#james joyce style

[alphabetcompletionist]

have u ever read the book "Ella minnow pea"? it seems like something you might like from your blog

i have wanted to for a good while but unfortunately i am. quite picky and pretentious with what i read. but maybe someday

ABCDEFGHI KLMNOPQRSTUVW Y

23/26

[cjjasp]

Voice and Style vs. the Grammar Police #writing

Many of my blog posts revolve around grammar and the mechanics of writing. As authors, it’s important to understand the rules of the language in which we write. Yet, powerful writing often breaks those rules, and we are better for having read it. So why am I always pressing you to use proper punctuation? Authors must know the rules to break them with style. Readers expect words to flow in a…

[daimonclub]

The King James Bible

The King James Bible A feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh merry: but money answereth all things. King James Bible Ecclesiastes 10:19 All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. King James Bible Ecclesiastes 1:8 The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. King James Bible Ecclesiastes 1:9 And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. King James Bible Revelation 20:12 And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight. King James Bible Acts 1:9 I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which thou hast shewed unto thy servant; for with my staff I passed over this Jordan; and now I am become two bands. King James Bible Genesis 32:10 A great influence on the English language occurred in 1611, five years before Shakespeare died. This was the publication of the King James's translation of the Holy Bible, a 14th-century translation by John Wycliffe, The King James Version, as it is called, was completed in 1611. If Shakespeare gave the language its greatest poetry, the Bible gave it much of its greatest prose. This version of the Bible was not written by one man but by a team or committee of some 47 scholars. We know very little about them except that they were certainly men of literary genius, and we have their finished work as a proof.

King James Bible The followers of John Wycliffe undertook the first complete English translations of the Christian scriptures in the 14th century. These translations were banned in 1409 due to their association with the Lollards. The Wycliffe Bible pre-dated the printing press but it was circulated very widely in manuscript form, often inscribed with a date which was earlier than 1409 in order to avoid the legal ban. Because the text of the various versions of the Wycliffe Bible was translated from the Latin Vulgate, and because it also contained no heterodox readings, the ecclesiastical authorities had no practical way to distinguish the banned version; consequently, many Catholic commentators of the 15th and 16th centuries (such as Thomas More) took these manuscripts of English Bibles and claimed that they represented an anonymous earlier orthodox translation. In 1525, William Tyndale, an English contemporary of Martin Luther, undertook a translation of the New Testament. Tyndale's translation was the first printed Bible in English. Over the next ten years, Tyndale revised his New Testament in the light of rapidly advancing biblical scholarship, and embarked on a translation of the Old Testament. Despite some controversial translation choices, and in spite of Tyndale's execution on charges of heresy for having made the translated Bible, the merits of Tyndale's work and prose style made his translation the ultimate basis for all subsequent renditions into Early Modern English. Under the leadership of John Calvin, Geneva became the chief international centre of Reformed Protestantism and Latin biblical scholarship. The English expatriates undertook a translation that became known as the Geneva Bible. This translation, dated to 1560, was a revision of Tyndale's Bible and the Great Bible on the basis of the original languages. Soon after Elizabeth I took the throne in 1558, the flaws of both the Great Bible and the Geneva Bible (namely, that the Geneva Bible did not "conform to the ecclesiology and reflect the episcopal structure of the Church of England and its beliefs about an ordained clergy") became painfully apparent. In 1568, the Church of England responded with the Bishops' Bible, a revision of the Great Bible in the light of the Geneva version.

King James I While officially approved, this new version failed to displace the Geneva translation as the most popular English Bible of the age - in part because the full Bible was only printed in lectern editions of prodigious size and at a cost of several pounds. Accordingly, Elizabethan lay people overwhelmingly read the Bible in the Geneva Version - small editions were available at a relatively low cost. At the same time, there was a substantial clandestine importation of the rival Douay–Rheims New Testament of 1582, undertaken by exiled Roman Catholics. This translation, though still derived from Tyndale, claimed to represent the text of the Latin Vulgate. In May 1601, King James VI of Scotland attended the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland at St Columba's Church in Burntisland, Fife, at which proposals were put forward for a new translation of the Bible into English. Two years later, he ascended to the throne of England as James I. In January 1604, King James convened the Hampton Court Conference, where a new English version was conceived in response to the problems of the earlier translations perceived by the Puritans, a faction of the Church of England. James gave the translators instructions intended to ensure that the new version would conform to the ecclesiology - and reflect the episcopal structure - of the Church of England and its belief in an ordained clergy. The translation was done by 6 panels of translators (47 men in all, most of whom were leading biblical scholars in England) who had the work divided up between them: the Old Testament was entrusted to three panels, the New Testament to two, and the Apocrypha to one. In common with most other translations of the period, the New Testament was translated from Greek, the Old Testament from Hebrew and Aramaic, and the Apocrypha from Greek and Latin. In the Book of Common Prayer (1662), the text of the Authorized Version replaced the text of the Great Bible for Epistle and Gospel readings (but not for the Psalter, which substantially retained Coverdale's Great Bible version), and as such was authorized by Act of Parliament. By the first half of the 18th century, the Authorized Version had become effectively unchallenged as the English translation used in Anglican and English Protestant churches, except for the Psalms and some short passages in the Book of Common Prayer of the Church of England. Over the course of the 18th century, the Authorized Version supplanted the Latin Vulgate as the standard version of scripture for English-speaking scholars. With the development of stereotype printing at the beginning of the 19th century, this version of the Bible became the most widely printed book in history, almost all such printings presenting the standard text of 1769 extensively re-edited by Benjamin Blayney at Oxford, and nearly always omitting the books of the Apocrypha. Today the unqualified title "King James Version" usually indicates this Oxford standard text. The outstanding prose works of the Renaissance are not so numerous as those of later ages, but the great translation of the Bible, called the King James Bible, or Authorized Version, published in 1611, is significant because it was the culmination of two centuries of effort to produce the best English translation of the original texts, and also because its vocabulary, imagery, and rhythms have influenced writers of English in all lands ever since. Similarly sonorous and stately is the prose of Sir Thomas Browne, the physician and semiscientific investigator. His reduction of worldly phenomena to symbols of mystical truth is best seen in Religio Medici (Religion of a Doctor), probably written in 1635. It is impossible to estimate the importance or effect of the King James Bible on the English language. Listen to the simplicity but the power of the prose in these lines from St Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians: When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face. now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

King James Holy Bible What we call "modern English" comes from the period immediately following the publication of the Bible and Shakespeare's death. We generally consider 1640 to be the beginning of modern English, and the language has changed remarkably little ever since. By the 17th century the language had discarded its grammatical complexities: no more declensions and a minimum use of the subjunctive. Grammatical gender had disappeared and English became the only European language to employ natural gender that is using feminine pronouns for things feminine, masculine pronouns for things masculine and the neuter "it" for everything else. How much simpler than in, say, German where a table is "he", a postage stamp is "she" and a girl is "it". Then too, English gave up its second person singular - what on the Continent is known as "the familiar form" expressed by to in Italian. Spanish and French and du in German. In English this was "thou" and its use became restricted to poetry, church and a few provincial dialects. Instead, English, as you well know, now simply uses the plural form "you" for everyone and for all. In place of the grammatical complexities of Old English, the language became more exact in other ways. Modern English has a fixed system of word order more exact than exists in any other language and a highly sophisticated use of tenses which causes so much difficulty for a foreign student. So the King James Bible, also known as the Authorized Version, has had a profound influence on the English language since its publication in 1611 and certainly played a significant role in standardizing the English language. In fact its translators sought to create a version that would be accessible and understandable to all English speakers, regardless of their social status or region. This helped to establish a uniform form of English across different communities. What's more it contributed to a great vocabulary enrichment since the translators of the King James Bible used rich and eloquent language, drawing heavily from the literary traditions of the time. They introduced many words and phrases into the English language that have since become commonplace, including "eye for an eye," "the salt of the earth," "scapegoat," "fly in the ointment," and "out of the mouth of babes." Furthermore The King James Bible popularized certain phrasal patterns and idiomatic expressions that are still in use today. Its language has permeated various aspects of English-speaking culture, including literature, politics, and everyday speech. The King James Bible has also had a profound impact on the moral and ethical values of English-speaking societies. Its teachings and narratives have shaped the cultural and religious landscape of the English-speaking world, influencing everything from laws and social norms to literature and art. Therefore the King James Bible's influence on the English language is vast and enduring, and its legacy continues to be felt in both religious and secular contexts to this day. For example the King James Bible has influenced numerous English writers and poets over the centuries, including William Shakespeare, John Milton, John Bunyan, and John Donne. Its majestic language and poetic style have left an indelible mark on English literature. Many famous literary authors have been influenced by the Bible, as its stories, themes, and language have permeated Western culture for centuries. Here are some notable authors whose works show significant influence from the Bible. First we can quote John Milton, whose epic poem "Paradise Lost" draws heavily on biblical themes, particularly those found in the book of Genesis. The poem explores the Fall of Man, the rebellion of Lucifer, and other biblical narratives. Or Shakespeare's works that are filled with biblical allusions and imagery. Many of his plays, such as "Hamlet," "Macbeth," and "King Lear," contain references to biblical stories and characters. But how not to mention John Bunyan, the author of "The Pilgrim's Progress," who was deeply influenced by the Bible. His allegorical tale draws heavily on biblical themes and imagery to explore the Christian journey. And also Herman Melville's masterpiece, "Moby-Dick," that contains numerous biblical allusions and references. The novel explores themes of good and evil, redemption, and the search for meaning - all of which are deeply rooted in biblical tradition.

