one arm.

Jaskier laughed and skated over to them. “Thank you, Ciri.” He smiled at the young girl. “Umm. Hi.” He muttered at Geralt a little awkwardly.

“Heard you got to the finals. Congratulations.” Geralt nodded.

“Ah yeah.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thanks. What did you think?” He asked. “Three words or less?”

“Not bad.”

Jaskier pouted. Great. His first review from the unrequited love of his life and it was ‘not bad.’

“Right. Well.” He muttered. “Thanks for that.” He went to pushed off from the barrier but Geralt grabbed his arm. Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to meet Geralt’s. The blush on his cheeks only intensifying at the contact.

“It was good.” Geralt said in his gravelly voice that made Jaskier’s heart go wild.

God he should have chosen Agape to skate to. Never mind trying to seduce Geralt, he was completely gone on the man. “Oh.”

“I like the music.” Geralt continued with a slight frown.

Jaskier chuckled. “Three words or less, that’s four.”

“You skate beautifully.” Geralt smirked and Jaskier’s skate slipped underneath him.

“Oh sugar!” He groaned as he fell back but Geralt was still gripping onto his arm and he managed not to fall on his arse. “Shhh… Sherbet. Thank you, thanks.” He muttered. “I’m just… gonna.” He pointed to the other side of the rink where there was a gap in the barriers. “I think I’ve skated enough today.”

“But Jaskier!” Ciri whined. “You were going to help me with my toe jump.” She pouted at him with wide emerald eyes.

“Oh alright then. Get your skates on.” Jaskier bopped her on the nose.

“You don’t have to.” Geralt growled. “You must be tired.”

Jaskier waved his hands and scoffed. “Nonsense. I made a promise, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Can I join you?”

Jaskier’s heart stopped in his chest. He resisted the urge to pinch himself. Did he hit his head when he fell earlier? Was this all some dream? Oh god, he was definitely dreaming. “Oh, umm yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Might need someone to catch you again.” Geralt chuckled and Jaskier gaped at him.

“Geralt!” He whined. “I am a top figure skater!”

Geralt shrugged.

“Take that back!” Jaskier pointed at him. “Take that back or I’m not letting you on the ice.”

“Hmm.” Geralt shrugged again.

Jaskier huffed and finally skated away from him. His heart still pounding in his chest. When he turned around he saw Yennefer watching them with a smirk from the other end of the rink.

“Are you done? I have notes.” She asked, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

He groaned but reluctantly skated over to his coach. Ciri still needed to finish tying up her skates and Geralt could keep her entertained whilst he finished up with training. He tried not to zone out whilst she pointed out all his mistakes but it was hard with Geralt being so close, and now they were going to skate together. It was a dream come true. It was only Yennefer’s piercing violet gaze that kept him from drifting off into a daydream. Honestly he was thankful that she was so terrifying. He wasn’t sure any other coach would be able to keep him in line. His first coach, when he was still in Oxenfurt, had been too relaxed and Jaskier had often just fucked about.

It wasn’t his fault he was so easily distracted.

The scraping of blades on the ice pulled his attention away. Yennefer sighed and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Jaskier grinned and spun round to skate towards Ciri and Geralt. Ciri tried to skate away from Geralt towards him but stumbled as she reached him. Jaskier reached out to catch her with a laugh.

“There we go!” He said as he steadied her. “You’ll be a top skater in no time.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to play hockey!” Ciri grinned.

Jaskier pouted dramatically. “You won’t need me to teach you the toe loop then.” Ciri’s eyes went wide and she looked like she was about to cry. “But, seeing as you’re wearing figure skates instead of hockey ones.” He winked at Geralt. “I guess I will.”

Ciri grinned. “Thank you, Jaskier!”

They weren’t on the ice long. Jaskier was exhausted from training and Ciri was only young so she got bored quickly. Geralt mostly stayed out of their way, running laps around the rink whilst Jaskier and Ciri practiced her jump in the middle. After about twenty minutes Geralt joined them in the middle and caught Ciri in his arms.

“Enough now, cub.” He murmured. “Jaskier has a big competition coming up. Let him rest now.”

Ciri pouted. “Can we go and see him again?”

Jaskier froze.

Again?

What the fuck did that mean?

He stared at Geralt with wide eyes. Geralt was… blushing? Nah. It was probably just the cold air from the rink.

“Ciri likes to watch you skate.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier smirked. “Ciri didn’t call my skating beautiful.” He glided forward slightly putting himself Geralt’s space.

God if Ciri wasn’t here right now….

He bit his lip as he tried to push those thoughts out of his head. Geralt wasn’t interested in him that way. He’d thought that Geralt barely knew he existed before today, but apparently that wasn’t entirely true. Geralt had sneakily been watching his performances.

“That was a joke.”

Jaskier laughed and skated a circle around Geralt. “I don’t think so!” He sang and then before his confidence could leave him. “It’s getting pretty cold in here. Did you wanna grab a hot drink or something?”

“Hot chocolate!” Ciri squealed and wiggled in Geralt’s arms.

“Or coffee?” Jaskier suggested with a tilt of his head. “I was up before the sun today. Yennefer doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of beauty sleep, or course looking like she does, I don’t blame her!”

“Coffee sounds good.” Geralt nodded and skated over to the exit with an excitable five year old in his arms.

Jaskier watched the pair of them, his gaze dropping down to Geralt’s sinfully round arse before grinning to himself and following them out of the rink.

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#the witcher #geraskier #ice skating au #yuri on ice #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #figure skater!Jaskier #ice hockey player!Geralt #wolfie's witcher writing #let me know if you want to be tagged

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softboywriting · 5 years

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Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Four

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy. [fluff]

Word Count: 1.5k

|Masterlist In Bio|

"Hey sweetheart," Raul says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You're on your way out of your math class that you absolutely hate but are required to take at least one semester of a year for your degree. "Hungry?"

"I had a granola bar in class. So, not really?"

"When's your next class start?"

"An hour. I was going to go to the library."

