#emails are literally excruciating who invented this

[gayforcarstairsgirls]

I like to start early, make sure my professors know from term one that I am a flailing mess, set their expectations nice and low before I wow them with my inability to turn in work

[thedreadvampy]

On the other hand, and moving away from direct Mechanisms Discourse (which I prefer to not get over involved in tbh but also this ISN'T about that it's just jumping off it) - it absolutely is deeply classist to assume that somebody is illiterate or ignorant because of poverty/assumed poverty, and that's a huge problem. but also I think on a broader social level (at least in the UK) there is an idea in the left that it's classist to acknowledge the connection between poverty and illiteracy, while the truth is that illiteracy is a problem of poverty (poverty not in the sense of just Not Having Money but in the sense of system denial of adequate resources). Poverty doesn't = illiteracy but illiteracy is very much a problem of poverty - not a failure of a marginalised individual but a failure of the system marginalising them.

Adult illiteracy is a surprisingly large issue in eg both rural and urban Scotland, but it's not because poor people are stupid, ignorant or unwilling to learn - it's because schools are inadequate or inaccessible, classes are managed not taught, teachers are stretched thin and schools are underfunded so don't have resources to help struggling students, if you get to secondary school still unable to read and write you're completely locked out of the educational system unless you can access a school with the resources to teach you individually, and because of this, classism and a lack of support, poorer kids are more likely to switch off school as early as possible.

Social geography is also a big issue. In urban areas, schools in poorer areas get bad reputations, so they're underfunded, so they do worse, so they're funded less, etc, until they're a bare minimum of staff just trying to get through the day in collapsing buildings with no resources and five textbooks. Where better-funded schools can afford teaching assistants, 1:1 support for struggling students, decent food provision for kids, follow-up on children in need of support at home, more teachers for smaller classes, maybe counseling and psychological support, maybe Special Educational Needs classes for older kids to work on basic literacy and numeracy to catch up, worse-funded schools have one underpaid unsupported teacher trying to manage a class of 35 kids with wildly different needs. They don't have the resources to help support kids with issues that might affect their schooling, like parental abuse or neglect, trauma, a parent in prison, care responsibilities, hunger, homelessness, neurodiversities that affect their ability to learn in the prescribed way, learning disabilities like dyslexia, physical health issues including visual or auditory impairments...all things that when supported are highly surmountable but when unsupported often end up with children being perceived and treated as stupid, disruptive or evil. The problem then compounds itself because the kids are badly treated which makes them more disruptive and less able to learn, and more and more work is needed to help them which teachers continue to not have any capacity or resources for.

Rural poverty comes with its own schooling issues as well, in that poverty is generally correlated with remoteness. Poor rural communities are often hours away from population centres, so either you have tiny highly local schools serving a handful of families where a single teacher needs to invent lesson plans that somehow balance the needs of 11 year olds and 4 year olds of all abilities, or your kids need to somehow get into town every morning before you get to work, which may mean dropping them off at 6am, having to part pay for buses, taxis or ferries, sending them on their own, or leaving them with friends and family, and realistically the way that often shakes down is that they don't go. You teach them at home, and they may not even exist for the truancy office to know about.

Literacy is also connected to family culture. Both my parents were people with degrees from educated families, and my mum was a full time parent, and the result is that school didn't teach me to read - I was already a confident and enthusiastic reader. Even richer families may hire tutors for small children, pay for extracurricular learning, etc. The poorer a family is, the more likely neither parent is available to spend time reading with their kids, because they're working full time - at that economic level a single income household is almost entirely unviable so either both parents work or there's a single parent working extra hours or they're just exhausted from worrying about the bills and what's sold to them as a personal failure to look after their family.

One thing it's easy to forget is that while people in the UK still do drop out of school in their teens to work, a generation ago it was almost the norm for a lot of communities (especially the children of farmers, miners and factory workers) to have left school well before the end of compulsory education, both because of school being a hostile space and because of the need for an additional income. Now as well as then, a lot of kids drop out to work as unpaid carers, disproportionately in poorer families that can't afford private care or therapeutic support. Literacy aside, generations of leaving school with no qualifications doesn't tend to teach you that formal learning is as important as experience and vocational learning, and you don't expect to finish anyway so why put yourself through misery trying to do well? But it includes literacy. I grew up in a former mining area and a lot of people my dad's age and older were literate enough to read signs and football results, but took adult classes in middle age or later to get past the pointing finger and moving lips. and if you're parents don't or can't read, it's a lot harder for you to learn.