King James I of England and Scotland Even poets such as Emily Dickinson whose poetry often reflects her deep engagement with the Bible. Many of her poems explore religious themes, and she frequently incorporates biblical imagery and language into her work. Then there is T.S. Eliot, a renowned modernist poet, who drew extensively on the Bible in his poetry. His famous work "The Waste Land" contains numerous biblical references and allusions, reflecting his interest in Christian theology and symbolism. But also Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, George Eliot, and Thomas Carlyle were influenced by the Bible. Last but not least we can remember Fyodor Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky, though not writing in English, was influenced by the Bible in his Russian novels. His exploration of moral and existential themes in works like "Crime and Punishment" and "The Brothers Karamazov" resonates with biblical ideas of sin, redemption, and the human condition. Dubliners is a collection of fifteen short stories by James Joyce, and the book contains a story with this title “A Little Cloud” that alludes to a Biblical passage, I Kings 18:44: “And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand. And he said, Go up, say unto Ahab, Prepare thy chariot, and get thee down that the rain stop thee not.” The little cloud is the harbinger of a great rain, which the prophet Elijah summons to end a drought. The title "A Little Cloud" may also evoke the biblical phrase from the book of Job, where God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind, saying: "Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, which I have reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle and war?" (Job 38:22-23, King James Version). This passage refers to the idea of small clouds holding great potential, possibly reflecting the protagonist's aspirations and dreams in the story. As a matter of fact in "A Little Cloud," the protagonist, Little Chandler, dreams of becoming a successful writer like his friend Gallaher, who has achieved fame abroad. However, his dreams clash with the realities of his mundane life in Dublin, where he is trapped in a dull job and responsibilities of family life. The story explores themes of disillusionment, longing for escape, and the tension between dreams and reality. The biblical allusion could be interpreted as suggesting that even small aspirations or desires, represented by "a little cloud," can carry significant weight and have profound implications for individuals, especially when they collide with the harsh realities of life, akin to the "time of trouble" mentioned in the biblical passage. To conclude this article we must consider that the Bible is one of the most widely printed and distributed books in history. Millions upon millions of copies of the Bible have been printed in numerous languages and editions over the centuries. It has been translated into thousands of languages and dialects, making it accessible to people all around the world. The Bible has had a profound impact on countless individuals across diverse cultures and time periods. You can also visit these pages: www.kingjamesbibleonline.org www.biblestudytools.com Origins of proverbs Wisdom of proverbs Quotes by authors Quotes by arguments Thoughts and reflections Essays with quotes Read the full article

[ego-sum-arbor]

It was anthropology night at the thrift store apparently

[brauthaalandfc]

me after reading dubliners and portrait of the artist as a young man: huh that wasn’t as bad a I thought it would be

me attempting to read ulysses: James wtf is this

[ashmouthbooks]

2023 in books

better late than never, right?

2023 was a relatively slow year for me in bookbinding, but I still made 30+ books. (ask me how much time I spent on my other hobbies and it becomes clear why books were fewer.)

A5 books

the first A5 of the year was an entry for a bookbinding competition (which I didn't win), where the theme was climate change. I had a lot of fun putting it together and it was the first time I made an A5 tête-bêche book - I usually do these A6 or A7 size.

this was also the year I decided to start a collection of menocchio fics, which also led to experiments with printing directly onto bookcloth to get titles on the spine

what's fun about bookbinding is that you can Just Make A Book, but you can also Get Ideas And Run With Them with it. which is how I wound up with this black on black book. destiel necromancy fic, because of course it is

going back to something more colourful...Ulysses. not the James Joyce one, the slowburn 00Q one. named for a Tennyson poem.

final A5 book of the year is my Renegade Exchange book, which I bound for Silent Sun Press - a Crowley-centric genfic with outsider POV, so naturally I went for TV!Gomens colour schemes

A6 and A7 books

I started the year ambitiously - in addition to entering a competition, I started my urchin specials project. thus far I've still only bound these first three books for the project, but I plan to do more. first dustjackets as well!

I continued with the no-glue pamphlets and did three

I joined the Tiny Books Exchange, and as a proof of concept - before I typeset an A7 sized tête-bêche - I did a little tête-bêche of the two Temeraire fics I wrote for yuletide once upon a time

then followed of course the Tiny Book I bound for the exchange - my copy (test & proof of concept, bottom), the giftee copy (green, top right), and the author copy (blue, top left)

I typeset a lot more than I bind - I have plans to bind so and so, so I typeset it, but don't always have the time to bind it right away. so I have folders full of typesets ready to go at a moment's notice. this one was typeset a whole year before I bound it

are these paperbacks or just very slim hardbacks? I call them paperbacks as I used 0.5mm boards and they have no spine, but ymmv

this one definitely is a hardback - with slightly thicker boards, a spine, and two fics in one book. I do love those tête-bêches

at my work we have a lot of deliveries wrapped in this nice recycled brown paper that was just going into the recycling bin, and I thought: why not make books out of it? so I played around with it (and my printer) and came up with a neat aesthetic for paperbacks with breakaway spines (using 0.5mm boards)

will I ever stop with the tête-bêches? no. also this one has endpapers made from SEAWEED. how cool is that?

the last A6 of the year is this little collection of my own stories for a tiny Danish fandom. detectives and trauma, but make it about food? yes. food and cooking themed endpapers and cover papers, and the dustjacket has fake coffee stains on it. perfect

and that is all, folks. I did a lot of different styles and types of binding this year, I had fun with it, I learned a lot, and I'm happy with what I've created.

[rmstitanics]

* FAMOUS INDIVIDUALS WITH YOUR MOON SIGN.

If you’re looking for suggestions on which authors and music artists to check out next, look to your moon sign! In Western astrology, the moon is said to represent your subconscious mind, emotions, and inner personality, so it is widely believed that we tend to relate to media by artists who share our moon sign.

♈️ ARIES MOON

WRITERS:

Gore Vidal

George R. R. Martin

Nicholas Sparks

Rick Riordan

Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Christopher Paolini

MUSICIANS:

P!nk

Whitney Houston

Céline Dion

Selena Gomez

Rihanna

Tupac

♉️ TAURUS MOON

WRITERS:

Jodi Picoult

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Hans Christian Anderson

Clive Barker

George Bernard Shaw

Aldous Huxley

MUSICIANS:

Pharrell Williams

Kelly Clarkson

Bob Dylan

Demi Lovato

Christina Aguilera

Pitbull

♊️ GEMINI MOON

WRITERS:

C. S. Lewis

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Orson Scott Card

Franz Kafka

Margaret Mitchell

R.A. Salvatore

T. S. Elliot

MUSICIANS:

Ella Fitzgerald

Florence Welch

Art Garfunkel

Billy Idol

Sia

Tina Turner

♋️ CANCER MOON

WRITERS:

George Orwell

Liu Cixin

Brandon Sanderson

Cassandra Clare

Diana Gabaldon

Lois Lowry

MUSICIANS:

Tchaikovsky

Taylor Swift

Kurt Cobain

Halsey

Aretha Franklin

Janis Joplin

♌️ LEO MOON

Oscar Wilde

Holly Black

Geraldine Brooks

James Dashner

Jack London

Ta Nehisi Coates

MUSICIANS:

Lana Del Ray

Paul McCartney

Queen Latifah

Niall Horan

Bruno Mars

David Bowie

♍️ VIRGO MOON

WRITERS:

Leo Tolstoy

John Grisham

Claudia Gray

Isabel Allende

Xiran Jay Zhao

Douglas Adams

MUSICIANS:

Dolly Parton

Nicki Manaj

Madonna

Lorde

Bo Burnham

Lizzo

♎️ LIBRA MOON

WRITERS:

Jane Austen

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Sylvia Plath

William Shakespeare

Maya Angelou

R.F. Kuang

MUSICIANS:

Ariana Grande

Charli XCX

Bruce Springsteen

Jay-Z

Harry Styles

Fergie

♏️ SCORPIO MOON

WRITERS:

Veronica Roth

Edith Wharton

V.E. Schwab

Harper Lee

Keira Cass

Meg Cabot

MUSICIANS:

Lady Gaga

Tyler the Creator

Cyndi Lauper

Beyoncé

Bob Marley

The Weeknd

♐️ SAGITTARIUS MOON

WRITERS:

Stephen King

Victor Hugo

Marie Lu

Suzanne Collins

Samantha Shannon

Adam Silvera

MUSICIANS

Hozier

Freddie Mercury

Adele

Ludwig Van Beethoven

Chappell Roan

John Legend

♑️ CAPRICORN MOON

WRITERS:

Sarah J. Maas

J.M. Barrie

Jeff Shaara

Joyce Carol Oates

Stephanie Meyer

Angie Thomas

MUSICIANS:

Frédéric Chopin

Neil Diamond

Jon Bon Jovi

Lin-Manuel Miranda

Stevie Nicks

Donna Summer

♒️ AQUARIUS MOON

WRITERS:

Margaret Atwood

Leigh Bardugo

Louisa May Alcott

Seth Grahame-Smith

Anthony Horowitz

S.E. Hinton

MUSICIANS:

Cody Simpson

Marilyn Monroe

Britney Spears

Billie Eilish

Tim McGraw

Carrie Underwood

♓️ PISCES MOON

WRITERS:

Toni Morrison

Edgar Allen Poe

Malcolm Gladwell

Lisa McMann

Alice Oseman

Philippa Gregory

MUSICIANS:

Kenny Chesney

Elvis Presley

Frank Sinatra

Prince

Kendrick Lamar

Sabrina Carpenter

[connorsnothereeither]

“And now it’s time for a breakdown…” /ref

Welcome to my (fairly long lol) breakdown of the thought process behind the Ulysses CMV background!! ✨ I’m gonna go through it shelf by shelf because I think that’s easiest, so… buckle up! :D

TOP SHELF:

On the far left, we have an Assassins Creed Apple of Eden! Most of the soundtracks to the Ulysses vods came from AC: Odyssey, and AC: Origins! The Ancient Greek and Egyptian music fit him perfectly, who’d have thought. Including the main song from Ulysses epilogue, “Reunited” from AC: Odyssey. Behind that is of course my hand-bound copy of On the Brink of Scientific Discovery. I had to work out a way to get my earliest entry into the Fable Fandom in there somewhere. Beside it is the skull, and a copy of Frankenstein, by Mary Shelly, which I’ve spoken about being an inspiration for Ulysses. Along with, of course, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, and Herodotus’ Histories (Herodotus being the main inspiration for epilogue Ulysses and who he became towards the end)! And naturally, James Joyce's Ulysses. I had to. Besides that again is another copy of Frankenstein, along with more Ancient Greek works, specifically Euripides’ Medea and the works of the poet Sappho! And a copy of Moby Dick, since Ahab and Ishmael were both concept names for Ulysses during character creation! Besides those, the smaller penguin books, are some of my favourite details but some of the harder to spot because they’re so small. One is another poem by Sappho, Come Close. But the OTHER is The Fall of Icarus by Ovid, which I absolutely had to put in there. Impossible to see, but I know it’s there, and it makes me happy. Of course, once again on the theme of writers is a bust of Shakespeare, but behind him, is actually the set of D&D dice I bought inspired by Ulysses, which are made to look like they have kelp and seaweed inside them! ✨ and finally on the top shelf is a ship, in reference to his sailing and ship in the epilogue art, and a mini Greek style amphora.