Raul scoffs. "Nope, you're coming with me to get lunch."

"But I don't have any money."

He stares at you blankly. "I'll pay. I'm not going to make you pay for lunch when it's my idea. What am I? An animal?"

"Well..."

"Ah! Don't even go there." He grins and you can't help but crack a smile that turns into a little laugh. He's literally showing off his prominent fangs as he smiles. The irony. "What? Stop laughing."

"No." You push his lip up and he playfully bites your finger in retaliation. "Wolf boy."

Raul bares his teeth and you giggle. He's obviously not serious like he had been while fighting with Shawn the other day. While he looks terrifying, you aren't scared at the moment. Raul drops his facade and stares at you blankly. "You're weird."

"Nuh uh, you're weird. I'm just standing here, you're showing off your fangs to the world."

"And you're giggling at it!"

You raise your eyebrows and tilt your head a bit. "Would you rather I cry? Or run away?"

"N-no." He stammers. It's strange seeing him a little caught off guard like this. "You're like whiplash. One moment you're scared of us, the next you're giggling. I don't understand you."

You grab his hand and he slides his fingers between yours as if it were completely natural. Your heartbeat picks up a bit, not expecting him to do that. "Maybe you should try harder? I am your newest pack mate after all."

Raul narrows his eyes as if he were going to deny that statement, but he doesn't. He won’t. "Whatever, let's go to lunch."

"My choice?"

"No, mine."

"Well that's not fair."

He tugs you along gently, hand still in yours. "Life's not fair. I'm paying, I pick."

"Fine. Jerk."

"You know it, sweetheart.”

_____________________

Shawn's first hockey game of the season is on Saturday and you're all bundled up, ready to sit in the cold arena for a few hours. Shawn had invited you to go on Monday and you couldn't say no. He was so cute about it, giving you his jersey from last year to wear over your hoodie and everything. He even made you some cookies in sort of hockey stick shape. Honestly the world doesn't deserve him.

"You made it!" Shawn says excitedly as he wraps his arms around you. You’re in the hall outside the locker and storage rooms for the ice rink on campus. Hockey is sort of a big deal at your school. "We're just getting ready, do you wanna see the locker rooms?"

"I think I'll pass."

"Okay, okay, yeah locker rooms are kind of gross." Shawn laughs, he almost sounds nervous though you can’t imagine why he would be. First game jitters most likely. "You wore my jersey I see."

"Mmhmm. It's huge even over my sweatshirt." You pull out the silky jersey material from your chest. "I guess that's good though, wouldn’t want it to squeeze me to death or something."

Shawn smiles. "I love it. Did Raul and Peter come with you?"

"Yeah, they're getting snacks at the concessions. You guys eat too much."

"Fast metabolisms." Shawn pats his padded stomach. "Wolves gotta eat baby."

"Yeah, and they eat everything in sight. Speaking of food, I'm making dinner tonight, so you better be home after the game."

Shawn groans in delight. "I get to have you watch me play and I get dinner? Is it my birthday?"

"It's Saturday." You chuckle, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. "I always make dinner on Saturday, the game is just a bonus."

From the locker rooms a few doors down the hallway you can hear the coach yelling for Shawn.

"I gotta go. I promise I'll be home for dinner. I’m riding back with you guys anyway."

"Good."

Shawn turns to go and you grab his hand. He turns back and you lean up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "What was that?" He asks, touching the place where your lips had been.

"For good luck.” Your heart races and he squeezes your hand, telling you that he can feel it too. “Go, before the coach hunts you down."

Shawn flushes and clears his throat. "Thanks. I'll meet up with you after?”

"Mmmhmm. Good luck!"

____________________

Your team wins the game, even though Shawn kept gawking at you every couple of minutes. As team captain he really should be paying more attention. There were several shots he should have made with ease had he not been totally distracted. You can’t blame him though, he must be thinking about the cheek kiss. You know you were.

Post game you wait with Peter in the entryway to the ice complex. Peter gave you his jean jacket to keep warm even though you have on a hoodie and shawn’s jersey. Raul went to get Shawn's jeep to pick everyone up out front. Shawn had carpooled with one of the other guys on the team so you and the guys could bring his jeep and everyone could ride comfortably.

Shawn walks out of the doors to the rink and he’s got on his sunglasses and a long sleeve blue henley, bag of gear slung over his shoulder. He looks so good, like a professional hockey player coming out to meet fans. He pushes up his sunglasses and smiles, picking up the pace when he sees you and Peter at the doors.

"Did you see that shot I landed from halfway across the ice? It went sailing past their goalie so fast he didn’t stand a chance. I've never done that before." Shawn says excitedly. "I played so well.” He puts his free arm around your shoulders. “I think you're my good luck charm."

"Oh please, I think you were too distracted personally." You say and he raises his eyebrows, leaning back to look down at you. "What? Like I couldn't tell you kept searching for me in the seats? I know you missed that shot that was passed to you because you were looking for me when I moved to get a better view.”

"I just-"

"Shawn! Shawn!" A group of three girls comes running over, giggling and making a lot of noise between them. "You were amazing out there!" “So good!” “I loved the game!”

"Oh, thanks." Shawn says softly, breaking away from you for a moment. "Can I help you ladies?"

"We wanted to see if you were available tonight." One of the girls, a tall blonde, says playfully. "We're hosting a party at our place. Our frat actually."

Shawn looks at the three girls and then over to you and Peter. "I..."

You catch his eye and just sigh, assuming he's not going to be home for dinner now. You were even going to make his favorite, spaghetti and meatballs.

"I have dinner plans."

Your stomach flip flops. He’s going to go home with you and not these girls? Wild.

"Oh...that's lame. You could stop by after. We really want you to come over. You are the captain after all." One girl says with a little pout.

Shawn shakes his head. "I need to rest up." He steps away from the girls and puts his arm around your shoulders. "Thanks for the offer ladies, maybe another time."

Peter looks up from his phone and points to the glass doors. "Raul's here with the car."

"Gotta go," Shawn says, waving and walking you toward the doors.