There's a lot of classism and shame tied up in the roots of illiteracy. Teachers and governments and schoolmates will often have vocally expressed low expectations of poorer students; a rich child who does poorly at school has problems, a poor child who does poorly at school is a problem child. They're often treated with hostility and aggression from infancy and any anger or disinterest in school is often treated not as a problem to be solved but as proof that you were right to deem them a write-off. Poorer or more neglected children (or children for whom English is a second language) will often be deemed "stupid" by their peers, and start at a disadvantage because of the issues around early childhood learning in families where parents are overstretched.

Kids learn not to admit that they don't know or understand something, because if you start school unable to read and write and do basic maths when a lot of kids your age are already confident, you get mocked and called stupid and lazy by your peers, and treated with frustration by your teachers. So kids learn to avoid people noticing that they need help. That means that school, which could help a lot, isn't somewhere you can go for help but a source of huge anxiety and pain - more so when you factor in the background radiation of classism that only grows as you get older around not having the right clothes, the right toys, the right experiences, my mum says your mum's a ragger, my mum says I shouldn't hang out with you because you're a bad lot - so again kids switch off very early and see education as something to survive not something helpful.

The same is very much true of adult literacy. A lot of adults are very shamed and embarrassed to admit that they struggle with reading and writing - a lot of parents particularly want to be able to teach their kids to read, but aren't confident readers themselves, and feel too stupid and embarrassed to admit out loud that they can't read well, let alone to seek out and endure adult literacy classes that are a constant reminder of their perceived failure and ignorance (and can also be excruciating. Books for adult literacy learning are not nearly widespread enough and a lot of intelligent experienced adults are subjected to reading Spot the Dog and similar books targeted at small children's interests). Adult literacy classes also cost time and also money, so a lot of people only have the space for them after retirement, if at all.

And increasingly, illiteracy (or lack of fluency in English) increases poverty and marginalisation, and thus the chances of inherited literacy problems. Reading information, filling out forms and accessing the internet in a meaningful way are all massively limited by illiteracy, and you need those skills to access welfare, to access medical care, to avoid exploitative loans, to deal with any service providers, etc. Most jobs above minimum wage and a lot below require a fairly high level of literacy, whether it's office work or reading an instructional memo on a building site or reading drink instructions in McDonalds. Illiteracy is a huge barrier between somebody and the rest of the world, especially in a modern world that just assumes universal literacy, and especially especially as more and more of life involves the internet, texting, WhatsApp, email, and so on - it's becoming harder and harder for people with limited literacy to be fully involved in society. And that means the only mobility is downwards, and that exacerbates all the problems that lead to adult illiteracy.

People who can't read after the age of 6 or so are treated as stupid. People who can't read fluently when they're adults are seen as stupid and almost subhuman. There's so much shame and personal judgement attached to difficulty reading, but the fact that illiteracy is almost exclusively linked to poverty and deprivation is pretty conclusive. Illiteracy isn't about the failure or stupidity of the individual, it's about the lack of support, care and respect afforded to poor people at all stages of their life. Being illiterate doesn't make you stupid - many people are highly intelligent, creative, capable, thoughtful, and illiterate. I know people who can immediately solve complex engineering problems on the fly but take ten minutes to write down a sentence of instruction. It isn't classist to say that illiteracy is caused by poverty - it's both classist and inaccurate to say that illiteracy says anything about the worth, intelligence or personhood of the poor, that it's a result of a desire to be ignorant, or that it's evidence that people are poor because they're stupid, incapable, ignorant or bad parents. The link between poverty and illiteracy is the problem of classism and bigotry, no more no less, and we deal with it by working against the ideas that both poverty and lack of education are a reflection of individual worth.

Illiteracy isn't a problem of intelligence, it's a problem of education, and that matters because education is not inherent. it's something that has to be provided and maintained by parents, by the state, by the community. you're not born educated. you are educated. except more than a quarter of the Scottish population isn't educated, because the system doesn't give a fuck about them and actively excludes them or accidentally leaves them behind.

