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doro-writes · 6 years

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Almost like dying | Excerpt 3

Like I announced on Wednesday, I’m posting another excerpt of my WIP Almost like dying. Please keep in mind English isn’t my first language and all of my WIP’s are written in German. What I’m posting here is a translation of a scene from chapter 2, please tell me if you find any wrong grammar or spelling errors.

You can find my WIP page here, the first excerpt here and the second here. For those of you who want to read it in German, you can read it here.

I hope you enjoy my writing and please tell me what you think!

Almost like dying | Excerpt

Apartment of Amara and Damien.

New Cross, London.

5:15 a.m.

Amara knew something was wrong when she saw two police cars parking in front of the apartment building. Did Josh get in some trouble again? Did her mother get arrested again?

She sighed, then she went on.

The third floor was silent, but she could almost smell something bad in the air. Amara was sure she wouldn’t like the news she was about to get. Did Alice have another breakdown?

She took her keys out of her jacket and opened the door, only to find Damien sitting on the couch and numerous officers of scotland yard standing in the room. Next to him sat a blonde woman in uniform - she had to be the boss.

“I missed something, didn’t I?” Amara took of her jacket and laid it over a chair, then she stepped further into the room.

Damien got up. “I tried to call you, but you weren’t picking up your phone. Yeah, something happened.”

“Do I want to know?” She leaned into his hug and closed her eyes for a moment. He smelled like always - alcohol and cigarettes - and she loved it. “Is it Josh again? Is it mom? Or Alice?”

He shook his head and put his arms around her waist. “No, it’s Yara.”

The police woman cleared her throat and Amara and Damien let go of each other. “I’m sorry to interrupt. My name is Inspector Elisabeth Bell and I have a bad news and some questions for you.”

“How bad can it be?” Amara crossed her arms. “What did she do? Is she dead?”

Silence.

Damien bit his lower lip. The woman looked at the floor. The other officers admired the walls.

Amara sat down. “Is she dead?”

“Yes”, answered the woman.

Amara started to laugh hysterically. Tears streamed down her face. Tears of laughter and anger and pain. She buried her face in her hands and tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

Damien went to his knees next to her. “Amy, did you get was Inspector Bell was saying? Look at me!”

Amara put her hands on his cheek and tried to fight the grin on her face. “Of course I did. It’s just…” She shook her head and put her arms around his neck. Her laughter turned into a silent scream. Her black fingernails dug into his shirt and skin and clung to him like he was the only rock in a sea full of storms.

“It’s okay”, he murmured as he tightened his grip around her and carefully stroke her back. “It’s not, but it’s okay.”

No, it wasn’t. Yara was dead.

Just like that. Simply dead. Dead without a warning.

Dead.

A scream echoed through Amaras head. Bloody prints on white tiles. Yaras blue hair soaked in a pile of blood.

“Amy!” Damien had loosened his hug and stroke back one of Amaras black hair strands.

Her nails released his skin and the tears stopped. No sadness. No anger. Just emptiness. She stopped caring about anything.

“I want to go to bed”, she whispered.

Suddenly she felt the stares of the officers on her. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone watched her meltdown.

“Unfortunately I have some questions.” Inspector Bell reminded Amara of her existence. “Miss Cullen, your sister was murdered.” “I know.” Amara put on a straight face and looked at her.

“How?” Bell sat down across her and took a red notebook and a pen out of her uniform.

“She had some problems. She had enemies.” Amara shrugged. “And she was six months clean last week, so she didn’t overdose.” Yara, Amara and the rest of their siblings went on some drinks only a few days ago. It was the first time in months that they had seen each other and now Yara was dead.

“Where is Josh?” She looked at Damien. “Does he know?”

“He was the one who called.” Inspector Bell answered before he could.

“Then where is he? Is he a suspect?” Of course he was. He had this bad boy attitude that always got him into trouble.

“Currently, yes”, answered Bell. “In fact, he disappeared. When we reached the crime scene he was gone. Neighbours saw him leaving a few minutes before we arrived.”

Amara put her head in her hands and signed. “Oh, Josh.” “I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer his phone”, Damien explained. “Do you have any idea where could be?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t. Maybe with some friends, if he has some. I don’t even know if he has friends.” “He is your brother, Miss Cullen.” Bell wrote everything down Amara said, but she looked confused.

“So?” Amara crossed her arms. “He is a goddam drug addict and I stopped knowing him years ago. He chose this life and I’m very busy with getting my own life together.” She needed another cigaret.

“Alright.” Bell looked at her notes, then again to Amara. “Where have you been between midnight and four a.m.?” “At work”, Amara answered. “You can call my boss, we have security cameras. Can we please talk about this later?”

She was so tired and exhausted. Yara was dead and Amara just wanted to go to bed.

Bell looked at the other officers, then to Amara and Damien. “I want you to meet me at the police station at twelve. Don’t leave town! Don’t do anything stupid! We have already contacted your other brother and sister, they will also be at the station at twelve.”

Amara nodded. “I’ll be there. I just need to sleep for a few hours.” “You too, Mr. Ferris”, Bell went on. “Let’s go, guys.”

She and the rest of the police officers left.

Amara leaned her head against Damiens shoulder, who just put his arm around her and stayed silent. “This is a nightmare, Damien.”