"You don't have to stay home if you want to go," You say and glance back at the girls who are now talking among themselves. "I can save you some dinner or something."

Shawn presses his nose into your hair as he walks behind you now, arm around your chest. "I promised I'd be home for dinner. I can go to a party whenever. I don't get your spaghetti and meatballs all the time."

"How'd you know I was going to make that?"

"I saw the ingredients on the counter this morning. I realized when you said you were making dinner that was what it was going to be." Shawn opens the back door for you and hot air pours out. Raul's got the heater on high just for you. "I'm staying home."

"Alright, alright." You climb in the back seat and Peter gets in opposite you. He pockets his phone and scoots closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder. You put your hand in his hair and he sighs contently. "Are you guys ready for dinner?"

Shawn throws his gear in the back before getting settled in the passenger seat and they all answer in a chorus of yes as Raul pulls out onto the street. You smile, feeling so at home with them. Being a part of a pack is pretty damn good.

———–

End Part Four

———-

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

Custom header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes werewolf au #the mendes triplets #mendes triplets #peter mendes #raul mendes #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fics #shawn mendes fanfiction

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caatws · 4 years

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tagged by @justanalto to answer some questions !! :)

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? it’s like a blueish/greenish color and has moana on it! i usually comb my hair so i bought that brush just bc it was moana themed a few years ago lol. i don’t use it often

2. Name a food you never eat. there are many.....#justchildhoodocdthings ermmmm i don’t eat a lot of snack foods like chips or goldfish

3. Are you typically too cold or too warm? too warm, esp these days bc the weather is hella warming up so i wake up feeling hot a lot

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? i was working on some post-grad work stuff and then crossed over into my roommates’ room to watch the facebook livestream graduation 2020 thing cuz miley was on singing the climb

5. What is your favorite candy bar? i love a good hershey’s special dark chocolate moment

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yes, quite a lot actually! my mom is super into sports, so i grew up going to a handful of pro sports games - mlb, nba, and nhl. never nfl tho bc my mom said the price of tix wasn’t worth it LMAOOOO. also when the olympics are here in la in like 8 years i wouldn’t mind checking out some events here !!

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? i asked my roommate if she wanted me to close the door as i was leaving her room bc she was abt to hop on a zoom call

8. What is your favorite ice cream? chocolate.....esp if it’s dark chocolate which is Rare

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? starbucks peppermint hot chocolate bc i’m a basic bitch!!!!

10. Do you like your wallet? yeah, i only upgraded from my middle school wallet like back in 2018 to a normal adult looking one. it’s purple and has enough pockets for all my shit! still bulky tho

11. What was the last thing you ate? ....nothing LMFAOOOO lunch is usually my first meal of the day and i haven’t had it yet. but last night i had ramen for dinner

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? last time i bought clothes was i ordered one of the black widow hoodies from hot topic like a month ago....other than that i have not gone clothes shopping since pre-quarantine

13. The last sporting event you watched? i don’t even know....i didn’t watch the super bowl, so it’d either be some time my roommate was watching hockey on our tv or whatever sports my mom was watching when i was still home for winter break in january

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? KETTLE CORN!!!!

15. Who is last person you sent a text message to? i sent a pic of miley singing the climb on the fb livestream on my friend’s laptop to my fam being like “lol miley is our commencement performer!!!!” and my mom was just like cool

16. Ever go camping? yes unfortunately....never for more than a night at a time tho bc i literally Cannot

17. Do you take vitamins? no bc what is Health

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? used to back in the days of catholic school (pre college), but now no longer

19. Do you have a tan? nah bc we can’t go outside bro

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? chinese food 100% i personally think pizza is overrated

21. Do you drink soda with a straw? i don’t believe i ever do tbh

22. What color socks do you usually wear? i only own socks with colorful patterns/designs on them which is extra but very me i suppose

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? always! (a reasonable amount over tho, like within 5-10 mph over...this is average for californians, while many others speed hella)

24. What terrifies you? not a fan of heights nor uncertainty, and this pandemic has essentially destroyed my post grad hopes/plans and now i enter an uncertain future

25. Look to your left, what do you see? my bed, with a lot of stuff piled on top

26. What chore do you hate? all of them???? i guess doing the dishes mostly tho bc i hate the smell of wet dishes with food waste/residue on them and it just feels so gross i can’t

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? i think wow australia sounds like a wild country

28. What’s your favorite soda? orange soda 4ever

29. Do you go into a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? drive-thru if i can !!! but i don’t mind going in if there’s ample parking available

30. Who’s the last person you talked to? my roommate, when i asked if she wanted me to close the door LMAO

31. Favorite cut of beef? all of them????? i’m not picky with meat dsflkbn

32. Last song you listened to? as i was driving back into my garage the radio station i was listening to started playing sugar we’re going down which threw me for a time loop

33. Last book you read? i’ve been reading fanfic mostly recently so ig whatever the last thing i read for my internship weeks ago was, it would be that

34. Favorite day of the week? even tho time doesn’t matter in quarantine, i’ll always be a friday stan

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? i used to be decent at it but i’m out of practice now. i’ll try to just type it rly quickly and see: zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcba (ok so this took me like 5ish secs to type so that’s p good!)

36. How do you like your coffee? i don’t! i just drink peppermint hot chocolate :^)

37. Favorite pair of shoes? my doc martens, but they are now out of season for most of the rest of the year bc i live in southern california where it’s Hawt so i probs won’t wear them again til december

38. The time you normally go to sleep? sometime between 1 and 3 am

39. The time you normally get up? sometime between 9 and 11 am

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunsets are dope!!!