MIDDLE SHELF:

On the far right, at the bottom, is the black knight chess piece, the same as Ulysses tattoo!! A reference to both the Trojan horse and him being a piece in the Telchin’s game. Behind it, the tiki mug, is a somewhat vague reference to the Sea Dragon Tavern! It’s never explicitly stated that they serve tiki drinks, but it certainly feels like a place that would. Tucked in, barely noticeable, is the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Both a reference to more ancient mythology, but also, in a little way, a reference to Lenarius. A book on the treatment and care of the dead. I think it would suit him. Make Len happy. More Greek texts (the Iliad and Odyssey again) this time including Ovid’s Metamorphosis, and Virgil’s Aeneid, a reference to both the mythological epic itself and to my little guy Virgil, from SkyBound SMP. Propped against those are a boatswain’s whistle, which I like to think is a little gift from Vorago and Casus. A captain’s call, to get someone’s attention no matter where you are on the sea, along with a small canon, which is actually from St Augustine Lighthouse, and felt very nautical. Behind those is a set of tarot cards, displaying the Magician, a symbol of manifesting and living to your true potential, which is fitting for Ulysses. All of that is of course propped on ANOTHER copy of the Odyssey. The full moon, as a little reference to his bestie Fenris, and a bear statue, which is a little nod to the fact I also voiced Deltavera (and the statue was actually a gift Jamie got me one of the times we met up)! Beside that is a handful of little bottles! The dice inside are mostly just because… that’s what I keep in those little potion bottles, but maybe they’re a reference to Wheel Not Fake or something too, who knows lol- and a little white axolotl plush. My son. My own personal little Perseus, I bought him the second I saw him akgsksgs ✨🫶

BOTTOM SHELF:

Almost done lol. The globe on the end, both a reference to the cartography/travel, and the fact that it’s turned to just show the ocean, rather than any countries. The sea is his home, after all. Another axolotl plush, peeking out from behind yet ANOTHER copy of the Iliad and Odyssey, which is balanced on a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy, as another little reference to Virgil from Bound SMP. Behind that is a whisky bottle, which is empty in the photo but not in the CMV, as a reference to the Kelpin’ alcohol! And finally, the stack of books in the corner. The folio society set of The Greek Myths are some of my favourite books I own, and I had to include them, along with a few more potion bottles, which actually include the dice from various Cantripped One Shots (I have special dice for characters and one shots when I can)! The stack of books behind the scrolls and lanterns also include Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles (one of the inspirations behind Ulysses & Vesperae’s relationship) and Circe (more Odyssey references), along with world myths and Icelandic Sagas, and The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon, which was an early and incredibly influential historical text about the Roman’s (which somewhat inspired the structure and lore of the broader Telchin society!), on top of which is more mythology like the Welsh Mabinogion, the Norse Poetic Edda, and a horror anthology titled The Great God Pan and Other Horror Stories, many of which inspired Brink!! The lantern is, in all honesty, the only there not there for a specific reason… I just thought it looked cool :)

So yeah! That was my overly long analysis of my overly detailed Ulysses set background! Barely any of it is visible in the CMV, but for my little farewell to the character and world I had spent so long falling in love with, I wanted to make the background something special 🫶

[soracities]

oooh please tell us what writing rules are garbage I would love to hear more

it's not that they're garbage, which isn't what i said, just that they annoy me and even then what annoys me is not the "rules" themselves (because i do believe they can be useful depending on what you're writing) but when some of them are put out as the only way to write something as if storytelling is a one-size fits all approach, as if you can reduce the millenia-long history of literature into a fail-proof formula that will work for all writing across all cultures with no room for experimentation.

i think there are as many ways to tell a story as there are stories and how you tell something and the kind of language you use will vary depending on what language actually means to you as a writer. hemingway and faulkner both famously took digs at each other for their styles (even though i think there was a lot of admiration between them) but they are also two very different writers with two completely different approaches to language and how they use that language to say the things they want to say: neither is inherently better, or more right, than the other--their approaches were just right for them; if faulkner wanted to write using the "older, simpler, better" words hemingway loved, he would have. if james joyce wanted to depict dublin the way dickens depicted london, he would have done so. but they didn't.

someone once posted an excellent breakdown by jeff vandermeer of the different writing styles employed by different authors which i was silly enough not to save at the time, but in it he gives an overview of the structure of their sentences, and how complicated or "rich" the language is, without pitting one style against the other. and to be honest, i think writing advice that encourages you to examine and look at that relationship with language, and what it holds for you (and others) and why, is probably more helpful than blanket statements like "stay away from ambiguity" or "avoid long sentences" because neither of those actually mean anything--a sentence is a vessel but it's also a tool, like a hoghair brush or a palette knife; the value of its impact is not an essence that exists in and of itself, but entirely dependent on how you use it, otherwise all literature would just read the same way.

strict adherence to a particular form or structure within a language does not automatically make for better writing, especially not when so much literature actually consists of, and is built from, works and authors actively rebelling against those same traditional forms and structures (but which is also not to say that those forms and structures are inherently useless, either). you can say that long sentences "risk distraction" or are "ineffective" but then where does that leave someone like laszlo krasznahorkai, whose prose runs on like some kind of breathless, hypnotic incantantion for 20, 30 pages without a single full stop in sight? or a book like solar bones by mike mccormack which is made up of a single sentence going on for 200 pages? i'm not saying long sentences can't be boring or tedious, but in all honesty so can short sentences--so can any writing that follows the "rules" to the letter. if something is poorly written, the "rules" matter very little; if it's well written, they matter even less.

all that said, telling people to "avoid long sentences" is not inherently a bad thing because i think the core of it is wanting to ensure your writing remains clear, which is a fair point--but it's an issue, to me at least, when it turns into one of those dictums or pronouncements that actively narrows the potential range language can actually have. clarity is not always about length, or whether or not you cull all of your run-on lines--mihail sebastian drew a very nice distinction in one of his novels when he said "[is] there’s a single way of being clear? A notary can be clear, or a poet, but they don’t seem to me the same thing". a long sentence can be clear, but its clarity exists on different terms to a sentence that is five words long, because its relationship to its content is different. and at the end of the day, that relationship is really what it's about for me and it's distinct to each work and its author.

writers use the language and form they use that best allows them to say what they want to say. no one in their right mind is going to dismiss zadie smith for not writing like angela carter or angela carter for not writing like hemingway or hemingway for not writing like beckett or beckett for not writing like mallarmé. robert frost and sara teasdale were no more correct than the beatniks were. i love pared down, beautifully concise prose, but i also adore books that relish in language and all the various, multi-coloured layers of it, books that eschew (traditional) plot and books that question their own form and the reality of that form, and books that tell a story as straightforwardly as possible.

to be honest i think one of the most formative things i came across, years ago now, was this piece by gary provost, which really sums up the whole notion of "writing rules" for me:

this is not about do's or dont's. it even breaks the first writing rule i learnt in school ("never begin a sentence with 'And'"). but what it does is center an intimate understanding of language, where it can go and how it can get there, and what you want that to do. that's where it's at for me!

[pewpewkachuuboo]

People reacted really well to radioapple, so here’s another few short short drabbles of those two with some huskerdust sprinkled in because they’re so good it hurts my heart- I really appreciate the likes and reblogs 😭 I wanted to just have some slice of life style interactions because I love the idea of them being besties at least end game (every spicy scorpio needs their charismatic libra bestie - idc what their signs actually are this is my headcannon and I will not be swayed).

Working on a few long form works with actual plot lmao - I want to get a few chapters in before I post because I don’t like the idea of not posting weekly updates to long form. I’m having so much fun, ya’ll. I really needed a creative outlet 😭 I missed writing so much.

—

-Alastor discovers romance novels-

Angel Dust was draped across one of the sofas in the hotel lobby with a book open in his top set of hands while petting a sleeping Fat Nuggets with his bottom set, the pink pig curled up at his abdomen.

The lanky man’s fingers were quick to turn the pages as his eyes scanned the pages, his tongue sticking out slightly from concentration.

(Husk was watching thoughtlessly, a wistful smile on his face as he rested his cheek in one paw while the other wiped in lazy circles around the bar counter, but he would never admit the lopsided smile was for the spider if he even realized he was doing it at any point.)

“Why, Angel, I had no idea you were literate.”

Alastor’s static voice broke Angel Dust out of his trance - he jumped higher than intended, scaring Fat Nuggets who ran to the bar for shelter (Husk panicked at the voice, but his demeanor went back to his usual disinterested face after Fat Nuggets dove for his feet). Angel Dust’s face had a soft pink tint, “Are ya kiddin? I can read. I’m dumb but I ain’t stupid.”

Alastor tutted, “That makes no sense, dear.” Angel opened his mouth to retort but Alastor cocked his head to the side at an unsettling angle as he interrupted the attempt making Angel bite his tongue instead, “What are we indulging in? Hemingway, perhaps? Maybe some James Joyce?”

“Who?” Angel Dust didn’t miss a beat, smiling slightly when he saw Alastor’s eye twitch, “I don’t read that old timey shit - this is…” he paused before telling him the author, a grin spreading devilishly across his face, “This is one of ta best novels to come out in years according to the reviews.” He motioned to the pile spread out beside him, “If you like ta read you’re more than welcome ta borrow one.”

Alastor made a noise in consideration before picking up one of the books with two of his fingers like he was afraid to get bitten, “I would hate to discourage you picking up good habits, and I do miss a harrowing tale.”

Angel Dust crossed his long legs, “Oh, they’re harrowing alright.”

Alastor raised an eye brow in suspicion, but moved to hold the book regularly, “Well, then, don’t mind if I do indulge in some entertainment. Thank you, Angel Dust.”

Alastor disappeared into his shadows and Angel Dust grinned at Husk, “Wanna bet on reactions when he gets to the steamy parts?”

Husk’s mouth quirked in another half smile as he sighed out a laugh, “I do love to gamble.”

A few hours later, Angel Dusk had moved to the bar and was laughing at one of Husk’s stories from when he was alive before he received a sharp thump to the back of his head as Alastor appeared and had slapped the spider demon with the borrowed book. Angel growled, rubbing the place of impact, “What the fuck-“

“You just tricked me into reading some very inappropriate content.” Alastor mused, laying the book on the bar top, “Never do that again if you know what’s good for you.”

Angel huffed, handing Husker a crisp twenty as Alastor turned on his foot to leave, “Whateva, you probably liked it.”

“Ha Ha Ha - no.”

Angel Dust stuck his tongue out at Husk who was grinning from his win, but they both turned just in time to see Alastor pick up another book from the pile before disappearing again.