[captain-aralias]

Creators: give a “behind the scenes” look at one of your works. This could be things that got removed or changed, the origins of ideas/details, whatever you like!

oh hey - it’s trivia tuesday already (i guess it’s been a long two days back at work this week). i know everyone is still working their way through the remixes that are finished and posted - and i say, do this! some cracking stuff. i’m over half way through now, and i want to write up some thoughts about how these 26 stories approached remix - because it’s super inventive. i think people benefited from not being familiar with the format.

but i also wanted to share my thinking around why i picked the fic to remix that i did - and what else i was considering from @bazzybelle‘s ficlist, because i think the thought process around remix is interesting. AND i wanted to show you the 500 words i wrote almost immediately of a completely different remix that i definitely won’t finish. it would have been... a publishing AU, fake relationship with too-early-in-the-relationship sex. all good things in a fic, right?

so - read on for deleted scenes, and discussion of thought process. and don’t read on, if that’s not your jam. 

(in general remember - i’m keen to leave stuff in the original that’s good, rather than just thieve everything. so that’s my thought process here.) 

first idea: 

I Just Want Your Extra Time And Your .....

(texting, sex chat). i already really liked this fic, and i have IRL experience of working in publishing (which you’ll see to some extent in the fic - i worked very near people who worked on celebrity cookbooks, which is what baz works on in the fic) (the launch party is not revealed to be at the groucho club in the bit i wrote, but would have been - and i’ve been there/i know soho, so ... that was all appealing)

my idea was: the original is a text fic, mine isn’t, although they still only know each other through the sex chat set-up. so instead of simon and baz having text-sex (as in the fic), baz asks simon [who he's never met] to come and be his fake date at a publishing launch party where he sees lamb, his former boyfriend. 

the trigger for simon and baz progressing with their relationship/having sex (Because they were going to have sex but IRL) would be the same - baz seeing lamb and freaking out. and some of the texts would be literally copied and pasted in my fic as backstory. 

here were my original notes:

in the original fic there's a bit where baz sees lamb, his ex boyfriend, and then is like - hey, simon distract me and they have phone sex

my fic will essentially start there - baz is at a launch party for one of his books, lamb is there - dating the author. it is awful. baz wants to leave, but can't. also, it's time for the text slot with simon - he goes and hides in a cloakroom

and is texting simon, it's terrible - i am so drunk and it's still terrible. and i think simon offers (rather than baz asks) to come and pretend to be his boyfriend

for some sort of plausible denial reason like baz will text him a lot over hte next few days so he'll get a lot of extra money or some shit, but also because simon thinks lamb is a dick even through teh messages

simon shows up - they both drink a lot. they like each other, simon punches lamb (probably). baz asks if he can take simon to a restaurant, they talk more - they kiss. they go back to a hotel together. they discuss whether or not this means that simon is a prostitute (no). they have sex IRL

baz wakes up - and leaves immediately, obviously.

they text again the next day - it's awkward. simon thinks about how he could track baz down if he wanted to - but he feels like baz doesn't want him to, so he doesn't

simon gets out of his horrible job - baz probably tries to get in touch with him, but can't because he's gone. simon gets a message from baz ....... this is still to be determined

anyway - i will probably steal the meet cute in the elevator, it's nice.

why i stopped writing it: 

i knew it was going to take ages to write - i didn’t have the time or brainspace to write 20k of fic. i’d assumed going in that i could lean on the original fic to provide the meetcute, but realised that since it was an AU, i still needed to sell the relationship - particularly given that they were meeting in real life for the first time in my fic. 

also, it would have been my first mundane AU for the fandom, and my first thing where they weren’t enemies first. (so i was trying to think about how i could get them not to like each other a bit WHILE STILL doing fake dating - and it was throwing me off). it was all just too much.

everything i’ve written is pasted for you at the bottom.

other ideas: 

a month passed. i didn’t write any more on my original remix, but went back to greener grass instead. i sent out the month warning email to remixees and thought - i am not going to finish this fic. 

so, i went back to the list of bazzybelle’s fic and thought what can i write that i can definitely write in a month? 