41. How many blankets on your bed? three, including my sheet, comforter, and a small quilt

42. Describe your kitchen plates. some are just round and plain white, some are round and white with a red decorative border, one is a pokémon plate meant for children that i bought cheap at target

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? piña colada!!! but if i’m trying to get drunk i need vodka or somethin

44. Do you play cards? not much tbh! my apartment has been on a mahjong streak as of late

45. What color is your car? silver!!

46. Can you change a tire? no i’m useless but also my parents believe i’ll get murdered if stuck on the side of the road (which is possible) so they’d prefer me to call aaa for help

47. Your favorite province? uhhhhhhh no provinces here in the u.s. but canada has provinces and i went to british columbia (to visit vancouver) once as a kid so???? if we talking states tho y’all know i will die for california

48. Favorite job you’ve ever had? honestly my job at my school’s mail center this past year was rly cool! my boss was so great and the other student workers were chill, so it was a nice environment and i enjoyed learning all these mail-related skills

49. How did you get your biggest scar? i have no scars ;))))

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy? i had my final appointment with my therapist from my school since i graduated, so i thanked him for working with me the past year and a half!

i tag: anyone who wants to do this, i’m lazyyyyy hehe so feel free to steal!!!! i wanna read y’all’s answers

#madison.txt #about me #tagged #ty serena this was fun uwu

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inkedsevans · 5 years

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seeing red. | solo

WHO: sam evans (with mentions of others)

WHAT: he should have expected this. sam runs into an old, unfriendly face.

WHEN: 2/8; evening.

WHERE: the maggie

WARNINGS: mentions of alcoholism; and also violence.

In hindsight, Sam realized maybe, he should have expected this. Perhaps not subconsciously, but part of him was at least prepared for the talk. After all, it was all anyone in Castleport ever fucking did. And growing up the son of the town’s most infamous bar owner (and notorious drunk), he was used to it. The looks, the whispers, the same snarky comments from the people who’d mock his father but still find their asses on The Maggie’s bar stools on any given night.

And maybe, that was the reason he never got as angry as he could have, should have. Make no mistake; he was plenty angry at the overstepping and invasion of his family’s privacy. But these people would talk their shit while lining the tills though that was barely enough to keep his temper leashed.

Until that blog interfered. Once again, putting his family’s business on blast for all the town to see...and for what. What was the reason for bringing the attention to his father’s whereabouts? Sam wasn’t sure what irritated him more. That it happened or that if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have even known the name of the facility where his father was currently drying out.

He’d discarded the paper with the information Quinn had given him, pushing it back towards her after their fight. And true to his word, he hadn’t mentioned his father to Stacy. He didn’t know if she’d gone to visit James, choosing instead to maintain his icy silence where their father was concerned. It wasn’t his money paying for this overpriced excursion and he wasn’t about to dig deeper.

That attitude had obviously not been extended to the rest of Castleport. The antics of some anonymous asshole had once again put a spotlight on his family and their issues. The mean-spirited, callousness of it all called to mind the weirdness from last year. The pranks inflicted on him and others he knew. It wasn't completely off to think it was connected, the anonymity and hyper focus just as irritating as being locked in a freezing shed, but Sam couldn't connect the dots.

Maybe the only thing it all had in common was his anger. It was harder to push aside now, though. The strain of it visible in the hunched line of broad shoulders and his jaw, clenched so tightly it gave him a headache. Hiding away wouldn't do. He couldn't do it; he had hours at the shop, clients to see and he was thankful the distance between Castleport and Portland was significant enough that he could work in relative peace, dodging looks and questions.

It lasted until he reached The Maggie.

The new bartender Natasha was a recent transplant to Castleport, from an even smaller town in upstate New York and Sam was glad to have her around. She was funny, good at her job, and Sam wouldn’t have to worry about replacing broken glasses. Really, all he needed to do was come in occasionally whenever office work was required.

It could have waited until the next morning, when the bar was empty and he didn’t have to make small talk with anyone outside of the AM cleaning crew. But Sam told himself it was just a quick check-up. He parked around back and entered through the back exit, ignoring the sounds of clinking glasses and the din of voices that came from the bar.

The office was spotless, everything in order, just the way his father had left it. At least there was some semblance of business as usual, the bar chugging along smoothly, even with the months-long absence of its owner. Marie, angel that she was, had even managed to take care of the liquor orders and the other business particulars, leaving Sam well and truly free for the evening.

He turned to leave, this time going down the hallway, past the bathrooms and into the bar. It was packed, just like he figured. It was karaoke night and he could already see Wade, their usual MC gabbing on the microphone and getting the crowd hype in between the list of singers.

Wild how even something like gossip wouldn’t stop people from coming in. Or maybe gossip was the reason, despite his very public opposition to it. He didn’t miss the furtive glances in his direction as he shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar. Sam barely acknowledged people with nothing more than a passing nod, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation that would no doubt bring up whatever that gossip rag had to spew. And he was nowhere near drunk enough for that.

Not that he wanted to drink. Sometimes, he thought about it, being so bombed out of his mind that thinking was made impossible. But the idea of it, the visions of cleaning up his father’s messes, and the glassy-eyed stare of nothingness stopped him from ever going too far. He couldn’t remember the last time he was wasted. Buzzed, maybe. But getting past any point beyond that terrified him. He was already dealing with enough shit as it were, no need to add a drinking problem to the list.

Thoughts swirling, he let them take a backseat when he approached the shiny bar top, greeting Natasha with a smile and nodding at Danny, the other evening bartender. He was a good guy, graduated two years behind Sam and coached little league baseball in his free time.

Sam shrugged out of his leather jacket and leaned on the bar top at the very end, blocking any drunk random from coming around and into the employee area. Olive eyes scanned the room, taking note of the mood. It seemed no worse than usual, but the night was fairly young and everyone wasn’t as deep into their cups just yet. He winced as the opening notes of some stale classic rock song filled the space, followed by a voice that could only be described as ‘godawful’ singing the words off-key and loud, seemingly spurred on by the raucous cheers that rose up.

Natasha dropped a beer in front of him with a sympathetic smile, and Sam figured his displeasure must have been evident if she was placating him with a pilsner peace offering. Long fingers gripped the tall glass, watching the white foam settle into the golden lager before he lifted it to his lips for a tiny sip.