The spider looked back at Husk, eyebrows raised, “Wait, gimme the $20 back - I told you aces usually love smut if it’s a book, watching and reading are different than doin and I FUCKIN WON.”

Husk growled lowly, handing him the bill back before fishing another twenty from his tip jar and handing it over, “Fuck, I hate when you’re right.”

Angel Dust laughed evilly and made an effort to just leave his novels around the hotel to see if any would get picked up - and they usually did.

—

-Lucifer tries to lead one of Charlie’s lessons-

Lucifer looked over the hotel patrons one by one before taking in a deep breath and letting it out, “Today we are going to talk about and learn about unconscious bias and random acts of kindness.”

He tried not to linger on Alastor’s form for longer than needed because that fucking smile made his blood boil and he had promised Charlie that he would take this seriously and her sparkling, expectant glare was putting more pressure on him than he had thought it would and he HAD to get this right or Charlie would never ask him to help again (probably).

“Unconscious bias is when you make assumptions about someone you don’t know without realizing based on things that you learned as you’ve been a conscious being. For example, most men here in hell probably assume that women are only capable in traditional wife roles and will treat women as less powerful or threatening as a result.” He pointed the apple at the tip of his cane in the direction of the women in the room, “All of our lovely ladies are obviously very powerful and would not adhere to that stereotype, but when someone assumes they are weak because they are women, we call that an unconscious bias because it happens without that person realizing.” He cleared his throat, “Does anyone have another example?”

Angel Dust raised his hand and then tapped his chin thoughtfully when Lucifer motioned for him to share, “Well, people think I’m a woman cus I have tits. Is that right?”

Lucifer’s eye twitched, “Well… kind of, not quite.” He hummed thoughtfully, “When people think of you, they think of your career in adult films, right?”

“Ya.”

“Okay, Husk, what is something that you assumed about Angel Dust because of that career that he’s proved you wrong in getting to know him?”

Husk’s jaw went slack and his cheeks turned a soft pink, “M-me?”

“Yes- the two of you seem to be good friends, so I assume you have an example.”

Angel Dust smirked, “C’mon, Kitty Cat - tell me what you’ve learned about me.”

Husk sighed and stayed quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, “I had assumed that because he’s an actor that he was fake, but what I perceived as fake was a shield and he’s actually one of the most genuinely kind people I’ve ever met.”

Alastor cocked his head at this and Angel Dust was silent -face unreadable. Both were making him increasingly uncomfortable so he stuttered out a, “H-he’s still annoying as hell, though.”

Lucifer clapped his hands together, “Amazing! That’s a great example!” He looked to Charlie and Vaggie as Charlie excitedly waved her hands in the air chanting me next several times before Lucifer motioned for his daughter to share.

“I made assumptions about Vaggie when we met! I assumed she was a demon because we met in an alley and then I assumed that Adam would help us because angels are supposed to be good but he was an asshole!” She ranted and chirped excitedly for a few more moments, and once she had finished she grinned up at him, “Do you have unconscious bias?”

Lucifer nodded his head thoughtfully, “Everyone has unconscious bias.”

Charlie made an ‘O’ with her mouth before she scanned the room and pointed at Alastor, “What unconscious bias did you have against Alastor?”

Lucifer’s eye twitched in irritation, looking to the radio demon whose eyes narrowed in curiosity. After a few minutes Lucifer sighed, “I assumed he was a psychopath with ill intentions. I still think he’s insane, but… he has protected you all and I think that means he doesn’t have the illest of intentions.”

Alastor’s grin widened, “Why, thank you sir! I’m tickled to know you care to notice.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, “Wow! This is so great!”

Lucifer moved his neck to pop it from the uncomfortable feelings he just had to experience. Complimenting Alastor was exhausting. “Now, random acts of kindness. This is when you want to thank someone or see someone that needs help, you go out of your way to assist them. It doesn’t have to be life saving - for example, to thank you all for coming today I have brought you all a….” He reached into his coat and threw yellow objects at the group with a grin, “rubber duck!!”

He let them pick up the ducks before he continued, “These are important to me, and all of you are also important to me and so I am giving you a gift to reflect that. Another example would be giving a beggar some change, buying food for someone who can’t afford it themselves, or even just listening when you see someone get emotional that seems like they need company.” He popped his knuckles, “Your assignment is to go and perform a random act of kindness and report back with what you did, why, and how it made you feel.” He lifted his arms and created a wind to blow the material of his coat behind him as well as open the front doors to the hotel dramatically, “Go! Randomly be kind! I’ll be waiting!”

The first to return after being released was Alastor. He held out a bag to Lucifer, who looked at the offering with high suspicion, “I have brought you a gift to show your importance in the hotel.”

“Is it poisoned?”

Alastor chuckled, “No, sir, this is a genuine gift.”

Still suspicious of the radio demon, Lucifer carefully held the bag at a distance. Once free of the bag, Alastor bowed at his waist, hand on his chest, “I have some other matters to attend to, so a bid you adieu for now. Have a swell afternoon, your highness.”

Once the shadow disappeared, Lucifer carefully opened the bag with the tips of his fingers. He was surprised, however, that the item in the bag was a weirdly large rubber duck that had been colored to look like an imp. Lucifer narrowed his eyes and took the duck out, not sure if he should be thankful or wonder if it being an imp implied that he was less than Alastor. But it was cute….

He studied the red duck for a moment before smiling, moving to take it to his tower to place with the rest of the collection.

—

-radioapple does coffee-

The cafe the two sat in was quaint and silent, aside from the bustle of the barista as the small imp moved to clean the counters spotlessly while there was a lull in customers. The walls were a soft purple, and large white daisies decorated the walls randomly while the floor was occupied by black tables and chairs for patrons to sit in.

Lucifer had his legs crossed and eyes closed as he lifted his cup of coffee to his lips with a grace that only someone of royal lineage could hold.

Alastor was sitting opposite the king of hell, humming as he tipped his own cup to his lips.

The silence that hung between them was comfortable for once, not angry or awkward like it was normally at the hotel.

Lucifer opened his eyes slowly to look up at Alastor’s permanently perfect smile, flashing one of his own, “If I had known you were a tea and coffee connoisseur we may have gotten along sooner.”

Alastor chuckled, “Sir, if that’s all it would have taken I would have brought it up as soon as you had stepped into our lowly hotel.”

The shorter male made an amused sound at the thought, “What ifs aside, we probably would have gotten over it eventually. I will say, I’m still not sure of your true intentions with my daughter and her friends, but I do approve of you keeping them safe and also of us doing this weekly - I’ve never had a coffee friend before.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, “Friend, sir?”

Lucifer shrugged and took another sip of his coffee, letting the silence settle over them again.

Alastor’s voice box crackled before he made a new suggestion, “A dear friend of mine is the leader of Cannibal Town - they have a rather tasty and aesthetic cafe out there, we should make that the destination for next week.”

Lucifer’s eyes brightened, “Ah, Rosie? I haven’t seen her since the extermination before last - and it’s been centuries since I’ve been to Cannibal Town. It would be nice to say hello again! Let’s make that the plan, then.”

The two sat in comfortable silence as they enjoyed decent company and good coffee.

[jokercreature]

On the Beach at Fontana is my first try at manga, inspired by James Joyce’s Poem of the same name and Harry Potter, one of my first fandoms that I was invested in. There will be 3 parts to this story, however, I am working to create an experimental style of fan content that is enjoyable to people of multiple fandoms, thus, the story telling would be non linear, and it would be up to the reader to figure out what the sequence of events would be. To better illustrate this, my next post would be a story about DC, with some overlapping themes, and references. And the next might be back to this storyline. Huge thanks to Lexipurple for proof checking and providing guidance to this project. Please check her out on AO3 as well, I believe she is on there. I hope you enjoy this read and support me by asking me anything or just sharing.

[youremyheaven]

Vedic Astrology Observations:

ive noticed that revati, punarvasu & swati naks are most often associated with the cyberpunk genre/its aesthetics. there are sooo many examples of this:

keanu reeves is a punarvasu stellium and he was in the matrix movies

arnold schwarzenegger is best known for his work in sci-fi/cyberpunk movies, including total recall, the terminator movies, the 6th day etc

aespa is a kpop group known for their cyberpunk aesthetic and futuristic concepts, the 4 members have the following naks: karina is a revati sun, punarvasu moon, giselle is a swati sun/mercury with punarvasu rahu, winter is swati mars with punarvasu rahu , ningning is swati venus (i have a feeling she's revati asc)

gakuryu ishii, the acclaimed cyberpunk filmmaker has punarvasu moon amatyakaraka and revati mars atmakaraka

aditi, the mother goddess is the creator, when we log on, we enter a different reality. revati is consciousness itself (the nature of which is questioned often in science fiction+ cyber punk works of art) swati is maya or illusion. this explains why these naks are so intricately linked to these themes.

2. 🦋 I've noticed that although butterflies are most commonly associated with punarvasu, sooo many sidereal pisces folks (Revati + UBP) are drawn to butterfly imagery. There are a ton of examples but here's a short thread:

Erika Sawajiri has Revati sun + UBP moon. This movie itself features heavy butterfly imagery 🦋

Here's Salma Hayek, a UBP moon with temporary butterfly tattoos + wearing a butterfly top

Salma was in a movie called In the Time of the Butterflies where she played 1/2 of a duo of sisters called "Butterflies" along with Lumi Cavazos who has Revati Saturn as her atmakaraka and Rahu in UBP

Bella Hadid has UBP Ketu & here's her with 2 separate butterfly bday cakes 🍰🦋. Anyone who knows her knows how obsessed with butterflies she is lol

Woosung has Revati Moon & Venus and his debut EP is literally called "Moth" 😭his album cover features butterflies too but for some reason I can't upload it :(

a little bit of a stretch but Jackson Wang is UBP sun + Revati venus & he has a song called "Papillon" (French for butterfly🦋 👀)

3. i think vishaka's invented siren eyes

both beyonce & laura prepon have vishaka moons (there are a million other examples including jennie from blackpink but im too tired to attach pix ya'll)

4. a lot of writers who employ the stream of consciousness technique have the same combination of naks or naks that fell under the same planet.

Virginia Woolf was Shravana sun, Uttara Ashada venus, Mrigashira mars with ketu in Rohini (also Rohini asc)

James Joyce was Shravana sun & venus, Pushya moon, Shatabhisha mercury, Mrigashira mars with ketu in Rohini

(These two have their bdays super close together and its interesting how they are both considered the figureheads of this style of writing).