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#original writing #writing #writeblr #almost like dying #ald excerpt

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merigreenleaf · 7 years

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Writing Update: August 16-19th

Project: Colorweaver (2nd draft of book 1) and Hidden Magic (editing and sharing an older story)

Progress: I spent some time poking at the first few chapters of Hidden Magic so I can start sharing that story on Wattpad and I also typed up the next chapter of Colorweaver that I'd handwritten earlier this week, adding to it and editing it as I typed. Feelings: Part of me is a little nervous about splitting my attention, but mostly I'm excited about this! I'd love to get back to working in my old writing world alongside my current one. (As much as I love my current dorks, sometimes I need a break from them.) I'm thinking that once I get Hidden Magic all posted on Wattpad, I might go back and edit the novella I wrote before that one. And who knows, maybe I'll start writing more novellas/short stories about that world! It would feel weird going back to elves and centaurs and orcs and stuff, but I do sometimes miss that D&D style/more traditional fantasy I used to write. We'll see what happens once I finish Hidden Magic, I guess! Right now I do want to devote most of my attention to finishing this draft of Colorweaver. Dorks are my priority. Goals: Tomorrow I'll share another Unexpected Inspiration short story on Wattpad (that's my current series) and I'm going to get the next chapter of Hidden Magic ready to go up in a few days. I'm thinking Sundays for UI, Wednesdays for HM. Otherwise my goal for the weekend is to write the next chapter of Colorweaver. I'm so close to the end of this draft! Dork status: The dorks are approaching the last roadblock and I'm really hoping they find themselves in as much trouble as I want them to be! Etri is currently intangible/invisible because his shadow magic returned and it’s extra strong, so the others are having a hard time dealing with this. Favorite line/excerpt of the dayweek:

“I did not mean to frighten either of you.” Adair couldn't speak for Blythe, but at least he could explain himself. “You didn't. Not really. I mean, I'm okay with your weaving. It's just weird to not see you when you’re standing next to me.” “I am afraid that must continue, Toadstool.” A short joke again? Now? Adair wasn't thinking straight enough for this. He rubbed at his forehead. “Right, you said you were stuck like this. It's only for a few days, right?”

(I love this because Adair has NO IDEA why Etri keeps calling him a toadstool or comparing him to one. Idioms don't cross over between languages and Etri is counting on the fact that Adair doesn’t recognize “you are as a toadstool” to mean “I love you.” I can’t wait until I get to the scene where Addy works this out!)

#writing #writeblr #writing update #unexpected inspiration series #writblr #hidden magic novella #my writing ramblings

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inkofamethyst · 5 years

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May 29, 2019

Did... did Pinterest just... did that goshdarn app just recommend me a pin related to George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones? The book that I only began to read two or three days ago and haven’t looked up any pins for because I was afraid that the fandom would spoil things for me? I-- Okay well, I put it onto my Goodreads as a book that I’m currently reading, so maybe Pinterest is linked to that account... somehow? Or maybe it’s just because I pin a lot of Fantasy Picture Prompts (I freaking love fantasy images so much) and it just figured that I would like it because I’m into fantasy stuff? I don’t know, but I fear its power.

Anyway,

Hello again, everyone. It’s been awhile.

I don’t think I’ve posted since last Tuesday or something like that, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that a lot has happened between last Tuesday and now. I think I’ll give you the rundown by day. Watch out, this post is going to be giant. Good thing I’m playing my video games playlist on Spotify Web Player, because I’m going to need the motivation.

Wednesday, May 22, 2019: The day started off with a mandatory graduation rehearsal during which I watched the super cute episode in which Nott (Veth) got to reunite with her husband (Yeza? Yezza? Yezah? Yezzah?) and I was sitting in my seat with my earbuds in and my face in a constant smile because Yeza just seems like the cutest little halfling dude. By this point I had given up on trying to reach the live shows by my last day of school, but that was okay, because I was close and I knew I’d get there eventually. After the graduation rehearsal I had my first exam of the day for my Law class (which was super easy) and then I went to my Theatre final (where I read an excerpt from a Medea monologue which I really liked because Medea’s insane) and we had pizza and snacks and that was a fun time. Then I had my last graduation rehearsal for that day (during which I listened to more Critical Role, obviously) and went home after getting my NHS stole.

Thursday, May 23, 2019, my last ever day of high school ever: I woke up late that day after spending much of the night (and early morning hours before) finishing the final letters to a number of my teachers, fifteen or so of them, I think. So I woke up late and printed them at the last minute and missed the bus. But my parents were home (which should have been odd, because while it’s normal for my dad to be home on Thursdays, it’s not normal for my mom to be home randomly like that, but I was in a rush, so I didn’t think much of it at all), so they offered to drive me to school, but I managed to catch a ride with my puzzle-friend instead. We were all dressed up for the awards ceremony thing that was supposed to be happening during the middle of that day (Spoiler Alert: That awards ceremony was one of the high points of our combined high school careers, and I’ll tell you all why down below.).

So I get to school and pass out most of my letters, but I wasn’t able to find all of the teachers so I stuck the remaining ones in my locker, hoping that I’d be able to catch them at another time. (I didn’t, but I’ll probably see them at graduation, and if necessary I’ll just go back to the school and give them to the secretaries to be placed into the teachers’ mailboxes.) Then the seniors took pictures in their graduation caps and gowns outside (which took forever) and then we lined up to go back into the auditorium for the awards ceremony. Everyone was dressed in the whole attire: gown, cap, cords, stoles, all of it. We were looking swanky as all get out.

The ceremony starts off and my Beyonce-friend gets, like, the first two individual awards or something like that. He’s sitting right beside me because our last names are basically next to each other in the alphabet and every time he goes up I’m screaming for him and it’s great. He gets an award for photography (which he’s really good at, maybe I should call him my photo-friend instead... to be determined) and another one for being a great leader (he was president lol) of a club for African American young men. (Actually they started with more general awards like National Merit Commended (top 3% on the PSAT) which included me and National Merit Semifinalist/Finalist which included my puzzle-friend and top 5% GPA recognition (I was so so so close for that one, ugh, and they were all white and Asian kids too (including my valedictorian puzzle-friend who is both white and Asian), so I really would’ve repped my people if only I had made it in, but then I really would’ve killed myself, so) and some others I think (my puzzle-friend got a super special recognition that I won’t name but it’s super cool).)

My DnD-friend got a couple of awards as well: one for being in choir since freshman year, one for being a core member of the theatre ensemble for four years, and one from the Spanish/Language department to recognize her literally incredible language-learning talent. Like, she’s been doing Spanish since seventh grade, she tested into an advanced French class in tenth grade after self-study, and she did a summer program at our local community college where she learned Arabic and apparently graduated as the valedictorian of her class and delivered the commencement speech. She’s so awesome, omg, I’m literally so proud of her.

And my puzzle-friend gets called up for award after award. Like, seriously, he’s up there almost constantly, and my photo-friend and I are sitting there cheering every time with the same vigor (even after the sense of the crowd changes a little and they’re getting tired of hearing his name). He got one for Frisbee, Math, English, and Social Studies, and potentially some others that I can’t recall. He’s going to do great things when he heads across the country this fall.