One beer, and then he was out. The day’s exhaustion and bullshit drama had worn him out and Sam was tired of being ‘on’. He was ready for a quiet night of sweats and clearing out his streaming queue.

Twenty minutes and four singers later, he was still nursing his beer and surveying the action. As much as people eyed him, they seemed more interested in staring him down than actually approaching. And he wasn’t sure which annoyed him more. Being treated like some ticking time bomb, some sideshow spectacle to take it at a distance, as if his feelings were unimportant. Whatever. Soon as his beer was finished, he was leaving, anyway. He was still weighing the options of going out the back way or taking the less crowded route through the front door when the smell of sweat and cheap beer hit him suddenly.

He glanced up, nose wrinkling slightly at the sight before him. Rick ‘The Stick’ Nelson. Former hockey captain at Castleport High and forever a jackass. Sam had never liked the guy, not since their days in youth hockey, when Rick had swiped Sam on the ice, nearly fracturing Sam’s wrist with his stick and Sam returned the favor by smashing Rick into the Plexiglas.

Last he’d heard, Rick had been in some front office job with the Bruins, no doubt bought and paid for by his father, who owned several sports equipment stores in Maine. So it was a surprise to see him lingering around town, and hovering around Sam, no less.

“‘Sup, Samantha” Rick offered, thin lip curling into a cocky grin as if he’d delivered the best joke ever.

“Rick the Dick. Least that hasn’t changed. Nice to see you lost the mullet, though.” Sam shifted back slightly, needing to get away from the overwhelming smell of the other man’s cologne. “Why are you here? In my bar, and in my face.”

“Just passing through, checking out some possible recruits. Can’t believe this shithole’s still open. Gotta be tough to keep the place running when the owner’s drinking half the profits.” Rick’s grin slipped into a sneer, one Sam knew so well when it came to a particular tax bracket in a town like Castleport. Those types who always enjoyed reminding everyone else just how beneath them they really were.

Sam turned, elbows resting atop the bar to keep him from clenching his fists as outwardly, he attempted a look of bored indifference. “Shouldn’t you be moving along? There’s no jockstraps you gotta collect back in Boston? The Bruins must miss their best errand boy.”

Rick laughed, the sound of it chipped and hard like ice and it only stoked an ugly feeling in Sam. “Nice. You were always a funny guy. Guess you gotta be, balances out the fuck-up. But hey, I hear congrats are in order. The old man’s in rehab. What’s that, first time sober in a decade?” Sam felt the hand come down hard on his shoulder and the smell of Rick’s boozy breath hitting him hard as the other man leaned in. “Shit, Rock Harbor. Gotta draw a lot of shitty tattoos to make those payments.”

“Get your fuckin’ hand off me.” Sam didn’t bother turning to face him. He knew baiting when he heard it, knew it wouldn’t take much more for him to react, and he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at Rick or himself.

Nah, it was definitely at Rick.

He could see the look of concern that Natasha sent his way but he brushed it off with a minute shake of his head. He wasn’t going to drag anyone else into this shit. Rick was looking to be an asshole, and Sam didn’t want to play that game.

He jerked out of the other man’s hold, his elbow clipping Rick’s bottle of beer and Sam winced when it slipped and dropped to the floor, smashing in a mess of glass and beer.

“What the fuck, man!” Rick sputtered, loudly, drawing the attention of a few people sitting around. “It was just a joke, no need to smash my drink.”

“That was all you,” Sam replied simply. He was in no mood for the show Rick was clearly gearing up for, especially as more people seemed to be paying attention. “You talked your shit and now your drink’s gone. Time to call it a night.”

That didn’t sit well with Rick. His face, as ruddy as his rust-colored hair, contorted with anger and he glanced around at the growing audience before replying, raising his voice dramatically. “That’s how you treat a paying customer? Shit, everyone in here knows you need the money. Your daddy’s rehab bill ain’t gonna pay itself.”

There was an audible gasp at that, and Sam exhaled, slowly. The ugly feeling rose, churning hotly in his gut and he could feel the twitch in his fingers. It grew watching Rick, who now that he’d gotten some attention, decided to kick it up a notch. He pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills in Sam’s face, the crowd’s reaction louder as the bills fluttered to the floor.

“Better pick those up, Evans. That’s at least three therapy sessions for your drunk ass father. Better yet…” More money followed, landing right on the others but not before clipping Sam in the collar and his fingers flexed before curling tightly. The nails dug into the flesh of his palms and his peridot eyes were hard and flat as Rick fixed him with that stupid fucking sneer. “That’s for you. Just in case. ‘Cause it’s obvious fuck-up runs in the family.”

Sam didn’t even know when he reached for the other man. But it was only when he felt that first punch connect with Rick’s cheek, and heard the exclamations did he realize what he’d done.

It didn’t stop him, though.

Something inside him snapped, the throb in his knuckles jolting him into the moment, focused and steeped in a hot fury that shook his hands but they were steady when he delivered another blow. It was so satisfying, seeing the blood, Rick’s lip already swelling before he managed to even hit Sam back.

Sam barely registered the right hook to his eye, ignoring the pain of it and busied himself with busting Rick’s nose. The crunch of cartilage and Rick’s pained groans as Sam delivered another blow was the only sounds he could register, ignoring the way the music stopped and how people clamored out of their way, the noise of voices and shouts fading while he pummeled Rick, not even bothering to dodge the other man’s wild defensive swings. He didn’t feel anything, only that angry, ugly heat burning in his belly, letting his blows land hard and fast.

Rick was on the ground when the bouncers finally managed to make it through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. Sam stood over him, chest heaving. He licked his lips, tasting the blood and the sting of an already swelling cut on his bottom lip and that only made him angrier. He watched the bouncers help Rick to his feet, cursing and swaying and Sam stepped forward,ready to bust him up again but was met with a hand to his shoulder from Kevin, one of the bouncers.

He looked around, at the various reactions from the crowd. Stunned, impressed. Disgusted.

Fuck them.

Fuck this.

“Get him outta here,” he told Kevin, who simply nodded and led the way while Rick shouted back at Sam, the words inaudible over the chatter of the crowd.