Anton Chekhov had Shravana sun & rahu, Revati moon, Uttara Ashada mercury & Shatabhisha venus

Literally 3 Shravana sun natives

William Faulkner had Hasta sun, Uttaraphalguni moon & mercury, Pushya ketu and was Ardra asc

Leo Tolstoy was also Uttaraphalguni moon & mercury, Pushya venus & saturn with Revati ketu and was Ardra asc

These two have the same moon, mercury & rising sign

Henry James was Aswini sun, Revati mercury, ketu in Ardra & Magha asc

Marcel Proust was Aswini moon & asc, Magha venus and Ardra rahu.

Two Aswini natives to the mix

As we can see there's a strong Moon, Sun & Nodal influence. I believe having nodal signs can make an individual very imaginative + Moon influence gives grounding to the endless nodal imagination.

5. Punarvasu natives have a habit of returning to the same themes in their works over and over again. I attribute this to the "boundless" nature of this nakshatra and its cyclic nature.

Makoto Shinkai has Punarvasu Ketu and his movies can be said to be interconnected, and have a similar over arching theme and take place in the same spiritual universe.

Frida Kahlo who has a Punarvasu stellium (sun, jupiter & rahu) literally drew herself over and over again

Gustav Klimt who has Punarvasu sun atmakaraka repeatedly used the same gold motif across many of his paintings. Jupiter is associated with the color yellow/lead and it features prominently in most of Klimt's work <3

6. serpent yoni ladies have the most distinct look. you can tell just by their eyes

Natalie Portman has Mrigashira sun

Myrna Loy has Ashlesha sun & Mrigashira venus darakaraka (I know Ashlesha does not have serpent yoni but naks associated with Nagas often have serpentine physicality)

Look at how serpentine their eyes look!! There are mannyyyy more examples ofc. I'll make another post about it sometime.

That's it for now folks<3

[tbgblr2]

2 Friends, 3 Babies.

Several months prior, two friends are texting: 

Kirsty: *Hey babe* 

Kate: *Yeah?* 

Kirsty: *<Posts picture of a positive pregnancy test>* 

Kate: *EEEEEEE! For real.  Congrats!   We are catching up, tomorrow!* 

Three months later, the following text message discussion occurred: 

Kate: *Oh my god, you’ll never guess what!* 

Kirsty: *What?* 

Kate: *<Posts picture of positive pregnancy test>* 

Kirsty: *OH MY GOD!!!!* 

Kate: *Yep… we do everything together, even babies!* 

Kate:  *But… I’ve got 2 in me!* 

Kirsty: *Twins?  WOWWWW!* 

Kirsty and Kate grew up in a small town, and did everything together, they both grew up together, went to school and college together, even worked at the same job together.   They were more like sisters than friends, and now with their joint pregnancies, they were doing antenatal classes together.  Kate had married Kevin – another childhood friend – and yes, you will notice the prolific number of ‘K’ names between the group – one of the quirks of living in a close-knit community, sometimes things get a bit well… weird.   

In this case, generationally, each family collectively agreed to use the next letter of the alphabet to name their children.   No one knows how far back it started, but their parents’ friends’ group was made up of a Joyce, Joseph, Janice and James.   They had a few friends like John and Jack… and a few from the older generation, Ian and Irene.   Ken was an unfortunate teenage pregnancy incident between one of Kirsty and Kate’s mothers’ friends, born much older than the rest of the generation thanks to a lack of sufficient education about sexual practices in the school system. 

Tom – Kirsty’s husband – was the odd one out – he was an import into the area.  Kirsty met him at university, and he was soon welcomed into the community with open arms as they dated and eventually married. 

Even though the 2 ladies were frequently seen to be almost identical in their style and demeanour, as time progressed in their respective pregnancies, the obviousness of their pregnant condition separated them.   Kirsty managed to keep a very petite bump, it was very small and contained.   Kate on the other hand had surpassed Kirsty’s belly measurement by her 5th month, Kirsty’s 8th – looking as if full term with a single baby before Kirsty had even given birth. 

Kate was thrilled – and to be honest a little apprehensive – when Kirsty asked her to be her birthing partner – she was very aware that whatever happened to Kirsty she would have to do herself in only a matter of weeks afterwards, but the two of them felt that they were well prepared between watching birth videos together, taking birth classes together, and generally being good emotional support to each other through the trials of heartburn, morning sickness and cravings. 

As time progressed, and the inevitable day finally arrived, Kirsty called Kate to tell her that she was certain she was in labour, and she should come over. 

Kate knocked briefly on the door and walked in – she was past needing to wait for her friend to come and let her in, but as she took her time turning around to close the door behind her – always conscious of her bump potentially knocking into things - she shouted her hello into the house. 

“Come on in” shouted Kirsty in response, as Kate turned back around and walked down the small corridor into the room where the sound came from. 

She immediately stopped in her tracks, her hand flying instinctively to her mouth in unexpected shock. 

“Kirsty, you’re naked!” exclaimed Kate. 

Kirsty wasn’t exactly naked.   She was covered by a dressing gown, but it was open rather than tied, her body and hair evidently wet like she had just been in the bath or shower.   She was sat on her birth ball, slowly rotating her hips in a figure eight motion as Kate rounded the corner into the room. 

She looked up and managed a smile, “Yeah and I’ve got a baby wanting to come out of me, so I win this round” 

Kate couldn’t help but giggle, when almost on cue, Kirsty’s face scrunched up as she brushed back the fabric of her robe from the right hand side of her belly and clamped her hand on it, rubbing it with slow circles.    Kate watched enraptured as Kirsty’s belly tensed and for a brief moment, an outline of a part of the baby was seen poking out.   She gasped without realising. 

Kirsty, seeing this happen, blew out her breath as the contraction passed and smiled once again.   “I take it you saw little bub’s butt?”   Kate nodded.   “Yeah its crazy, been watching it all morning as my belly tightens up.   I suppose it’s a downside of a small bump... not much free room in there I guess?” 

Kate asked “So how long have you been in labour for?” 

Kirsty looked up as if she was trying to work something out in her head.  “Well... I was straddled riding Tom last night” 

“Hey, do you not have any secrets!” shouted Tom from the next room. 

“Of course not baby, we are friends!” shouted Kirsty, grinning maniacally. “As I was saying before being rudely interrupted, I was riding my man like a beast, when I felt some contractions.   Not sure if the baby was fed up of being juggled around or some magic happened... when the magic happened, but they didn’t let up, not like any of those Braxton Hicks things I’d been having.” 

Kate nodded, her hand instinctively moving to her belly to feel the movement of the babies inside her at the mention of Braxton Hicks contractions, she was only 6 months along, and she knew she had those to look forward to when the babies had grown a little more – if that was possible – she was bigger than Kirsty right now, and Kirsty was in labour! 

Kirsty continued.  “I managed to get a couple of hours sleep, but at around about... oh... 5 I think I gave up after watching the clock for an hour and feeling the occasional cramp.   I knew they weren’t going away at this point and got excited you know.” 

Kate nodded as Kirsty continued.   “I got up to go to the toilet” - cue knowing nods from Kate - “had a little bite to eat, and just sat and watched TV for a few hours feeling the build-up and progression, having a good moan and groan to myself.   After Tom got up and noticed I wasn’t in bed, it had been several hours, and things had started to get a bit fruity, let me tell you.  Headed for a nice warm bath to try and get comfortable when I got in touch with you.  Had about an hour in there – it helped; I'll admit – but I figure it's about time to go to the birth centre.   So here we are, about an hour later, Tom has – I hope – finished packing, and I need to just get dressed a bit so I can go out in public.” 

Tom poked his head around the door.  “We’re all set – Hi Kate!” 

“Hi Tom” Kate held her hand up in greeting. 

Kirsty stands from the ball, arching her back as she simultaneously holds the underside of her belly and pulls, lifting her round midsection up.  “That feels so much better let me tell you, nothing like it to ease back pain.  Baby’s got no decency to stay well away from nerves.”   She shuffles back towards a chair where a dress is draped over the back of it, shrugging off the dressing gown into a pile on the floor behind her, she grabs the dress and starts to pull it over her head, the fabric gathering above her bump until she's pulled it over her head and able to pull it down. 

“No underwear?” queried Kate, as Kirsty shook a finger at her, dropping her head and grimacing, evident that another contraction had started to ramp up.   Kate moved over to her friend and got in as close as her own bump would let her, rubbing Kirsty’s back.   That seemed to help, and her tight, scowling expression relaxed a little as she felt the muscles of her back being softly massaged. 

Tom walked back into the room with a bag slung over his shoulder with their hospital things in, taking his wife's hands in his own, he slowly rubbed his thumbs over the back of her two hands whilst whispering to her that she was doing well, and she was well on her way to meeting their baby. 

As the contraction reached its peak and finally ebbed away, Kirsty felt she could breathe again, huffing out her breath with a groan.   The contractions were definitely getting worse as time went on... she figured it was going to be as much, but she was secretly hoping that they would reach a peak with their pain and intensity, and eventually just go on longer and longer.   She figured in her own head that was too much to ask for. 

The three made their way to the car – Kirsty and Tom just having upgraded their small hatchback they shared as a couple to something larger with the baby on the way.  Kate settled into the passenger seat as she pushed the seat back as much as she could, Kirsty sat in the back row, on the assumption that it would allow her a bit more freedom of movement should she need it during the ride – she didn’t like the idea of getting trapped in the passenger seat and be surrounded by all the dashboard and centre consoles and not being able to move around, even shuffle from left to right. 

Tom opened the boot, threw in the bag he was carrying, and promised he would be quick as he dashed back into the house.   Two pairs of pregnant women’s eyes followed his movements as he retreated.   He returned a few moments later with the car seat for the baby, and placed that in the back as well, not wanting to set it up in position for now in case Kirsty wanted to move around. 

“Lets go have a baby!” he yelled, the emotions he had bottled up finally releasing into a yell of triumph that he and his wife were on their way.    

As the engine burst into life, another contraction started assaulting Kirsty’s belly.   She groaned, resulting in Tom turning around before pulling away.   “Just drive!” Kirsty growled a little, completely unintentionally.   Noticing Tom’s expression drop, she took a breath and added, in a more reasonable tone “Sooner we get moving, the sooner we get there.   I’m expecting a few more of these on the way, and Kate can help me cope.  Just want you to focus on the road to get us there in one piece.”  Tom nodded and pulled away, glancing back at the rear-view mirror to see Kirsty lying back, rubbing furiously at her belly. 