Then there’s me. I knew I had at least one award coming, and I was hoping for at least two. The first one I got was from Band, the Director’s Award which recognizes outstanding commitment and going above and beyond consistently. Like I said, it was massively unexpected, as a senior in the middle band (as opposed to the highest band where all of my senior friends are) to receive this award especially from a new band director. I was one of two students to get this specific award, and one of three total to get any award for band (the other was the John Philip Sousa (soo-suh) award to recognize outstanding musical and technical talent), so that was cool. Then I got a theatre award for Best Actress (which I was hoping for, plus it came with a two-hundred dollar check), and I thought I was done. I was massively wrong. I was announced with my puzzle-friend for the English Department Award (which came with a full plaque and $50) by my English teacher with some incredibly nice words. And then, I thought I was done.

The last award was essentially an award presented from the faculty as a group to a student who they believed embodied the spirit of the high school best. My heart even beats faster while I’m writing this because I still cannot believe it. By this point, I’m sure you know that they selected me for it, but let me continue. I... I can’t even say how much it meant to me to hear the kind things that were said during that speech. Y’all, I was crying from my seat, okay? Once I knew they were talking about me I was in tears while they just continued. They talked about how I strived for excellence, they mentioned the summer program and the university I went to last summer (and everyone in that whole auditorium sucked in a breath (take that top 5%)), they pulled something from one of my synthesis essays, they mentioned my practically perfect attendance and my GPA, they mentioned my activities, they talked about my commitment to my African American culture, they just... my English teacher was staring me right in the eyes toward the end of the speech because she knew where I was sitting. I was in legitimate tears. The people around me were either listening intently or sneaking glances at me as my whispered name ran through the crowd of gowned students. I think I got it first. And then my photo-friend next to me, and then one of my neighbors in front of me who talks a lot but is generally a nice person (to me, at least) asked me if it was me and all I could do was nod. They called me up to the stage for the fourth time and the teacher of the year, another black woman (I had her for health class freshman year, but she also coaches track (a black track star won athlete of the year right before this award actually) and teaches cullinary), put the medal over my head while I was bawling on stage. I hugged her and my English teacher and the teacher of the year fixed my hair (crochet locs ayyy) because I was utterly helpless and it looked a mess under the medal and we took a photo together with the tears stinging my eyes and I probably looked disgusting. Y’all I was feeling so much in that moment, let me tell you.

And then it was over. And the “congratulations” came from everyone I knew and plenty of people I didn’t. And I met my parents in the back because I suddenly realized why my mom was home. Apparently they had been invited to the ceremony. They had known about the theatre and English ones (unlike me), and the band one obviously, but not the big one at the end. And, yeah. I couldn’t process it, not really. And I still kind of can’t.

The picnic came after, so I changed out of my gown and dress and into something far more casual. I sat with my friends and ate some really good macaroni and cheese and some chicken and I felt like I was on a serious high. I crossed paths with my principal actually who gave me a little insider’s knowledge into the process of picking the student who would be awarded that last one. She told me that they start in April by having each department send in nominees and then they whittle it down to three across the whole school (I’m almost positive that my puzzle-friend was one of the three, but I can’t say for sure because she didn’t tell me who the other two were (quite smart of her), and I didn’t ask), and then they have a big meeting with all faculty where faculty can choose to speak on the behalf of the student they want to win. The principal told me that in years past, there have been some really big arguments, but that this year was practically no contest. Teacher after teacher walked up and spoke on my behalf, she told me. She said that she wished she had been recording so I could hear it all, but I told her that I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it.

All of my self-doubt should be gone, right? I mean, a decent chunk of it is, I think. To know that I, of all people, best represent the qualities they want to see in a student at their school? Someone who’s going to a state school (on one of two full rides that I received, but still), who isn’t in the top 5% of classes,, who feels massively distracted, who stressed herself out all the time over every little thing? Or maybe they see a girl a young woman who’s artsy and intelligent, and hardworking and compassionate. Who gives to her community without necessarily asking for anything in return because she can already recognize that her community has given her so much already. Someone who’s capable of leading but also knows when to learn from other leaders. Someone who knows not only her limitations but also her strengths. Someone who is multi-talented, and who works to improve her crafts, and who challenges herself to grow. Someone who knows when to look out for others and when to look out for herself.

You know, I won a very similar award at the end of the eighth grade? I might even be able to find it somewhere. It just amazes me that, in four years as opposed to the twelve that some of these other kids have had, I have managed to create a name for myself. I guess I just have that effect on people. That’s my ambition, I think. To be known. To be lauded, praised, admired. Like my photo-friend said, it’s not hard to do great things when you’re surrounded by great people. I happened to grace upon incredible friends, and I am so massively thankful. That has made all the difference.

After the picnic, my puzzle-friend drove me and another friend of mine home. Then I got home and tried to just absorb it all.

Friday, May 24, 2019, my first day of freedom: I didn’t do a single important thing except decide that I wanted to start saving up to buy the new iPad Air and an Apple Pencil to go along with it. I began even thinking about going completely paperless in college. I washed a lot of clothes and put them away and cleaned my room a little. It still needs work. I need to sort through all of this year’s school stuff and see what can be saved for my younger sister and what can be thrown away/recycled.

This post specifically has gone on long enough, I think. I’ll probably continue it tomorrow, concluding with my graduation.

Today I am thankful for that award still. Upon reflection, it has allowed me to see my strengths even though I still may see myself through a veil of weaknesses. These moments of pride continue to come, and I think that one day they will overcome my negative thinking, but of course, only if I allow it to happen. I will try to change my stinking-thinking. I must. I am a representation of my high school, of my family, my faith, myself. I can do anything I set my mind to.

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neighbourskid · 4 years

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Have You Ever Been To See London Town

(original date: 01 November 2015)

Here We Are In London Town

As some of you might've read in one or the other post, I planned on going to London this fall. Well, that happened two weeks ago and now I am here to tell you all about it. Because I got a lot to tell you guys from the interwebs. But no rambling now. Without further ado, I present to you: my week all alone in London.