1. You're F***in' Perfect to Me - daphne POV

i thought, i could write this from malcolm's POV.  in the fic daphne talks a lot about how she and malcolm are just friends, rather than true love, and it's baz she has real (motherly) feelings for, not malcolm. so i thought i could write 'the courtship of mrs grimm' where malcolm gets a wake-up call from this argument, and thinks, i actually do love daphne but she likes my son more than me. he's been hiding behind not wanting to sully natasha's memory, etc, etc. fiona would probably be in it. 

2. bat baz

i also had a bit of a naff idea where instead of baz turning into a bat, in bat baz, he would turn into bat man... 

(interestingly one of the remixes was about baz turning into a cat) 

3. If I Fell In Love With You - which i eventually chose

i took the dancing and the music, the set up, and the theme of communication - also some dialogue. pushed some of the focus onto baz’s relationship with niall, pushed the action back in time towards wayward son, added a truth spell (based on a spell in the original) to force communication.

i think this is one of the most interesting remixes i’ve ever done, btw. i’m really pleased with my take on it. 

i chose this to remix because i thought - it’s only a few scenes, rather than a whole get-together arc, and it felt achievable in the timespan. i also had a strong idea about what i could do that was different - the relationship with niall and the spell, and what i would leave for people to discover in the original (simon’s POV - including the warmth he feels when baz cooks for him, the two of the resolving the initial fight when simon comes home in a bad mood). 

the title is a combination of - another line from ‘if i fell’ but one that is about not talking to each other/not putting yourself out there... and ‘where words fail’ - which is the spell i used, and also picks up on what baz says to niall - that telling simon wasn’t enough. even if he’d had the right words, they wouldn’t have been believable. but - through the music/magic, they were able to communicate. 

i also considered using a line from ‘into my arms’ instead (I believe in some kind of path), since that was the song that the magic is cast on - but it didn’t work as well thematically. 

here’s the fic i wrote: Don’t Run and Hide (The ‘Where Words Fail’ Remix’)

and here’s the remix i didn’t write. i think i almost wanted to finish it just for the elvis gag. alas, alas.

I Just Want your Extra Time: remix, not written

BAZ

I don’t smoke as much as my father thinks I do. And I don’t drink – not usually. This evening, though, I’ve already had several glasses of champagne and I’m on my fourth cigarette, the second this smoke break. Because it’s that or go back inside. And I definitely don’t want to go back inside.

I should have known he’d be here.

Not that he was invited. Not that he’s on the guest list. Not that there’s any reason at all, in fact, for him to be here, except that my life is an absolute disaster. Today definitely not an exception.

If anything, it’s worse than usual. I thought I’d already hit bottom when Dev told me I had to ring our printers – in China – and get them to promise to ship one of our new titles three weeks early, as some idiot had sent the press release out with the wrong date. That was excruciating, but things seemed to be improving.

It’s a launch party night. I’m not sure why, but I always look forward to them, even though I hate crowds. (Niall would probably say, other people in general. And he wouldn’t be far wrong.)

But I get to wear a suit. (Tonight’s is Spencer Hart. Dark grey. Green tie.) And I know Snow is going to text after the first hour. And even though no one ever remembers to thank the editor – not unprompted, anyway – I do enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that I’m responsible for turning whatever dross we’ve been told to sell into something that could loosely be called a book.

This one is a cookbook by an actor (not a chef, in other words. I had to hire someone else to write the recipes and then we just photographed him next to the result.) It should be a triumph. It is – we’ve already sold several thousand copies. I should be enjoying myself. But then I heard a voice next to my ear.

“Baz.” And someone put a hand on my waist. “Don’t you look rosy?”

Not someone. Lambert. (I never called him Francois, even when we were intimate.) As irritatingly handsome as ever. And just as confident I’ll do whatever he wants.

I haven’t seen him for months. Not since he left me Las Vegas to go off with one of the better-looking Elvis impersonators. (And if that isn’t the most humiliating break-up story you’ve ever heard, then I really don’t want to know what is. Dumped. And for Elvis.) (Not even the real Elvis - not that it makes a difference.)

“I hoped I’d see you here,” he – Lambert – told me. “It’s been far too long.”

“Since you left me.”

He gave me a hurt look. “Baz. We said Auf Wiedersehen, not goodbye.”

“Who are you really here with?”

The author, of course. I watched their eyes meet across the room and Lambert smiling, before he told me it wasn’t serious. And that he’d be interested in taking me to dinner.

“Unless you’re seeing someone?”