Tom set a decent pace, keeping to the speed limit, but weaving between lanes to keep moving and not end up in queues.   Kirsty went through several contractions in the car, typically when they ramped up to higher intensities, she leaned her head on the seat in front and pushed her hand forward, allowing Kate to grab it and hold on as she squeezed, often grasping Kirsty’s hand with both of hers.   Tom kept the compliments and encouragement going all the way through the drive - “You’re doing well baby, keep on doing that, breathe nice and deep, pant out the pain.”  Kate chimed in at appropriate times “That’s it Kirst, squeeze my hand nice and tight, just keep on thinking about meeting the baby.” 

Kirsty shuffled from side to side in the seat as she tried to keep comfortable, struggling with the sensations of labour getting more and more pronounced as the drive went on.   Tom was of course driving as quick as he could, which resulted in one rapid stop as a car appeared in front of him unexpectedly.    The stop-start nature of the journey, coupled with her own hormones, and the surprising heat generated by her own pregnant body left her feeling nauseous, so she wound down the window and let the cool air blast into her face for a while.   

At one point, Kirsty had almost gotten to her wits end, tired of sitting in the same position, the pain in her lower back becoming more and more intense as the drive and her labour progressed.    She managed to get her body rotated in the seat, so she had her knees pressed against the seat, her belly sticking out into the area where she was sitting a few moments earlier, and her hands grasping the headrest as she moaned a sorrowful sounding wail, a contraction almost breaking her.   Tom had little he could do to assist, and even Kate couldn’t really get her hand back far enough, only really brushing hers against her friends thigh, so both were left looking through the rear view mirror at the labouring woman and feeling powerless to help other than to keep on telling her that they were getting closer and closer to the birthing centre. 

When the group were almost there, about 2-3 minutes from the hospital, Kirsty let out a growl which suddenly turned into an exclaimation.  “GrrrrrrooooohSHIT!”   Kate turned around as best she could, and Tom, all credit to him, didn’t take his eyes off the road but asked what had happened. 

“Water broke... I think” replied Kirsty speaking in a pained tone, eyes scrunched up in the middle of a contraction, she pulled her hands out from between her legs and brought up fingers that were glistening with fluid. 

Tom gasped, asking “Do I stop, do I go... were almost there?” 

Kate looked at him.  “Get to the birthing centre, I don’t think she's in any risk of pushing the baby out right here.” 

Kirsty answered silently by shaking her head.  Gasping a “go” as best she could, Tom got the message and drove on. 

Kirsty squirmed in the seat, feeling the wetness of her clothes cling to her.   She mumbled a quick “Sorry guys” as she lifted her backside off the seat and pulled at her dress, lifting it up above her bump, exposing her lower half and sitting back down.  “That was uncomfortable.”    Tom could only stare in disbelief as Kate smiled.  “Whatever helps you cope.” 

As the car arrived in the car park, Kate offered to go in and get things ready for the couple, presuming that Kirsty would need a moment to get herself tidied up and out of the car.   Of course, being 6 months pregnant with twins, and sporting a large belly herself didn’t exactly mean she was able to jump out of the car herself and head over quickly either. 

She eventually managed to extract herself from the seat and with a half run-half waddle she pushed the door to the birthing centre open to be greeted by a receptionist. 

“Hi” said Kate.   “We rang ahead, got a baby coming.   Waters just broken on the journey in.” 

The receptionist looked at Kate and got the wrong end of the stick, thinking she was the woman in labour. 

“Please take a seat ma’am and I'll bring the admittance forms over to you... or do you feel that you would need a wheelchair and to go straight to the assessment room?” 

“Wh...wha?” Kate was taken aback momentarily until she put 2 and 2 together.  “Oh... no... my friend is in labour.   I’ve got a fair old while to go, still only 6 months along.”   Kate was not sure if it was the frantic nature of the drive into the area, but this set her off giggling.   Kirsty is going to love hearing this. 

“I think the wheelchair could be useful for our labouring mamma though,” noted Kate as the receptionist nodded.  “You should see the couple in the car park.” 

An orderly took one of the wheelchairs which were stacked to the side and wheeled it out to greet the labouring couple, as the receptionist asked for Kirsty's name, brought up her records on the screen and clicked a few locations on the screen, announcing that she was all set. 

The orderly came in backwards, wheeling Kirsty in front of him in reverse, Tom following with the bag close behind the small group.   As the orderly spun the chair around so Kirsty faced the receptionist, Kirsty let out a slight smile and a nod of greeting. 

The receptionist greeted her with her own beaming smile and wished her good luck, advising the orderly to take the group to assessment room 2.   Tom and Kate followed on behind the wheelchair bound Kirsty as the three of them and the orderly entered a room.    

“I’ll come back and get the chair when you’ve been assessed, just sit tight and our midwife will be here in just a couple of minutes... or if you’d like a hand up, I can help?” 

“Please, help me stand” asked Kirsty.   The orderly and Tom helped her get up whilst Kate wheeled the chair to the side of the room.  “Thanks, I’ve been sitting for a while in the car, I just want to move around.” 

“Not a problem” the orderly smiled.   He pointed over to buzzer on the wall.  “There’s an intercom there if you need to reach reception, but you shouldn’t have much of a wait.” 

As the orderly leaves, Kirsty’s hand goes to her bump again as she waddles over to grasp onto a handrail on the wall.   Her walk is noticeably bow-legged as she tries to avoid the damp patch on the back her dress which is clearly visible from behind.  “I just realised how soaked I am now the dress isn't stuck to me,” she manages, between huff and puff breaths as she focuses on the contraction. 

“Hopefully they have the pool you wanted ready, then you can take off the dress and just relax in the water.” thought Tom, speaking out loud. 

“Sounds heavenly...” Kirsty replied, holding herself up with one hand as she bent over with the pain, clutching at her belly with the other.  “These have gotten a LOT worse since the waters went.  Like someone's taken away the cushion I had.”   She vocalised a low moan as she worked through the contraction. 

There was a knock at the door, and the midwife the couple had been dealing with during their prenatal care walked through, she was known as Suzi.   Definitely an out of towner as she was not really much older than Kirsty and Kate, but didn’t follow the same naming convention of those in the town. 

She noticed Kirsty working her way through a contraction and waited for it to finish – Kirsty, wrapping her arms around Tom as she stood with a wide stance, moving her hips left and right as she vocalised a low moan.   As the contraction finished, and she managed to stand back up fully and look around at the new entrant into the room, Kirsty’s eyes rose up and met Suzi’s, who smiled in response.  “So how's my mother and sneaky little baby then?” 

“We’re fine, and I think baby really wants to show itself now” replied Kirsty, her hand rubbing her bump. 

What Suzi referred to was Kirstys apparent lack of bump.  All of the ultrasound scans and other checks that she had went through suggested the baby was growing normally, and in fact was suggesting that it was going to be very big when it was born – but her apparent lack of bump was baffling.  Suzi could only shrug when asked to explain it, and just replied saying that sometimes bumps just don’t pop out much.  Her uterus, and subsequently the baby growing within it, seemed to be quite deep in her body, so the outward signs were significantly less than many other women, but everything was perfectly normal and not to worry about it. 

“Can I check you over?” asked Suzi, as Kirsty nodded, adding “Do you mind if I take off this dress... it’s a bit wet?”    

“If it would help, go right ahead, want me to bring you something else to wear?” she asked. 

“No... no thanks.   Feeling a bit hot and bothered if I’m honest – hoping a bit of naked time might help cool me down.”   Kirsty blushed as she said it, not exactly sure what the etiquette would be for a situation like this. 

“Hey... you’re the labouring mamma... you call the shots” grinned Suzi as she offered her hand to help Kirsty onto the bed.   Kirsty hiked her dress up over her bump as she had done before in the car and then took Suzi’s hand and Toms and managed to get herself on the bed.   Tom lifted off her dress and folded it over, putting it away in a plastic bag to be washed later. 

Suzi donned her gloves, and with a “OK, deep breath in” she put her hands between Kirsty’s legs and into her vagina.   Kirsty squirmed a little as she groaned at the unpleasant sensation but a few moments later, Suzi withdrew her fingers and pulled off the gloves.  “You’re doing well... at 6 centimetres, so still a way to go, but I’m happy to get you admitted... no need to go home.” 

Kirsty breathed a sigh of relief.   She wasn’t expecting to get turned away, but she’d read all sorts of horror stories of women who had laboured all day and found that they were only 2-3 centimetres dilated when they got to the birth centre and were sent back home for longer.   Frankly she didn’t think she could manage another car ride. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes with a gown you can wear... don’t think you’d want to move down to our delivery suite in your current state of undress” Suzi turned and walked out of the room with a grin. 

Kirsty swung her legs by the side of the bed and sat and chatted a little while with Kate and Tom.  As the time passed, another contraction started to grow, so she closed her eyes and focused on rubbing her belly, reaching out for Tom, who grabbed her hand in response, as Kirsty was left grimacing in pain. Kate looked on concerned, not only for the simple fact that her good friend was in pain, but seeing how much the pain was having a visible effect on Kirsty, she was worried that she would have it all to come. 

Kirsty came out of the contraction looking up at her friend who was rubbing her belly sheepishly.  “Hope I'm not scaring you...” she managed with a smile.   Kate lied, saying no, putting on a brave face so as not to let her friend worry when she needed to concentrate on herself.   “Babies are just having a wrestle in here I think, don’t know what it is, but they’re crazy active right now... I don’t know, perhaps I'm just noticing it more considering the situation.”  

There was a knock at the door interrupting their heart to heart, as Suzi walked back in the room, closing the door behind her, ripping open a plastic wrapper as she walked towards Kirsty and handed her the gown she had just unpacked.   Holding her free hand and shoulder, Suzi helped Kirsty off the bed as she pulled the clothing over her head. 

“Ready when you are, let's go have a baby!” Kirsty seemed suddenly full of energy, knowing she was moving on with her labour.   Suzi nodded and led the group out of the room, down the corridor and into the delivery suite area of the building – Kirsty stopping midway to hold onto the wall as a contraction worked its way through her.  After making sure she was OK, they continued their way to a door, which was opened in front of the group leading to a low-lit room, the area dominated by the pool in the middle of the room.    Kirsty’s eyes lit up seeing the inviting water. 

Kirsty took off the gown again, waiting a little while as Suzi strapped a monitor to her belly to monitor the contractions, and she was finally released to go into the water.    As she took Tom’s offered hand, her legs entered the water one after another with an audible splash.   Standing in the tub she rocked side to side as another contraction built up, her hands grasping both of Tom’s and squeezing tight.   Kirsty’s eyes were closed as she worked through it, until finally it passed and she sighed as she lowered herself down into the water, blissful relief evident on her face. 