It was Tuesday, October 20th, very very early in the morning. My mom drove me out to the airport in Basel where I would take off around 7am. My mom did not come into the airport, so I had to do the check-in and baggage stuff all by myself - for the very first time. Whenever I flew before it had always been in a group and I had just watched what the others did and then did that. But not this time. No. I had to figure it out myself. But I got that done eventually and found myself at my gate, waiting very bored for boarding. To pass the time I typed out my thoughts on my phone, which is what I wanna show you right now.

It's 5:53am, I'm sitting next to Gate 31 at EuroAirport in Basel. I just had a croissant and a (absolutely horrible) coffee from Columbus Café. Boarding is in approximately half an hour, flight takes off at 7am. If everything goes accordingly to plan, I will be in London at 8.15am. I am rather bored right now but the other people here do not look any better than me. There's a rather old man in a brown leather jacket and an old woman who don't sit next to but apparently know each other. Next to the woman sits a 40+ dude, with moustache and a green-white scarf, who knows them as well. Opposite me sit two 50+ gentlemen, both tapping on their (allegedly) iPhone 6s's, being all business and shit. One of them wears old people shoes and a beige trench coat, the other looks like Prince Charles. Then there's a blonde woman with a coffee, who doesn't mean to but looks rather lonely and sad. Then behind me sits some dude in a red-black caro shirt. No idea what he looks like. The coffee shop is getting more and more busy the closer we get to boarding time. Which is odd because that coffee is crappy as hell. Well, maybe they can make Latte's now and not just plain coffee or espresso. It's past 6am now. I am still very bored. I could keep looking at these people and analyse them, but it is not that interesting to be honest. But hey, the old dude in the brown leather jacket just moved to sit next to his wife (?), cause the other dude went away. Oh, my mom just sent me a text. Maybe I'll meet someone I know. That'd be rather funny.

You get the idea. I was very bored. A bit later I go on and on about all the people around me, give them names like "The Italians" or "Donald Trump", "Mulan" and "Princess Diana". I write about every new person who arrives. It was entertaining for the time being.

It was 6:40am when I finally sat on my seat (23A). At this point I started to write on my phone again about what was happening, what I was doing, the people around me and other things. A little before we started going down again we got little sandwiches for breakfast, which was very lovely. I have to say here that I really love flying. I love it. Especially when I have a window seat. Because, if not too tired, I will stare out the window the whole flight and look at the clouds and the stuff beneath us, watch how houses and people and cars get smaller, take pictures of sunsets and sunrises - I just really enjoy flying.

After arriving at Heathrow Airport I took the tube to Tottenham Court Road, which was the best station to find my hotel from. Which I didn't. Well, not immediately. I walked around for at least half an hour trying to get a wifi signal somewhere so I could google my hotel. I did find it in the end. But waaaaaay to early. They had said my room would be available around 2pm, and when I arrived it was something between 10 and 11am. I could leave my baggage at the reception, which I did, and then went out to, well, get to know the place. But I had made some mistakes in my thought process. Which you will understand after you read the entry I made in a notebook.

It's 11am. I'm sitting in a Starbucks somewhere near Oxford Street in London. My coffee is still too hot to drink, but it's standing here waiting for me. When confronted with the fact that I couldn't go to my room until 2pm, I reacted very very stupidly. Because I took literally nothing more with me than my phone (with 30% charge at the time) and money. I could've just simply taken my bag. But no. I left it with the other one at the reception. Stupid me. So I went out, walked a bit until I found a McDonald's, where I ate some crappy breakfast burgers. Then I went to Sainsbury's to buy a pen and this notebook. And then I came here. To spend the remaining three hours. I just wanna shower actually. And be alone for a bit. Until I go to Madame Tussauds at around 3pm. My phone is at 15% now by the way. Not sure if I can find back to my hotel without my phone, though. Hopefully. Coffee is still hot as.....whatevers. I don't think I'll ever go alone on vacation ever again. I've only been here for what, two hours? I don't like being alone in a place I don't know that well. I feel odd. And am a bit afraid. And with my thing with many people in little space this all doesn't get much better. I hate being in crowded places. At least this place is rather empty. God, I'm so tired. What I love about this place is the language, though. I love English. And I love the accents. Very very much. But enough of my chit-chat. Imma write a bit now.

And then I wrote. I wrote a little Leverage ficlet. It did the job.

In the end, I went back to my hotel with 1% charge left on my phone. After I got lost trying to pass time. But hey, I found the place again and all was well. I took my shower, I was alone. Then I went to Madame Tussauds (nearly panicked on the way because I thought I was going to be too late) and it was awesome. I took loads of pictures and selfies and I enjoyed the place very much. Looking back, my first day alone in London was a great success. *happy face*

A Foggy Day in London Town

We wrote Wednesday, October 21st, it had been 8am and I had probably just woken up. Looking outside the window I saw what I had heard after waking up: it was raining pretty effing strong. But hey, that's London, amiright? Well anyway. On Wednesday I actually planned on getting up at around 9am, but I was an hour too early. Well, didn't matter, because this way I was able to watch the Agents of SHIELD episode that had just come out the night before. Which was great. To get you a clearer picture of what was going on in my head, have here another excerpt from my notebook.

It's half past nine in the morning, I'm sitting in that same Starbucks again, drinking my coffee and eating my croissant. It's raining pretty strong. But hey, it's London. What'd you expect. At 11.15am my two friends David and Philipp will arrive at London Euston, coming down from Coventry where they visited another friend of ours, Gabriel. [...] Today I woke up an hour earlier than I planned, but that way I could watch the new Agents of SHIELD episode, which was very very cool. Loving that May is back at SHIELD. Coulson still loves her very much. God It's raining so much. I don't wanna go outside. But I have to go back to the hotel to get more money. And then I have to go meet my friends. Sigh. Going soon.

And then I went. Got back to my hotel, grabbed the money, went to the tube station, travelled to London Euston where I had to wait quite a bit for my friends to arrive. Because, as usual, I was there too early. I scribbled a bit in my notebook to pass the time, thought about writing another ficlet, but then decided on drawing.

