#my search history: how to get job in Antarctica?

[deliciousangelfestival]

Secret Sorrows || 3 -B.Barnes

Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.

Series Masterlist

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

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It had been several days since the elder of the Astons had visited Van Alen's residence. Bucky found himself continuing his duty as a bodyguard for Ethan Van Alen, the sole heir of both conglomerate families.

If someone had said that Bucky would protect his ex-girlfriend's son, he would have laughed. But life worked in impossible ways. Here, he was doing just that.

While Bucky was on duty, he couldn't shake the need for answers about Y/N Aston. Despite learning that Iris and Y/N were identical twins, he still found it hard to believe. It was Iris, who had been with him back when they were young.

Yet, why did Y/N's actions mirror Iris's so closely?

If Y/N were more approachable, perhaps Bucky could find the answers. She might even tell him he was crazy. But with her busy schedule, stepping in for Ethan's father and managing both family businesses, she seemed almost impossible to talk to.

Y/N didn’t have time to comfort her only nephew. Since Bucky had to guard Ethan 24/7, he knew the kid wanted to talk to his relative. Both aunt and nephew lived in the same house, yet they rarely spent time together.

Bucky remembered Ethan's words, "My aunt is married to her job."

He thought it was a shame. Y/N was beautiful. With her status, she could have any man.

Wait, was she still single?

He shook his head, realizing how absurd it was to even entertain such thoughts considering Y/N was his employer.

Clearing his throat, Bucky walked towards Ethan's room, glancing at the kid's schedule. There were so many classes: foreign language, investment, fencing, public speaking, IT, swimming, and more.

Ethan was only 7 years old; he didn’t have time to play, especially since it was only a week after his parents' funeral.

Bucky knocked on Ethan’s door.

“Come in,” Ethan called out.

Bucky entered to find Ethan practicing the violin. Though classical music wasn't his preference, Ethan's skill didn't sound like that of a beginner.

Ethan stopped playing and placed the violin back in its case. “What class do I have next?”

“Swimming class,” Bucky replied.

Ethan sighed. “Can you teach me instead?”

Bucky hesitated. “If you want, but you know everything has to go through protocol.”

Ethan pouted. “At least, today, you have to accompany me.”

Bucky's instincts told him something didn't seem right. “Alright.”

Ethan went to his wardrobe; even at his young age, he had already been taught to pack his things. Bucky still found himself in awe of the kid's wardrobe room; it was bigger than his own bedroom in Antarctica.

While Ethan searched for his swimming goggles, he asked, “Has my aunt already left?”

Bucky replied, “Yes,” noticing Ethan's shoulders slump at the confirmation. He asked gently, “Do you want to talk to her?”

Ethan shook his head. “No, she’s busy. I don’t want to bother her.” Having prepared everything, he added, “Let’s go.”

When Bucky arrived at the swimming pool, he saw an athletic man. From the first impression, Bucky could already read him: overly proud and cocky.

“Bucky, right? I’ve been informed you’ll be the new guard. I’m alright if you want to join us,” the coach said.

Bucky gave a slight nod, glancing at Ethan. “Ethan, I’ll be standing here, okay?”

For a brief moment, Ethan's face brightened. Bucky wondered what made Ethan seem to not enjoy the class.

Ethan and the teacher did warm-ups before getting into the pool.

The coach instructed, “We will start with the freestyle and work on improving your lap times.”

When the teacher blew the whistle, Ethan began swimming to the other side. Bucky was impressed; for a kid his age, he was quite fast.

The coach checked his stopwatch. “1:50. You could do better than that.”

Bucky couldn't understand why the coach expected the little kid to go faster in a 100m freestyle.

"Again," the coach commanded.

"Again."

"You're getting slower."

Bucky held back his emotions when he noticed Ethan looking drained.

The coach looked down at Ethan and shook his head. "Your father would be disappointed with the result, Ethan."

Seeing Ethan sniffle and wipe his eyes, Bucky couldn't take it anymore.