I raised an eyebrow – even though I know Lambert knows I only do that when I can’t think of anything to say. Which means he probably knows the truth, which is that there isn’t anyone else. Not anyone else real, anyway.  

Which reminds me …

I check my watch – it’s later than I thought.

[fenton-bus]

Sagan's Comet

(a prologue)

   ∞

2020

 If there is a causal relationship between the popularity of Barry Eisenberg's autobiography and the complete loss of journalistic integrity exhibited by the Manhattan press no one acknowledges it. In spaces formerly occupied by actual news, one can now find awed descriptions of the fun way the eighteen year old Portland native verbally decimates the Buzzfeed contributor brave enough to cross the threshold of his lair. Articles dedicated to examining the significance of his hoodie collection (consisting solely of secondary colors) are written with the zest and intensity of individuals delivering the defining information of the age. Between covering Syrian conflicts and Zayn's solo career these adults with journalism degrees they allegedly worked hard for print wild speculation about what Barry's digital watch says about him as a person, maps his evolution from monosyllables to making a Newsweek reporter cry whilst thanking him for the opportunity through her tears, and publishes three thousand word think pieces heavily suggesting that he is the voice of his generation.

Two months into his junior year at Columbia, Barry becomes a meme.

According to the lanky, mustachioed Starbuck's barista (who enjoys all the benefits of tumblr fame for two glorious minutes before he's brought down by an old "problematic" Burning Man post.) he waits in line every other Thursday before his Applied Calc class, and one morning he is informed-with an unfathomable regret-that they are currently out of bran muffins.

Barry allegedly makes a face that defies the descriptive power of the written word.

Skylar totally believes in fate. He was meant to come in that day, despite dancing on the precipice of being fired for coming to work after ingesting some "herbal refreshment". He was meant to get dragged behind the counter to fix the espresso machine, meant to turn around to grab the wrench at the exact moment Barry made That Face. He grabs his phone, snaps a pic and before Todd can offer the dude a blueberry substitute, twelve hundred people have added gross looking block text to Skylar's post. That Face becomes a universal constant just as relevant when describing reactions to sexism (When ur in a patriarchal society ) as it is to receiving troubling medical news (TMW UR DOCTORS ALL: GENITAL WARTS!!!?!1) . Kids aim That Face at unprepared parents in the aisles of Toys R Us. Girls just trying to enjoy happy hour with their besties clock the dudes halfway across the bar with The Face and the "you're the only ten I see" dies in the bros' throats. Tired moms schlepping their kids from one hellish interpretative dance class to another collapse against the seats of their Subaru Foresters and That Face all over the traffic cop worried about his quota and are let on their merry way with a stern warning. After announcing a pop quiz in Applied Calculus Professor Bevens is hit with sixty-two different versions of That Face.

The effect is so powerful\disturbing the professor decides to take lunch in his office that day.

When Mike Wallace asks Dr. Josef Stenberg why we, as a culture, are so fascinated the noted historian and scholar replies that The Face "effortlessly and intrinsically captures the depth of the human experience."

∞

There is a three day period wherein The New York Times makes a genuine attempt at substance before all parties involve realize how difficult it actually is and decide that mining Barry's first two years at MIT for scandal is much more creative use of their time.

The seven article series proves so popular the rate of traffic often causes the site to crash, to the point where the NYT puts an ad for a new head of IT in its own newspaper. (An error brought to their attention by the former IT supervisor as she storms out of their office making two very rude gestures with both of her hands.) The articles come dangerously close to reporting the significance of the solar ray that's currently powering the campus greenhouses and the fifteen classroom\lecture halls running on fossil fuels before remembering it's audience and veering back to the good stuff: in addition to campaigning long and hard to get one of his professors fired, (because the individual is a plaintiff in a current lawsuit his name has been redacted from all documentation in order to protect his identity. In any further documentation he shall be referred to as Mr. S.) Barry starts a (still active) war between the physics and computer science majors, stages a ninety-day sit in at Lanctom Hall and refuses to attend class until the United States converts to the metric system, attends seven out of his ten classes in his pajamas, builds a Death Ray, stages his own funeral, and has regular off-campus lunches with Neil Degrasse-Tyson where (according to an unnamed source) they discuss plans to reanimate Carl Sagan.