When they finally arrived I felt so happy. Not alone anymore. Yay! No seriously, it was very comforting to know someone. And I could finally talk to people. It was very good having them there. Well anyway, I helped them find their hotel so they could put their stuff away. After lunch we walked a bit on Oxford Street, went to Starbucks, Waterstones and HMV. It was a great afternoon. I really enjoyed it. At around 5pm we split again, because I would go and see Hamlet that evening. Which I was very much looking forward to. As shows my notebook.

It is 5:16pm now. I'm back at my hotel, listening to Absolute Radio. Hanging out with Phil and Dave was great. Finally someone to talk to. God. We went to Starbucks, visited some bookstores n'shit. And then went to McDonald's to eat. Maybe we'll chill out again after Hamlet. We will see. I have about an hour of free time now. Will leave around 6pm. I'm looking forward to the piece like VERY FUCKEN MUCH. I mean, it's the Batch. LIVE! And maybe I can catch a picture at Stage Door.

That was that. On the way to Barbican Centre I nearly drove crazy because I forgot to bring an ID, which was necessary, apparently. Well, I did get in without one in the end, so no need to be stressed about that anymore. I sat next to a couple of Germans, who did not know that I could understand them, but that was okay. Sadly, I did not buy a programme, which I still regret now. It's a lovely thing to have. Well anyway. The play began at 7:15pm.

For those of you who have seen it, you understand me. It is hilariously, amazingly, tragically perfect. I mean it was a real joy watching this play. Starting out with Benedict alone on stage, mourning 'his' father, it was a great opening. It just took you in and did not let you go anymore. I still find it so amazing how much presence Ben has in a room. He has this beautiful confidence, I don't know. It was just very very thrilling. And his voice, dear baby Jesus, his voice. I should actually just give up to tell you about this play. I just cannot fathom my thoughts. It was truly mind blowing. The whole play through I had this grin on my lips, this proud smile, because he did it. Benedict had made history. I-...wow. Just wow. And then you'd think it couldn't get any better. You will stand corrected. The play is over, all the actors are on stage, bowing. And then he asks for silence, for attention. And proceeds to hit you with the biggest and most emotional hammer right in your face. He talks with so much passion about how they had been able to collect money for the refugees and he pleads, he begs for us to think, to truly think about what having a home means. And he talks with this eloquence, those beautiful words. He could've put his sword right through my heart and I wouldn't have minded. Because what he tells the audience after every play, every night, is so damn beautiful you cannot not give something. Sigh. Wow. I'm just overwhelmed again right now.

He reads the beautiful poem Home by Somali poet Warsan Shire during that speech, and I just feel like I should put the part he read here as well. You can find the whole poem here.

“no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well”

It makes me cry everytime I read it. It also includes the beautiful line "No one puts children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land." And here's Benedict's speech as well. Watch it, listen to it. It truly touches your heart.

Mooooving on now. Where was I...

Ah, yes. Well. After the play I, obviously, went out to Stage Door to get a chance for an autograph or a selfie with Benedict, or to at least thank him for what he's done and what he's still doing, and tell him he's doing a tremendous job. I waited with all the others. Waited long. It was cold. But it was at least not raining. We stood there and finally after some time the first actors came out. It did not take long until all of them were through and gone. But for one. Benedict had not shown up yet. Not long after all the others were through, a nice woman from the Barbican Centre came out and said that he had already left and, for that matter, would not be doing Stage Door tonight.

Head hanging low, quite sad, I walked back to Barbican Station to catch the tube. I was torn. I did not know how I should feel. The evening was absolutely fantastic and I loved every second of it. But on the other hand, Benedict was why I even came here. I don't think I would've watched the play if it had not been for him. So I was rather disappointed that he did not show up. But then again I understood. I mean, he has a little kid and a wife at home and you don't wanna be gone for too long. I really understood him. So I was really torn. Not sure what I should do with the fact that I did not get to meet him.

I went back to Tottenham Court Road where Phil and Dave were already expecting me. We then went out and walked about the city for a while, then went into a McDonald's and had a midnight snack, so to speak. They were a good distraction. I would've probably sulked way more if I had just went back to my hotel that night. But I didn't, so yay, night saved. Or so.

London Blues

Thursday, October 22nd. In the morning I accompanied Phil and Dave to the tube station to say goodbye and show them where they had to go to make it to Heathrow Airport. It had been really nice having them there. Nice distraction. We had a good day and a half. Really good. After that I went back into sulking mood, I suppose. I was alone again, I did not get to meet Ben the day before, I was tired, I was sad. Boo :(

But the day would only get better. I didn't do much in the morning after Phil and Dave left, but in the afternoon I had to go to Baker Street. The pick up point for Warner Bros. Studio Tour: The Making of Harry Potter was there. I got there way to early, as usual, and sat in the cold. There were lots of French families going as well, so their little kids ran all around me, being French and rather annoying. Well, the one boy was cute in the beginning but then he started to be annoying as well.

When the bus finally arrived I took a seat and waited for it to begin. To my surprise there was a little TV in the bus. I was still kinda sulking about the day before, but when the driver started the film and the melody came on, I was flashed and completely absorbed by this event. They played the first Harry Potter film. And oh was I smiling like a freak in that bus. It was one of the best bus rides I ever had, for the film alone. But it would only get better.

We arrived at the studios around 4.30pm, I suppose. And then I walked into that building and what happened for the next four hours was pure childhood and it tore me apart. The theme song was playing everywhere, there was Harry's room under the stairs from Privet Drive, there were props and costumes and oh my god. I, wow. I mean, seriously. You cannot imagine what it is like going through these halls if you have not been there.

First we got to watch a film about the studios, kinda behind the scenes stuff, with actors and everything. And then we could walk into the Great Hall. And Oh. My. God. It was everything you would ever dream of. I walked through this studio like the biggest doofus, big grin on my face, shiny lil' eyes. My heart exploding. Because I went there in the Halloween season, they had people walk around as Death Eaters, which was awesome-sauce. Well, I really can barely talk about this whole thing. I just cannot put it into words. But what killed me most of all was the "miniature" of the castle, of Hogwarts. I-....I nearly broke down into tears in that room. Also the train, though. That was a dream come true. Sitting in a booth, walking through the train, hell, standing on platform 9 3/4 alone was just mindblowing.