Kirsty sat in the water with her legs butterflied out, soles together as she took in a deep breath, her hands working an ache in the underside of her belly.  The next contraction built up and it was clear that this felt different to Kirsty by the noises she was making – giving a low, humming noise rather than the grunts and groans she had been doing before.   She smiled as the contraction ebbed away, stating that she was so glad to be back in the water, it felt like the pains were so much less intense with the water to help. 

After the hectic run up to this point, suddenly everything was calm.   Over the course of the next hour, Kirsty worked her contractions in the tub, taking time out between the surges to find time to have a joke and conversation with Tom and Kate, the water doing what is should to mask the pain of the contractions.   Suzi popped in back and forth over the time and kept her notes, bringing in some gas and air for Kirsty as things picked up close to the end of the hour.   Kirsty took plenty of opportunity to breathe deeply on the mouthpiece, groaning with the contractions as they picked up intensity as the labour progressed. 

Things got more emotional as Kirsty entered transition though.   The pain had ramped up considerably, to the point where the water and gas and air wasn’t helping, Kirsty was starting to mumble to herself, focusing inward as she could do nothing but yell out as each contraction got to her, ramped up, and then seemed to only let go for a moment before its next friend gripped her. 

Tom was starting to fret, feeling helpless in the situation, whilst Kate was simply looking on aghast, finding her friend not coping well with the pain, and being concerned that she would need to go through this soon herself. 

Kirsty got Tom to get in the pool and hold her as she went through the contractions – she was starting to feel the ill effects of the late-stage labour, feeling all shaky and nauseous – but Tom’s presence, holding her, whispering to her that she was doing great, keeping her focused helped her to progress.  Thankfully for the transition phase, it didn’t last long, and after around 30 minutes, where Kirsty was getting well and truly fed up with the pain she suddenly felt the urge to push. 

Suzi leaned over the edge of the pool and managed to reach between Kirsty’s legs to check her dilation – sure enough, she was at 10cm and was good to go.   Both Tom and Kate let out sighs of relief knowing that the difficult transition period was finally over, and hoping that Kirsty getting to push would help her deal with the pain better – when she was back in control. 

The first push felt like heaven to Kirsty.   She could finally do something.   Tom sloshed around the pool to kneel down next to her shoulder and give her support, whilst Kirsty screamed like a banshee as she pushed, putting all the frustration she had just been through into a monumental effort to get things moving.   Kate moved around the pool to get a look, morbid curiosity ruling her thoughts at the moment.   She was very disappointed that Kirsty’s long, 10 second push showed absolutely no external effects whatsoever. 

Another push, then another and finally a fourth and suddenly Kate jumped.   “I’ve just seen it.”   Tom leaned over to glance between Kirstys legs and sure enough, as she pushed with a loud roar, her lips parted, and something could be seen in the gap it created.   As she let off the push the shape slipped away, but both Kate and Tom were buoyed by the result, the energy of which motivated Kirsty to keep on going. 

Over the course of the next 10 minutes, Kirsty put a monumental effort into pushing out her baby, and felt success as she reached down and felt the shape growing and growing with each set of effort she put in. But something was wrong. She didn’t know if it was mothers intuition, or something she felt when she was expecting to feel the head of the baby, but she called Suzi over – who had been pleased with the progress so far and started to prepare her notes whilst Tom and Kate were keeping Kirsty motivated. 

Suzi popped over and took a quick glimpse between Kirstys legs, just to get a shock. She didn’t let on too much, but urged Kirsty to push when she felt the next contraction, waiting with baited breath for it to happen. It didn’t take long until Kirsty was once more pulling on her legs in the tub and pushing out the mass between her legs. Suzi’s fears were confirmed when she realised that the thing which was coming out was not the babys head, but its behind. 

“Kirsty... your baby is breech” Suzi infomed Kirsty, trying to keep a calm tone in her voice. Tom reacted first. 

“Does this change anything? Does she need a section or something for that?” 

Kirsty soon reacted to the change in atmosphere in the room, gasping hard, releasing her push mid contraction and wailing out loud as her body reactively forced her to keep on pushing.  

Suzi did her best to keep all in the room calm and on the immediate need to focus on Kirsty’s labour. “Nothing needs to change. You can still push out this baby naturally.... it’s just coming out butt first... Kate or Tom – when it’s time, I’ll need you to support the baby, as we will need to get mum out of the tub and more vertical.”  

Kirsty interrupted “I need Tom... this hurts so bad.” 

Kate nodded “Guess that answers that question then... best get my catcher’s mitt.” 

Suzi nodded. “Right... well, here’s our game plan. When the body is born, I’ll ask Kirsty to stand and use gravity to help give birth to the head. Kate, you support the baby as it comes out, and Kirsty – because the cord will potentially be caught between the emerging head and the body which is already outside, we need to focus on speed to deliver the head so the cord isn’t restricted for too long. I’m afraid you will need to push your hardest to get this head out of you as quick as you can. Do you think you can do it?” 

Kirsty nodded, not able to answer verbally as she immediately folded over to start her pushing on the next contraction. Not sure if it was Suzi’s dire warning or not, but she seemed to push with a lot more might than before, holding Tom’s hand and squeezing as hard as she could to get through the contraction. Suzi and Kate looked on at the baby emerging from between Kirsty’s legs. 

It was clear after this contraction that the thing which was coming out was the baby’s behind, as now the hips – legs folded up into the babys body – were clearly visible. What Kate found unusual was sheer size of the infants body which was stretching her friend open – the stretch was easily as big as any head she had seen on any of the ‘preparing for birth’ video’s she had seen – she looked over at Suzi who wasn’t reacting to the size, just focusing on the area between Kirstys legs to make sure things were going as they should. 

Kate shook her head, presuming she was worrying about nothing, and went back to rubbing a cloth on her friends head and giving her encouragement.  

Suzi jumped in now. “Hands and knees please. We need to be ready to help you stand up when the time comes.” 

Kirsty accepted support from the three others in the room as she wriggled in the pool to get onto her knees – her movements limited by the sheer size of the infant between her legs. The next push as she was vertical had the legs fully born, which flopped down. Kirsty gave a yell – unsure if it was simply pain, or a sense of triumphant success as she felt the movement – her hands were now spread out either side of her, one held by Tom, one by Kate. 

The next push had the body fully born, Kirsty surprisingly making very little noise at this point, simply focusing on the push. The baby was facing with its back towards the group, so Suzi leaned in and felt for the cord, making sure that it wasn’t caught on the neck, before trying to manage the task of lifting Kirsty up for the task of giving birth to the head. 

She gave an affirmative that everything was going well, and asked Kate to get behind Kirsty and be ready to reach down into the pool to support the baby, Tom to take her under her armpits and be ready to lift. 

Kate took a moment to peek around the front at the baby when her hand went to her lips. “How did you fit all that in there?” she gasped out – noting the sheer size of the baby in comparison to her friends dainty bump.  

Suzi scolded her. “Please, we need to be quick.” 

Kirsty gasped out loud “I need to push, quickly.” 

Sheepishly, Kate realised that she had made an error and got into her assigned space. She was forced to lift her own bump up so she could lean over the edge of the pool, her bump hefted over the top, Kate as a result ending up on her tiptoes, her large bump splashing into the water as she reached towards the area between Kirsty’s legs. “Got it.” she confirmed. 

Tom heaved up whilst Suzi supported the baby from the front, waiting for Kate. As she felt her hands grasp the infant from behind, she let go and moved her hands up to Kirsty’s vagina. Kirsty was now upright on her own feet, water draining off her. She didn’t have a moment to lose as she squatted down, opening up her legs and pushed.  

Her howl was deafening to Tom who had his head close to his wife’s, grasping onto her with all his strength. Suzi pushed hard on Kirstys lips, separating them and giving what help she could to ensure that the cord didn’t get trapped by the emerging head. 

Kate stood aghast at the amount of effort and pain that her friend was in as she pushed again and again, her inhibitions gone, the power of gravity pulling the weighty body down along with her primal need to push. Kirsty didn’t stop pushing until the head was out – and it took 3 long minutes. Even when the contraction had stopped, she yelled out loud and grunted with effort. 

Kirsty leaned her weight forward as she pushed, relying more and more on Tom for support. The position change tipped her vagina away from Suzi’s hands, and the midwife dashed around to behind Kirsty to stand alongside Kate, who at this point had gotten a full on view of her friends stretching vagina as the head emerged. 

As the head reached its widest point, stretched to a point where Kate didn’t think would be physically possible for the human body to achieve, Kirsty let out a scream of pain which turned Kate’s blood to ice. In front of her eyes, her friend was tearing, and Kate couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

Her hands were covered in blood and all Kate could do was sit open mouthed at the vision in front of her. Kirsty had not ceased in her pushing efforts, oblivious to the damage that she had done to herself. She couldn’t think, just react to the unstoppable force of the instinct that the boulder between her legs needed to be outside of her body. 

Suzi looked over to Kate, seeing the friend’s frightened look she whispered to her “Don’t worry, we’ll sort that out before she even realises, she’ll be so high on happy hormones.” 

And with that, the baby dropped into Kate’s hands. Without the weight of it held by Kirsty, Kate wasn’t expecting the bulk and had to adjust from her already precarious position on her tiptoes to hold onto the slippery bundle but she held on by some instinctual force she didn’t even realise she had. 

Kirsty was panting as she realised the head had finally come out, shell shocked into mutely staring forward. Kate spoke first. “Take the baby babe!” 

Kirsty suddenly realised what had happened. “Is it over? Is the head out?” She let go of Tom and shuffled back, reaching between her legs to take the waxy, blood covered bundle from between her legs as Kate shoved it forward, almost overbalancing in the process. 

Kirsty sank into the water, suddenly realising the pool was blood-red. She looked up at Suzi. “Everything OK?” she enquired. 

“Just a small tear. We’ll let you rest a few minutes, deal with the afterbirth and see about getting those dealt with when it’s time. For now, bond with your baby.” 

Tom looked up at Kate who held her fingers up behind Kirsty’s back in a ‘pinch’ motion – with her fingers being around an inch apart. She mouthed to Tom “I saw her tear. I saw it all.” Not wanting to say anything out loud in case it startled Kirsty. 