Adrenaline pumped through him, his hands shaking with it as he grabbed his jacket from the bar top, not even bothering to look back at the bartenders as he stepped over the small pile of bills on the floor and moved toward the back door, finding it easier to get through the crowd with nearly everyone giving him a wide berth.

He made it to his truck out back, and slid inside, the tremble in his hands still going strong, and the cold had done nothing to ease the hot anger roiling inside him. His gaze fell to his knuckles. Stinging and slightly bloody. Barely able to grip the steering wheel. Sam didn’t know how long he sat there, waiting for the shivery feeling to leave him before he finally pulled away and drove towards home.

#para.all #para.solo #para011

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how2to18 · 5 years

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CRABAPPLE, PRICKLY GOOSEBERRY, bittersweet, and devil’s walking stick — are these the names of thorny old monsters in some dark children’s fairy tale? Nope. They are simply the flora that vine the paths of the forests and hollers of the Smoky Mountains. A brave five-year-old girl named Ernestine must journey through these persnickety snatchers in the early morning shadows in order to deliver mason jars full of fresh milk to the neighbors who live far away. It is 1942, and the husbands are away at war. The wives and mothers run the farms, raise the children, milk the cows. These country neighbors take care of one another in their time of need.

This is the framework for Kerry Madden-Lunsford’s Ernestine’s Milky Way, an achingly poignant tale of independence, resourcefulness, and good old-fashioned neighboring as seen through the eyes of a strong-willed little girl in the wartime South. The illustrations, by Emily Sutton, brush the pages like the powdered wings of butterflies. There are sturdy rock houses and old wooden fences, hand-sewn blankets and dusty banjos, everything surrounded by watercolor bursts of soft country colors — trees, leaves, grass, and plants. Flowers and vines are like their own characters. The facial expressions of the people make you ache for home. Any city-dwelling child is bound to look up at the parent, or teacher, or sibling, or babysitter reading them this story and ask, “Can we please go the woods tomorrow?”

I met Kerry Madden-Lunsford during my first MFA in Creative Writing Residency at Antioch University in Los Angeles. I was immediately drawn to her; she emanates a warm and welcoming vibe, with sparkling blue eyes and a wide, down-home smile. She dresses like a hippie teenager from the ’60s who has met her future self, an older, wiser earth-mother. Currently she directs the Creative Writing program at the University of Alabama-Birmingham, where she covers the desks and tables of her classrooms with books — dozens of picture books and chapter books, and middle-grade and YA, and, sprinkled in between, weathered copies of classics, like cherished relics from a magical library. Reminiscent of your favorite elementary school teacher, she actually writes out the lessons — infused with words of wisdom and anecdotes — in a comforting cursive on the board. She connects with everyone. She connects with their work. She was my first workshop leader, and her editorial letter about the 20 pages I had submitted told me everything I needed to know about her — namely, that she was a very old soul with a very young heart. You can sense this about her. You can feel it flowing from the pages of her books.

I recently visited Kerry at her home in the hills of Echo Park. We sat together over bagels and coffee with her husband Kiffen and their dazzling little dachshund, Olive, to talk about her latest release, the aforementioned Ernestine’s Milky Way, as well as her prior work.

She is the author of eight books, including the lauded Maggie Valley Trilogy set in the Smoky Mountains of Appalachia. The first in that series, Gentle’s Holler (2005), was a PEN USA finalist in Children’s Literature, and it’s easy to see why. The book shares some strands of Ernestine’s world as it explores the life of a 12-year-old girl and her adventures, with her eight brothers and sisters, in the Smoky Mountains in the early 1960s. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking at once. Imagine a mash-up between A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Coal Miner’s Daughter, and you’re nearly there. Mountain country folk ridden with worries about money and bellies swollen from hunger are the characters that anchor Madden-Lunsford’s work. But the families in her stories rely on mutual affection and a resourcefulness that flows like pure mountain spring water to get them through the rough times.

Her December 2018 essay in the Los Angeles Times, “The Christmas Suit,” is a blistering meditation on family addiction — a deeply caring mother’s despairing attempt to stave off the crippling inertia of frustrated emotion. It’s a different side of Kerry, a flip of the coin. It reveals something tender and truthful about a majority of authors who write picture books, middle-grade, and YA: that they are seasoned individuals whose brave flights of fancy trying to survive adult life are the pearls of wisdom hidden in the sealed-shut shells of books that celebrate innocence, or the end of it.

TIM CUMMINGS: Where did you grow up?

KERRY MADDEN-LUNSFORD: That is a complicated question, though it shouldn’t be. The short answer is that I grew up the daughter of a college football coach, and we moved all the time. For years I said that I lived in 12 states, but my daughter, Norah, reminded me that it’s actually been 13 states. Alabama is lucky number 13. I used to remember all the states by mascots and teams rather than towns. My father’s first coaching job was for Father Lopez’s Green Wave (High School). He married my mother in between football and basketball season.

He was both the coach for both outfits, so he had the basketball season printed on the wedding napkins to build up team support. “Follow Janis and Joe on the Green Wave.” Always the coach, he informed the principal, Sister Annunciata, that the school dance should be held in the library, so the students wouldn’t mess up his gymnasium floor in fancy shoes. He only told me this story a few weeks ago or it would have been in Offsides, my first novel about growing up the daughter of a football coach. Sister Annunciata shut that suggestion down flat, and the dance was held in the gym. I asked him if he chaperoned, and he said, “Hell, no.”

Because some people are going to think that I am the daughter of John Madden, which I am most definitely not, I finally had to write an essay called “I Am Not John Madden’s Daughter.” My father has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s dementia and he sometimes wakes up from naps, talking old football plays or what defense he ran at the Sugar Bowl in 1977 as the defensive coordinator. He did this while we were in Rome a year ago, and my mother said, “Snap out of it! You’re in Rome!”

How did you come to writing?