But what was the worst was the souvenir shop. It comes right after the castle. And you wanna buy everything. Everything. Really, all of it. It doesn't even matter what house you think is the best, you wanna have all the things. All the shirts and hoodies and scarfs and all the wands and the pictures and just everything. I sadly only had money for three things, so I bought something for a friend and the "Have You Seen This Wizard" Sirius Black shirt and also his wand. Because you gotta, right?

But to show you how I really felt about this place, I can only give you the notebook entry I wrote in the coffee shop of the place. Here ya go.

My heart hurts. It's crying. For a time five years gone. This place is as magical as you'd expect. I'm really just flashed. The music, the pictures, the props, the EVERYTHING. It's pure childhood and a walk down memory lane. I really feel like I could break down and just weep. It's heartbreaking somehow. I mean, this were ten years of my life! The first book that was honestly and purely mine was "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban". The first book I've ever loved. Sirius Black is to date still my all time favourite character in literature. I am so nostalgic right now. I could honest to God just start to cry. I could not imagine a childhood without Harry Potter. I just can't.

My tweets about it are by the way not looking any better. That place really killed me. On the way back they continued the film, but I didn't get to see it until the end because I got out at an earlier stop. Welp. That day is definitely to be scored as a very big success! :D

All Over London

Thank God, it's Friday. Or, well, I don't know. I wasn't really feeling superb that day. HP Studio left me thinking about my childhood, about my family and especially my dad and brother. But given the time that has passed since that particular Friday, I'd rather show you (again) what I wrote that day.

It's Friday. 12:40. Noon. I'm sitting in a Pret-A-Manger, just had a lovely ham and egg sandwich and still have coke and coffee, listening to music. I'm in London. An 8.5 million city. With terrifyingly lots of tourists. And you know what? I am depressingly lonely. I feel so alone. This feeling of "you're the only person on this planet" is very enclosing. Doesn't make a lot of sense, I know. I just don't feel well right now. Next time I'm definitely taking Angie with me. Or Salome. Having some sort of anxiety that involves great uncomfortability in big masses of people doesn't make this place any better. I mean, I felt great being here with Dave and Phil. I felt great in Madame Tussauds, at the theatre and at the Studio yesterday. But now? In this café? I'm feeling shitty as hell. Lonely and depressed. Sad. I really wanna go home actually.

But, mind you, I did not sulk all day in that Pret-A-Manger. I decided to do something that was comforting to me. And books are comforting. Very. So I decided to go to that Waterstones again I was in on Wednesday with Dave and Phil. I thought I'd find it without a problem. "It's on Oxford Street, that should be easy to find" I thought. Well, how do I put that... It wasn't. I got hopelessly lost. After giving up looking for that bloody bookstore, I desperately searched for a toilet. Well, what I found wasn't what I was looking for. But it was also water and stones. After some time of randomly walking around I found myself standing at the edge of the River Thames, staring right at the London Eye across the river. Well, I thought, at least there would be a toilet. And there was! So we could call that a success. I did take some pictures of the London Eye and Big Ben there because, I mean, I was there already, so why not. I also tried to find the lil' drawing Corinne left me three years ago, but it wasn't there anymore. Which does not surprise me actually.

After my failed attempt to find a bookstore I made my way back to my hotel, grabbed some food somewhere on the way and made myself a relaxed evening in my hotel. I really did not do that much on Friday, besides getting lost.

Evening in London

Saturdays are nice days, don't you think? I do rather like them. On my Saturday in London I did a bit of this and a bit of that. But I can best show you that with what I wrote in my notebook. Because boy had I time to write. It is by the way a wonder that I can still read what I wrote that week. I have a horrible scrawl.

Hello again. It is 2:36pm, I'm sitting at Starbucks with my coffee and innocent. At the table next to me sit four Swiss women, chit-chatting, gossiping. Today I made the big mistake of walking through Oxford Street. It's Saturday, it's London. There are millions of people! And I hate 'em all. It's raining again, by the way. I wanna go home to my hotel again, but I don't think my room's been cleaned yet. I'm also fighting with myself about tonight a bit. I planned on going back to the Barbican Centre tonight on time for Stage Door to catch a selfie with Benedict, but I have doubts. What if he doesn't do it tonight either? What if someone recognizes me? I just don't know. Oh, god news! I can work at FashionFriends again next week. Looking forward to that very very much. Because hey: it's a job. My headache is getting worse in this noise. God, I'm so tired. The Swiss women just left. And I think they forgot a bag. But maybe it's just trash. [...] Also, I'm (still) sad. I feel alone. I just wanna sleep. But I guess the possibility of meeting Benedict could make me feel better. So maybe I'm going. I'm somehow looking forward to going home again. Because I'll not be so alone anymore. I have my family there. Any my friends. I feel very tired. And sentimental. And nostalgic. It's 3pm now. I'll probably go back to the hotel soon. Yes. Sigh.

Well, I did go back to the hotel shortly after. I spend the afternoon watching Leverage and building myself up for the night. Because I had decided to go. I had to. Kinda. Well, after watching loads of episodes of the show, I packed my stuff together and left to get dinner. Which concluded in me sitting back at Starbucks at some point and writing again. Which you can read below.

Well, here we are again. Same Starbucks, same coffee, same orange juice. It's 8pm. The play will end around 10.20pm. And I will creep around Stage Door at, I suppose, 10pm. It's the last chance I have. Tomorrow is none. I checked. I wanted to try for one of the thirty 10£ tickets they sell there every day, but no luck there. No play on Sundays. So I gotta go tonight. Monday I'm leaving. And I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to meet him again. So I'm going. Tonight. And hopefully he will be doing Stage Door tonight, hopefully I will get my selfie with him. Hopefully. This would make my holiday really worth it. Cuz it is, initially, what I came here for. It was all about him. The rest is just icing on top of the cake, really. So without that picture, there is not really a cake. Maybe a muffin, yes, but no cake. And I want. That. Cake. But enough of that. I need to entertain myself again. So writing it is.