Over the course of the next hour or two, as Kirsty was cleaned up and the baby – a girl which they decided to call Laura to keep up with the naming tradition – was given a clean bill of health, all that was going through Kate’s mind was that her friend, with the tiny bump, gave birth to a 13 pound baby, and struggled as a result. She had a bigger bump than her friend did for several months prior, and she still had time to grow.  

She was worried – whatever her friend had to deal with, she had to do it twice. And one thing was certain, time was certainly not going to stand still for her whilst she prepared herself for it. 

[theclayr07]

You do realize SJM is no James Joyce. She is not even G R R Martin or JRR Tolkien. She admitted herself that she mostly makes up this shit as she goes along. Sometimes she is able to make things fit together, but for the most part she has to do a lot retconning to make it work. She repeats adjectives and descriptive phrases because she does not have the greatest writing style, not because she is trying to make it meaningful. This is not to make fun of her or even be that critical, but you got to love her for who she is. A mediocre writer and great storyteller. You will get feels and entertainment, but it's certainly not War and Peace.

[nicklloydnow]

““Dorothy reminds me in so many ways of Toni Morrison,” West said. “You know Toni Morrison is Catholic. Many people do not realize that she is one of the great Catholic writers. Like Flannery O’Connor, she has an incarnational conception of human existence. We Protestants are too individualistic. I think we need to learn from Catholics who are always centered on community.”

(…)

She viewed belief in God as “an intellectual experience that intensifies our perceptions and distances us from an egocentric and predatory life, from ignorance and from the limits of personal satisfactions”—and affirmed her Catholic identity. “I had a moment of crisis on the occasion of Vatican II,” she said. “At the time I had the impression that it was a superficial change, and I suffered greatly from the abolition of Latin, which I saw as the unifying and universal language of the Church.”

Morrison saw a problematic absence of authentic religion in modern art: “It’s not serious—it’s supermarket religion, a spiritual Disneyland of false fear and pleasure.” She lamented that religion is often parodied or simplified, as in “those pretentious bad films in which angels appear as dei ex machina, or of figurative artists who use religious iconography with the sole purpose of creating a scandal.” She admired the work of James Joyce, especially his earlier works, and had a particular affinity for Flannery O’Connor, “a great artist who hasn’t received the attention she deserves.”

What emerges from Morrison’s public discussions of faith is paradoxical Catholicism. Her conception of God is malleable, progressive, and esoteric. She retained a distinct nostalgia for Catholic ritual, and feels the “greatest respect” for those who practice the faith, even if she herself wavered. In a 2015 interview with NPR, Morrison said there was not a “structured” sense of religion in her life at the moment, but “I might be easily seduced to go back to church because I like the controversy as well as the beauty of this particular Pope Francis. He’s very interesting to me.”

Morrison’s Catholic faith—individual and communal, traditional and idiosyncratic—offers a theological structure for her worldview. Her Catholicism illuminates her fiction; in particular, her views of bodies, and the narrative power of stories. An artist, Morrison affirmed, “bears witness.” Her father’s ghost stories, her mother’s spiritual musicality, and her own youthful sense of attraction to Christianity’s “scriptures and its vagueness” led her to conclude it is “a theatrical religion. It says something particularly interesting to black people, and I think it’s part of why they were so available to it. It was the love things that were psychically very important. Nobody could have endured that life in constant rage.” Morrison said it is a sense of “transcending love” that makes “the New Testament . . . so pertinent to black literature—the lamb, the victim, the vulnerable one who does die but nevertheless lives.”

(…)

Morrison is describing a Catholic style of storytelling here, reflected in the various emotional notes of Mass. The religion calls for extremes: solemnity, joy, silence, and exhortation. Such a literary approach is audacious, confident, and necessary, considering Morrison’s broader goals. She rejected the term experimental, clarifying “I am simply trying to recreate something out of an old art form in my books—the something that defines what makes a book ‘black.’”

(…)

Morrison was both storyteller and archivist. Her commitment to history and tradition itself feels Catholic in orientation. She sought to “merge vernacular with the lyric, with the standard, and with the biblical, because it was part of the linguistic heritage of my family, moving up and down the scale, across it, in between it.” When a serious subject came up in family conversation, “it was highly sermonic, highly formalized, biblical in a sense, and easily so. They could move easily into the language of the King James Bible and then back to standard English, and then segue into language that we would call street.”

Language was play and performance; the pivots and turns were “an enhancement for me, not a restriction,” and showed her that “there was an enormous power” in such shifts. Morrison’s attention toward language is inherently religious; by talking about the change from Latin to English Mass as a regrettable shift, she invokes the sense that faith is both content and language; both story and medium.

From her first novel on forward, Morrison appeared intent on forcing us to look at embodied black pain with the full power of language. As a Catholic writer, she wanted us to see the body on the cross; to see its blood, its cuts, its sweat. That corporal sense defines her novel Beloved (1988), perhaps Morrison’s most ambitious, stirring work. “Black people never annihilate evil,” Morrison has said. “They don’t run it out of their neighborhoods, chop it up, or burn it up. They don’t have witch hangings. They accept it. It’s almost like a fourth dimension in their lives.”

(…)

Morrison has said that all of her writing is “about love or its absence.” There must always be one or the other—her characters do not live without ebullience or suffering. “Black women,” Morrison explained, “have held, have been given, you know, the cross. They don’t walk near it. They’re often on it. And they’ve borne that, I think, extremely well.” No character in Morrison’s canon lives the cross as much as Sethe, who even “got a tree on my back” from whipping. Scarred inside and out, she is the living embodiment of bearing witness.

(…)

Morrison’s Catholicism was one of the Passion: of scarred bodies, public execution, and private penance. When Morrison thought of “the infiniteness of time, I get lost in a mixture of dismay and excitement. I sense the order and harmony that suggest an intelligence, and I discover, with a slight shiver, that my own language becomes evangelical.” The more Morrison contemplates the grandness and complexity of life, the more her writing reverts to the Catholic storytelling methods that enthralled her as a child and cultivated her faith. This creates a powerful juxtaposition: a skilled novelist compelled to both abstraction and physicality in her stories. Catholicism, for Morrison, offers a language to connect these differences.

For Morrison, the traits of black language include the “rhythm of a familiar, hand-me-down dignity [that] is pulled along by an accretion of detail displayed in a meandering unremarkableness.” Syntax that is “highly aural” and “parabolic.” The language of Latin Mass—its grandeur, silences, communal participation, coupled with the congregation’s performative resurrection of an ancient tongue—offers a foundation for Morrison’s meticulous appreciation of language.

Her representations of faith—believers, doubters, preachers, heretics, and miracles—are powerful because of her evocative language, and also because she presents them without irony. She took religion seriously. She tended to be self-effacing when describing her own belief, and it feels like an action of humility. In a 2014 interview, she affirmed “I am a Catholic” while explaining her willingness to write with a certain, frank moral clarity in her fiction. Morrison was not being contradictory; she was speaking with nuance. She might have been lapsed in practice, but she was culturally—and therefore socially, morally—Catholic.

The same aesthetics that originally attracted Morrison to Catholicism are revealed in her fiction, despite her wavering of institutional adherence. Her radical approach to the body also makes her the greatest American Catholic writer about race. That one of the finest, most heralded American writers is Catholic—and yet not spoken about as such—demonstrates why the status of lapsed Catholic writers is so essential to understanding American fiction.

A faith charged with sensory detail, performance, and story, Catholicism seeps into these writers’ lives—making it impossible to gauge their moral senses without appreciating how they refract their Catholic pasts. The fiction of lapsed Catholic writers suggests a longing for spiritual meaning and a continued fascination with the language and feeling of faith, absent God or not: a profound struggle that illuminates their stories, and that speaks to their readers.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.

- W.B. Yeats

This is the quote from W.B. Yeats as a painted sign on the wall as you enter the famous bookstore Shakespeare and Company in Paris.

Strangers always found a welcome at Shakespeare and Company, where they could browse untroubled for hours, especially if they were aspiring writers themselves; and a few – well, a very few – of them may indeed have turned out to be angels, or at least angelic.

The original Shakespeare and Company shop was started in 1921 in the Rue de l’Odéon by Sylvia Beach, the daughter of a US Presbyterian minister. The first writer to patronise the shop was Gertrude Stein, but she fell out with Beach when she took up with James Joyce, whom Stein hated.

Beach published Joyce’s Ulysses when no established publisher would touch it, performing the arduous labour of love of proofreading it. Ernest Hemingway discovered the shop soon after his arrival in Paris, and wrote about it lovingly decades later in A Moveable Feast. When the Germans occupied Paris, Beach refused to sell a signed copy of Finnegans Wake to an invading officer. He said he would return for it the next day. So she moved all the books out and closed the shop. It was “liberated” by Hemingway himself in 1944. However, Beach didn’t have the heart to start again.

In 1948, after a wandering youth and war service, George Whitman came to Paris on the GI Bill, and in 1951 opened an English-language bookshop which he called Le Mistral. A few years later, he moved to the Rue de la Bûcherie, but didn’t rename the shop until after Beach’s death in 1961. He had been too shy to ask her if he could use the name, although they were friends and she used to come to readings at Le Mistral.

Whitman ran his shop as a species of anarchic democracy, even though in some respects he was a benevolent dictator. Anyone who called himself a writer could find a bed there, if there was one free, and stay as long as he liked or until Whitman got tired of him. The only rule for residents was that they must read a book a day and serve in the shop for an hour. One poet, or self-styled poet, who broke the second rule and lay in bed all day reading detective novels was ejected; but his chief offence was his choice of literature rather than his idleness.

The bookshop has its regulars, residents in Paris, not all of them English-speakers by any means, who use it as a sort of club and drop in for conversation and coffee.

Stock control has always been on the casual side. It’s not unknown for someone to lift a book from the shelves, slip it into his pocket, read it and return to sell it for the secondhand shelves the following day.

Inevitably, Shakespeare and Company has long been on the tourist trail, recommended in all the guides. This is just as well, because without their custom it’s hard to see how the shop could have survived. Many are in search of a copy of A Moveable Feast. This is not always on offer because, for some reason which I can’t remember, Whitman took a scunner to Hemingway. The tourists also toss coins into the well in the shop, and it’s not unusual to see an indigent young person lying on the floor and fishing for euros.

On occasion I drop in because the lure of its history is too much even if there are other good independent book stores nearby. Visitors to Paris always want me to take them there and I oblige them even if I feel its lost some of its past glory. Still, I always buy a few books because it’s the best way to support independent book stores in this age of Amazon, as every independent book store needs all the help it can get.