I’ve told this story once or twice, but I really do credit my fourth-grade teacher, who told me I was a good writer. It was the first time a teacher ever said any such thing. They usually said, “Aren’t you a nice tall girl who listens well?” They said this because I was shy. So it was a relief when a teacher noticed more than height or shyness. That day, I walked around my neighborhood of Ames, Iowa (Iowa State Cyclones), noticing everything, and wrote a story called “The Five Cents,” thinking it was about the “the five senses.” I never was a good speller. I remained a shy kid, and later some of the nuns began to suggest I might have a vocation to join the convent. I wrote about everything, but mostly I read — I read all the time and that absolutely formed me as a writer.

Who are your greatest influences?

My parents were great influences for humor and resilience, but I rebelled quietly because I was not a girly-girl or an athlete (unless field hockey in ninth grade counts, along with golfing on the boys’ team in high school), so I set out to find ways where I could create my own identity away from the gridiron.

I was definitely influenced (terrified) by Helen Keller and facing her fate when I had to get glasses in third grade. The doctor told my mother, “she’s blind without them,” to make a point. When I sobbed in my father’s arms about my horror of going blind (I think I also threw up in the bathroom), he shouted, “By God, nobody is going blind in this house!” I cried, “But how do you know?” “Because I said so!” It made no sense whatsoever, but I believed him.

I adored my babysitter, Ann Kramer, who was a wild tomboy in Ames, Iowa. I loved the coaches’ wives because they were such good storytellers. I was incredibly influenced by my first best friend, Pattie Murphy, in high school because she was so funny and irreverent, presenting a good girl persona to the powers-that-be and then whispering to me filthy things that were horrible and hilarious. We got caught cracking up laughing in the worst places — in class, at midnight Mass, on stage in Ten Little Indians. She was the first friend to make me laugh. We were miraculously “the new girls” at almost the same time in a school, Knox Catholic, where the kids had been together forever; even their parents and some grandparents had attended Knox Catholic.

I was very influenced by my Aunt Jeanne, who gave me books, and my Uncle Michael, who taught me about art. I lost them both to suicide when I was very young, and I wrote about them in Offsides as a way of atoning for not paying more attention. I wrote an essay about that this past summer.

I do think I was most influenced by getting to study abroad at Manchester University my junior year in college. A group of British drama students adopted me and showed me a whole world of art and theater, and I worshipped them for their hilarity and brilliance. I also had wonderful professors in England, who paid attention to me in ways I had never experienced during my first two years at the University of Tennessee. Plus, nobody in England cared if I went to church or watched football. They wanted me to write plays and “drop the grotty trade school occupation of journalism,” and I was very happy to oblige. I’m now writing a novel inspired by that time called Hop the Pond, which also has themes of addiction and features the Brontë sisters and their brother, Branwell.

When I returned to the University of Tennessee from Manchester, I often pretended to be a British exchange student (yes, I was insufferable because I couldn’t bear leaving England for Tennessee). I changed my major to theater, and I came to know my professors in Tennessee who taught us theater history, acting, directing. I was grateful for the encouragement and attention they gave me as a student (and a girl in the South) who wanted to write plays. The only contemporary playwright I knew of at that time was Beth Henley, and I hadn’t yet heard of Wendy Wasserstein.

Our theater department was still cranking out suggested scene study pairings of mostly Inge, Albee, and Williams, and maybe, once in a while, Lillian Hellman. I wanted to write plays, so I stayed in Knoxville after graduation and began an MFA in playwriting. I was the only student in the course at the time, but it gave me two years to learn to teach “Voice and Diction” and to write plays while working at a bookstore. Those two years in Knoxville influenced me because that is when I fell in love with Southern literature. I dropped the faux British accent, and my patient friends were grateful.

Finally, I think my greatest influence just happened this year. She is my cousin, Maureen Madden O’Sullivan — or, simply, Mo. We met for the very first time last May; her grandfather and my great-grandfather — Patrick and Joseph Madden — were brothers in Roscommon, Ireland. Mo and I have lived parallel lives in Los Angeles for 30 years, with many friends in common. She has been sober since 1982, and I have a family member who suffers from addiction, so she has taught me how to really let go — to breathe, to meditate, to eat better, to make gazpacho, to take walks by the sea. She also has stage-four cancer and is doing everything to live and take care of herself, from chemo to acupuncture to meditation to plant medicine to sound therapy to massage to simply taking joy in everything. She is the light of my life, and when I complain about us not meeting sooner, she says, “We met at the perfect time.” She is more evolved than I am.

I have gathered all the letters and texts we have written to each other since May in a compilation, and it’s currently 440 pages. It’s ridiculous, I know, and I don’t know what the project will be, but I am so grateful for Mo. I know I’m a mother, and I love being a mother, but around her I am not a mother. I’m just me again. A friend said I should call the book or whatever it’s going to be: 23 and Me and Mo.

Could you talk about your dual life as director of Creative Writing in Birmingham as well as a working author, teacher, and mother in Los Angeles?

I’ve been living this unplanned dual two-state life since 2009. I wrote an essay about making the decision to accept a tenure track teaching job in Birmingham, Alabama, and living on an air mattress for a while. I came alone the first year; the second year, my sixth-grade daughter, Norah, joined me and she was like a little cultural anthropologist. She came home from school the first day and said, “We played the name game and we had to say what we liked. And all the kids said they liked only Auburn or Alabama. I know they like their state and ‘auburn’ is a very pretty color, but what I am supposed to choose? When it was my turn, I said, ‘I’m Norah and I like books.’” I realized I had given the child no information about Alabama, so we had a crash course in football so she could catch up. Whenever I hinted at wanting to return to Los Angeles, she would say, “You can go be with Daddy. I like it here. I love it here. All my friends are here. Alabama is great!”