And so I wrote again. But I'm not gonna tell you about that. There is too much important stuff to tell about that Evening in London. I couldn't sit there and just wait until I had to take the tube. I was getting restless. So I got up after I finished my drinks, left the Starbucks and went on the tube. I was there waaaay to early. But guess what? There were others there already as well. I took my place at the front, next to two German fangirls. One of them complimented my Sirius Black shirt, I said thank you, but did not show that I understood every word they said. It was way too funny that way. And so we waited. In the cold. The play ended, people came out of the theatre, some of them leaving, some of them standing behind us, waiting for the actors as well. Not much after the play ended, a guy dressed in a purple barbican shirt came out and said that Benedict was not likely to come and do Stage Door tonight. There were loads of disappointed sighs, but nobody dared to leave, because what if. You wanna know what I did?

They said he probably ain't coming out, so I said, by God he will. And that's what I did. I prayed. I said to the Lord that if it weren't meant to be for me to meet Ben, then I wouldn't have gotten a ticket in the first place. I mean, why would I have? And so I prayed and prayed and then began to hum "Our God is an awesome God" over and over again.

The other actors came and went. There was a little wooooing when Ciarán Hinds (he played Hamlet's uncle, the King's brother) came out. He was brilliant, by the way. Very convincing.

And I kept humming the song. I kept doing that. I got my ticket out, prepared my phone, and just kept humming. And then he came out. Oh, he was lovely. I watched how he signed other people's tickets and programs and talked a bit, I snapped a few pictures from afar and prepared what I wanted to say to him once it was my turn. I wanted to thank him for what he was doing, tell him that he was brilliant, that the play was amazing. And then politely ask for a selfie. That was the plan.

Well, he came along, signed the German girls's stuff, then stood in front of me, took the ticket that I held to him and signed. But before that he looked at me, tired but happy, and smiled a little. All my plans kicked the curb. I managed to say Hi and Thanks after he handed me the ticket back and then asked for the selfie. He was very lovely about it. He told me that sure, he would take a picture with me, told me to set it up and tell him when I'm ready, he would sign along meanwhile. And so I told him when I was ready, we snapped the picture, he waved, I said thank you, he said pleasure and then signed along.

I climbed out of the masses of people pressing against me, waving their stuff at Ben, and got out to breathe a little. I started to walk away when they started clapping, so I turned and clapped as well. He waved goodbye and off he went.

Oh he is very lovely. Beautiful human being. Very natural. Very...very human. And touchable for that matter. He doesn't seem like this untouchable figure of stardom like maybe a Angelina Jolie or a Brad Pitt does. It was.... it was an amazing experience. And I will never forget it. I will treasure that in my heart forever. I will.

After that I went home, grinning slightly all the time. Having a good time. Looking at the picture every other minute. Staring at my ticket, stunned. It was worth it. It had definitely been the right decision to go. I would not have missed it for anything, looking back at it. Sigh. I'm being nostalgic again right now.

Looking Down on London

There is no better way to tell you about Sunday, October 25th than to let you look into my notebook. Because that little book that I bought out of necessity on the first day was my always comforting companion through this whole week. So yeah, see for yourself.

It was a success! And you know what? I'm happy! I'm not sitting in the Pret-A-Manger across my hotel being all sad and depressed. No! I'm sitting there, happy, smiling to myself, feeling good. Oh, standing in the cold for so long was so worth it. Ben was very lovely. Wished he had more time, though. But hey, he's a busy man. I'm glad I got my selfie and autograph. Thank God for that. God, I'm so happy. My week is made now. It's a bit of a shame he's not on social media. Would've liked to thank him properly. Cause the man is a gift. He's doing so much great work. But enough of that now. It's 11.37am, I'm sitting at Pret's, enjoying coffee & my music. I actually wanted to go to Hillsong Church but, well, I slept. Maybe tonight then. I think I'm gonna go out of the city today. Check out the nature. Go up on a hill or something the like. Find myself some solitude. Cuz I really don't like being surrounded by that many people. But first I have to find a place like that. Seriously, having met Benedict makes this holiday really worth it. I am so damn happy. So, Imma go now. Primrose Hill, here I come.

But before I buggered off into the nature that day, I went into a grocery store, bought my innocent orange juice and some apples. You gotta be healthy sometime, right?

To get to Primrose Hill, I decided to walk through Regent's Park. Which was a brilliant decision. Because that park is beautiful. And despite being rather well visited, you could find some solitude here and there. It was truly a beautiful place. If I lived in London I would probably be there every other weekend. I really enjoyed Queen Mary's rose garden. They were beautiful. It was very lovely. After I made my way through the park, I walked alongside Prince Albert Road to Primrose Hill. The sight you got from there is extraordinary. Truly beautiful. Enjoyed sitting in the grass for a while and just relax. It was what I needed that day, really. Relaxed me very much.

In the end, I did not go to Hillsong Church that evening. I relaxed in the hotel. It was a good idea. But truly, that day was a great one. Very relaxing, very beautiful, the weather was perfect.

From London With Love

Monday, October 26th. That was my last day in London. And a very exhausting one. I did not leave my hotel room until a bit before noon. Then I ate lunch and afterwards went to Starbucks (as always) for one last time. Had a little chat with one of the women working there, cuz she recognized me, because I always went to the same Starbucks. If I come back to London some time, I will definitely go to that one again. Or at least visit once.

I left the place around 3pm and took the tube to Heathrow Airport. Stood the whole fifty minutes. Then I went through all the check-in and security measures, made my way to the waiting place with a coffee, innocent and a cinnamon swirl (which could've been perfect if it weren't for the disgusting raisins that were in there) and sat down. After some time a cute blond dude sat down two rows down exactly opposite me. We occasionally stared at each other. At some point I, jokingly, wrote the following on twitter: "@ very cute blond guy opposite me at @HeathrowAirport next to A11 with the mac book, please know that i'm a girl and please do not be gay"

Shortly after, the official twitter account of Heathrow Airport wished me the best luck and hoped that I managed to get his attention. He, sadly, had just then left. Which the airport was very sad to hear but it hoped I had a great evening nonetheless. Having an airport as your wingman is....great.