The Times receives countless emails from current and former MIT professors the content of which ranges from "Come on guys" to paragraphs of legal jargon, but because facts are annoying and can easily ruin a good time, they only publish one. For Mr. S who is, at this very  moment, teaching a remedial chemistry class in a Hoboken public school, seeing his words in print gives him the necessary courage to take out an entire page of the Op Ed column for the sole purpose of calling Barry an "odious, mouth-breathing cretin" (among other, more foul monikers) and insist that his time at MIT is "the most convincing super villain origin story I've ever seen." Buried in the seventh paragraph under piles of incoherent rage is a fairly lucid comparison to Lex Luthor, which all things considered, Barry rather likes.

At six-thirty the following morning,

Don't you have young minds to compromise?

appears in the comments section of Mr. S's article. The user name is something banal and forgettable, but the 25 x 37 armadillo icon is responsible for the overjoyed intern's giggle snort and the frantic search for a 2013 Scientific American article in which Barry mentions that armadillos are often underestimated because of their size and deceptively docile demeanor.

∞

2017

So.

Barry wakes up in Naldo's body, which because he invents time travel when he's fifteen and perfects localized teleportation over summer break his freshman at year at MIT isn't even the weirdest sentence he's ever had to type. It isn't even the strangest thing that happens that year, (that literal prizes goes to Sergey Abermoff a stunningly mediocre marine biologist who wins the Noble Prize for his contributions to Alaskan Puffer Fish research. From March to August Barry is engaged in a furious letter-writing campaign to the Academy because seriously? Dr. Gloria Hernandez discovers and isolates what appears to be a second God particle but generous funds are being allocated to his dad's favorite Red Lobster entree? No.) While he makes a concentrated effort to document his daily experiments, and somewhat less dedicated attempts to record his thoughts about more personal subjects (he objects to the use of the word "personal" in this context because it implies a mutual exclusivity between the personal and the scientific where no such distinction exists, but he digresses) spontaneous ionic transference is apparently unworthy of documentation. Reading through the accounts of the incidents of that spring, scholars and historians alike are surprised to find only the briefest, most perfunctory outline of events.

It's an odd, tangential footnote in most textbooks, and even the larger more expansive biographies tend to refer to it transiently. One of the foremost examples of this phenomenon being Edgar Chen's Event Horizon which glosses over the events in a way Joan Collins of the New York Times calls "whimsically dismissive". Of the archived articles, research papers, essays, books, films, digital recordings and miscellaneous sundries that number in the thousands only two hundred and eighty-six contain references to the events of the spring of 2017. Of that number one hundred and thirty-seven are passing references, eighty-five are footnotes, five are visual references ( two screen grabs, a gif, and two vague scenes in the Cern documentary and the feature film Singularity, all of which are subject to intense and varying interpretation) forty- two are allusions in popular fiction,  twelve are auditory, and seventeen are references to supplementary reading material that contain descriptions of the events so vague they border on unintelligible. In chapter four of Jackie Iron's (famed director of the Crabnormal Behavior Octo-thrilogy) tell-all Shellin' Out, Barry writes:

"I've never been fond of the "body-swap" trope. At best it's a cheap device used to create a sense of empathy between two characters possessing diametrically opposing viewpoints. At worst it's a study of the traumatic power of unrelenting body horror, a state of such brutal, paradigm-shifting physical and emotional dissonance that it's difficult to imagine surviving the encounter without constantly testing the tensile strength of  reality for the remainder of one's natural life. Why would a writer subject their audience to something so terrible?"

Strangely, Barry's autobiography makes only a passing reference to the event. He glosses over his years at Columbia (there are a few offhand references to a Washington think tank he attends in the summer of 2017) but expands upon graduate school in such unrelenting, excruciating detail that chapters forty-seven through fifty-three are known to make a few students nauseous. The clinical, almost detached narrative  prompts  Melanie Fung, freshman human interest columnist of the Columbia Daily Spectator, to write: "The text habitually  bathes Eisenberg in the soft light of scientific heroism, but the more personal, and possibly, more interesting threads of the narrative are glaringly absent."

It isn't until Jill Suarez publishes The Eisenberg Principle that the personal elements of Barry's life-coming out to his parents, the bullying he experiences in school, the two week period he spends in Renaldo Montoya's body-are recounted in detail.