When I realized we were in it for the long haul, we got a rescue dog, Olive, who flies back and forth with me to Los Angeles. I had a terrible flight before we got Olive, awful soul-sucking turbulence, and Norah thought I was crying out “Hell Mary’s” instead of “Hail Mary’s.” After the trip, I vowed to drive or take the train, but it only took a four-day train ride from Los Angeles to Birmingham sitting up in coach class to get me back in the air. Then I got Olive. She has rescued me in countless ways every single day. And she truly is my emotional support animal on planes, along with the occasional emotional support Bloody Mary or glass of red wine.

I love my job as the director of Creative Writing at UAB. I love my students. I learn from them all the time. They come from all walks of life and many of them are first-generation college or they are returning to college later in life. I do miss living with my husband, who has four more years until he retires from LAUSD, but we get to spend summers and holidays together. We also cook and watch movies together. We do this by saying, “One-Two-Three — Go!” and then we hit play at the same time and mostly we’re in sync on Netflix. And because he is a wonderful man, he also goes to visit Mo, and we all have dinner and Skype together.

Our son is in Los Angeles, our middle daughter is in Chicago, and our youngest lives in the dorm at UAB. During the academic year, I live with Olive in what I call my “Alabama Retreat House.” Lots of sweet students and kind faculty drop by from time to time and other friends, too. Birmingham is such a cool city — a bright blue dot in a big red state. One of my L.A. friends visited, and she looked around the house and said, “You’ve created a little Echo Park in Birmingham.” I have filled the place with books and art from mostly “Studio by the Tracks,” where adults on the autism spectrum make art. Started by Ila Faye Miller in what used to be an old gas station, it’s a fantastic studio located in Fannie Flagg’s old neighborhood of Irondale.

I’m currently working on three novels — two are children’s books and one is for adults. I’ve adapted Offsides into a play, and I’m writing a little poetry and always picture books. I am thrilled that Ernestine’s Milky Way, written in this Alabama Retreat House and edited in a 1910 bungalow in Echo Park, has found a home at Schwartz & Wade.

What are your thoughts about the MFA Creative Writing programs these days?

I think they’re valuable because they allow students to find their people. I didn’t find my people in an MFA program, because I was the only student in my program at the time. However, I kind of made my own MFA with a writing group in Los Angeles — we met for 15 years, regularly. Those writers are still some of my dearest friends. I’ve also joined an online group of children’s picture book authors, who are brilliant, and a wonderful local group here of smart women writers. I find I need the feedback and connection with other writers — a kind of forest-for-the-trees thing with all the teaching I do. We also show up and support each other when our books come out.

That is the most valuable aspect to me of the MFA program — finding our people and getting to teach upon graduation. I feel incredibly fortunate to have taught in both a traditional BA and MA program here at UAB and a low-residency MFA program at Antioch University in Los Angeles.

What’s the most important thing you relay to your students?

I hope I encourage my students to trust themselves — to know that they do have a story to tell. I use play in the classroom (storyboarding and making book dummies) and I get them to take risks or chances with writing sparks, exploring narratives. I also talk about the importance of showing up for each other when success comes along. In other words, go to the reading, buy the book, go to the play — it’s such a long and lonely road to go alone, so I encourage them to cheer each other along the way and offer a hand. It’s so much better than being competitive and harboring jealousy.

Of course, it’s natural to feel envy, but I have been so fortunate to have friends who show up and are genuinely pleased, and I hope I do the same for them. I encourage my students to be good literary citizens and also to spend less time online. I offer the advice I need to listen to myself, especially when I fall into the online rabbit hole.

Can you tell us about your love of picture books and children’s literature?

I read to our three kids all the time. My son’s favorite book was Where the Wild Things Are. I even read that book last year to a group of incarcerated men at Donaldson Maximum Security Prison who had never been read aloud to before. I wrote an essay about that experience.

Anyway, I loved reading to our children when they were small, and my husband was a fantastic reader, too. I used to seek out books with great writing and stories. I hid the Berenstain Bears from the kids because I hated books where we had to learn a lesson. I never really thought of writing for kids because I was writing plays and novels for grown-ups. But I began falling in love with stories like Swamp Angel by Anne Isaacs, and anything by William Steig. The kids loved Chris Van Allsburg, as did I, and of course we loved Eric Carle, Margaret Wise Brown, Ruth Krauss, Roald Dahl, Ann Whitford Paul, Cynthia Voigt, Eve Bunting, Jacqueline Woodson, and Lane Smith’s The Happy Hocky Family. There are too many to begin to even name. One of their favorites was “What Luck A Duck” by Amy Goldman Koss, who later became a friend.

We read stacks of books, and as they grew older, they began to tell me what books to read. My son, Flannery, begged me to read The Giver and The Phantom Tollbooth. My daughter, Lucy, fell in love Laurie Halse Anderson’s book, Speak. She wasn’t a huge reader at the time, but she liked that book a lot and said after school one day, “Mom, I felt like reading it at the lunch-table with all my friends around. What it is up with that?”

I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn out loud to them and we watched the movie together. Norah used to have a little shelf of books in the minivan, because she was terrified of finishing one and not having another at hand. She used to ask me, “Can I bring three books?” and I would say, “You may bring them, but I am not carrying them.” When we moved to a different house a few years ago, we donated 20 boxes of books and it still has not made a dent in all the books we have.

Tim Cummings holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. His recent work has appeared in F(r)iction, Lunch Ticket, Meow Meow Pow Pow, From Whispers to Roars, Critical Read, and LARB.

The post Echo Park in Birmingham: An Interview with Kerry Madden-Lunsford appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 5 years

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TIM CUMMINGS: Where did you grow up?

How did you come to writing?

Who are your greatest influences?

Could you talk about your dual life as director of Creative Writing in Birmingham as well as a working author, teacher, and mother in Los Angeles?

What are your thoughts about the MFA Creative Writing programs these days?

What’s the most important thing you relay to your students?

Can you tell us about your love of picture books and children’s literature?

Tim Cummings holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. His recent work has appeared in F(r)iction, Lunch Ticket, Meow Meow Pow Pow, From Whispers to Roars, Critical Read, and LARB.

The post Echo Park in Birmingham: An Interview with Kerry Madden-Lunsford appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2CMGjGb

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