Well, with cute blond gone I was rather bored. My flight was hella delayed, as were all flights to Switzerland, and in the end I ended up so late, that I missed my last train that could've brought me to my lil' village. So my mom had to pick me up half way through. Yeah. And I worked the next day, which was very exhausting.

But yeah well, that was my week in London. The post is terrifyingly long, I know, but I hope you enjoyed reading my crap. Cuz it only took a whole afternoon to write it all down. Hehe.

Well, whatever. I wish y'all a good time for now, until I write again.

Cheers!

*happy person cuz I met The Batch*

#blog post #long post #london #benedict cumberbatch #hamlet #harry potter #warner bros studios #import from old blog

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douglasacogan · 5 years

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Shouldn't all prosecutors (and judges and defense attorneys and police and probation officers) make regular and repeated visits to prisons?

Last month the folks at FAMM started the #VisitAPrison challenge which calls on lawmakers to visit a prison or jail and which rightly highlights that many legislators who make and change laws governing incarceration often have no direct or personal experiences with prisons or persons incarcerated therein. I consider the FAMM campaign very valuable and important, and this interesting new piece by Daniel Nichanian at The Appeal Political Report prompted the follow-up question that serves as the title of this post. This piece is headlined "Prosecutor Sends Staff to Prison, in a Bid to Counter Their Reflex to Incarcerate,"and I recommend it in full. Here are excerpts:

Sarah Fair George, the state’s attorney of Chittenden County (home to Burlington) in Vermont, has instructed all staff and prosecutors who work in her office to visit the St. Albans prison, also known as the Northwest State Correctional Facility. “Most prosecutors have never stepped foot in the buildings that they sentence people to spend years in,” she wrote on Twitter. “That needs to change.”

I talked to George on Wednesday about her initiative, and how it could change practices in her office. She said prosecutors often treat prison time “nonchalantly,” as something abstract, and get in the habit of “just throwing out numbers.” “We say six months or two years, and don’t really have to think about what it means for the person,” she explained.

“It’s important to stand in that space and see it for yourself, and feel it for yourself,” she added. “My hope is that people recognize that six months is a long time to spend in jail. Maybe thirty days can be enough time, maybe no jail. Just being more cognizant of the space you’re sending people to when you put an arbitrary number on an offer sheet.”

George said this perspective should fuel shorter sentences, but also restrain prosecutors from seeking incarceration in the first place. “They spent an hour and a half there and were relieved to get out,” she said of staff members who have already visited St. Albans as part of her initiative. “So let’s imagine how this might impact somebody who is there for six months or a year, and how this impacts them as a community member when they get back out. Is there a way that we can avoid that entirely, and not risk them coming out a more violent person or with some type of trauma having been in jail? Can we find another way?”...

The interview has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity.

Q: You announced that you have instructed prosecutors in your office to visit a prison in the next month. What is the impetus for this, and what insights do you wish them to glean?

A: For me, it has gone back to my own experience having been in some of these prisons. It has shaped a lot of my reform policies and how I approach prosecution in general. When I was in grad school, I went to multiple prisons and was on the mental health wards at those prisons, which were in some cases pretty appalling. Then, when I was at the public defender’s office, I went to several prisons and met with clients and heard the stories of either how they were treated in jail or the conditions of jail, solitary confinement, stuff like that. I came into being a prosecutor with that background, and with that idea of what some of those prisons are like.

I have always thought it is important for people to understand what probation does, and what some of our community partners do, and that’s always been stressed. But it’s never been stressed that they should also fully understand what prison means, and what a jail sentence means for these individuals. As prosecutors, we get very comfortable with just throwing out numbers as an amount of time. We say six months or two years, and don’t really have to think about what it means for the person, that six months for one person could be detrimental to their entire lives.

What are you thinking of when you say it’s important to understand what prison means for individuals? What it is that you think people in your office should have to witness?

Literally just seeing the facility, and understanding literally where they’re sending people. But also being in one of those cells and sitting on the bed in a cell and seeing how small that space is, and seeing a solitary confinement room and seeing how claustrophobic you get in five minutes in that room. Hearing those sounds in the jail of those doors closing, and how cold and harsh all of those sounds are. Seeing inmates in that environment. In Vermont, there is this idea that jail isn’t that bad, and in some sense we’re very lucky, but that’s a lot easier to say on the outside. You spend an hour and a half in the jail and you find yourself relieved to come out. You know you were always coming out, but you have that experience and you think, “Okay, maybe that TV and that good food is not as important as I thought it was when I just lost my freedom for an hour and a half, knowing full well I’ll be coming out and I’m still relieved.”

As a prosecutor, the only time I’ve been to a jail is for a deposition of an inmate, or an inmate who wants to do a proffer. Those meetings are very structured, they’re in a space right inside the jail, so you’re not going very far. There’s really nobody else around. That doesn’t count for me, that’s a very easy way to say you’ve been in a jail without actually being in a facility. I think it’s important to really stand in that space and see it for yourself, and feel it for yourself.

Q: How exactly do you think prosecutors should take these things into account in the course of their work? At what stages of their discretion should this weigh in?

A: It may not start necessarily with the charging decisions, but I think in some cases it could. If you know for example that this person’s parole could be revoked and they may go back to jail, or you know that they might be held in bond or some other violation, then maybe it does charge at the charging decision. But at the very least, I think that when you’re giving an offer on a case and you nonchalantly say six months as if that’s not a lot of time, my hope is that people recognize that six months is a long time to spend in jail. Maybe thirty days is enough time, maybe no jail. Just being more cognizant of the space you’re sending people to when you put an arbitrary number on an offer sheet.

But also understanding where people are coming from. Somebody may have a long record, and that record has led to incarcerative sentences several times in their history — maybe you can have a better understanding of why they are in the place that they’re in, having spent all that time in jail. Maybe doing it again isn’t going to do them hasn’t favors. That hasn’t worked, that person is back. Maybe we need to find another way to address this particular person.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247011 https://sentencing.typepad.com/sentencing_law_and_policy/2019/08/shouldnt-all-prosecutors-and-judges-and-defense-attorneys-and-police-and-probation-officers-make-reg.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

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