He kicked the coach back and pushed him into the pool. The coach wasn't prepared and struggled to resurface before gasping for breath. Bucky held him under the water again.

“Can’t you see the boy is already breathless and exhausted?” Bucky questioned sharply.

The coach sputtered, "Wait… wait…"

"Do it again. I want to see how long you can hold your breath."

"Ugh."

Peter couldn’t believe what he saw. He rushed over from watching the CCTV to stop Bucky. "Bucky, what happened—"

Bucky shot Peter a warning look. "Get Ethan out of here. I need to talk to this guy."

Peter hurriedly escorted Ethan away, wondering why Bucky was so furious with the swimming coach.

Once they were gone, Bucky removed his black suit and throw it.

He pulled the coach from the pool like a fish. The coach coughed and caught his breath. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"A moment ago? Yes," Bucky admitted bluntly.

The coach's eyes widened. Never in his life had someone admitted to wanting to kill him straight to his face.

"I have a question: will Ethan enter the Olympics?" Bucky asked.

The coach shook his head. "No."

"Then why do you have to make him suffer like that? If that boy could talk, he would ask you to stop. But he can’t. As a teacher, you should know your students' capabilities."

"I only do what my employer asks me," the coach defended himself.

"Who? Miss Y/N Aston?" Bucky questioned.

"No! The Van Alen family," the coach confessed.

Bucky's grip on him loosened. This information was shocking. Why did the Van Alen family treat Ethan like this?

"Get up, gather your things, and never set foot in this place again," Bucky commanded.

The coach protested, "You have no—"

"Miss Aston hired me to protect her nephew. It’s better if you resign before you lose your teaching license. You know what I’m capable of," Bucky warned.

The coach ran away, leaving Bucky to ponder the situation.

On the other side, Y/N had just returned from the company. Spotting Peter and Ethan, her nephew walking with a towel draped around him, she observed Ethan's eagerness as he ran toward her, wrapping her in a tight hug.

Y/N asked Peter for an explanation, her expression remaining stoic as she listened to the summarized account.

Her heart ached hearing about her nephew's ordeal. Despite her typically reserved demeanor, a flicker of concern flashed in her eyes. She instructed Peter, "Tell Mr. Barnes to meet me at my office," her voice firm yet tinged with an underlying worry, before walking away.

Concerned, Ethan tugged at Peter's clothes. "Is Bucky in trouble because of me?" His voice carried a hint of apprehension.

Peter patted Ethan's back reassuringly, his tone gentle. "I'm sure he'll be alright. Don't worry." He tried to offer comfort to the young boy, knowing the weight of responsibility could be heavy on his small shoulders.

In Y/N's office, she was signing documents while Bucky stood before her, his presence commanding attention. She remained so engrossed in her work that she didn’t even lift her head when she spoke, "You want to explain why a half-naked man in a speedo ran away screaming from my house?"

Bucky answered casually, "Well, yeah, since I threatened him." His tone was nonchalant, but there was a hint of underlying tension in his voice.

Y/N looked up, her expression unreadable, a mix of surprise and curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Bucky still wasn’t accustomed to looking directly into her eyes; there was something pulling at him that he couldn’t quite describe. "The way I do my job may be different from anyone here, but I can't let the person I'm protecting feel unsafe. Do you know Ethan's swimming coach did it on purpose, and it was ordered by the Van Alen family?" His voice carried a note of frustration, a rare glimpse of emotion from the typically stoic man.

Y/N didn't respond immediately; it seemed like she already knew.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky wondered what was wrong with wealthy people. She had everything, so why didn’t she want to mend her relationship with Ethan? His frustration simmered beneath the surface, evident in the tenseness of his jaw.

Bucky said firmly, his voice tinged with determination, "If you have at least 5 minutes, I suggest you talk to Ethan." With that, he left the room, his footsteps echoing with purpose.

Y/N's secretary clicked her tongue, then turned to her boss, her expression reflecting concern. "Do you want to fire him?" There was a note of uncertainty in her voice, wary of the potential repercussions.

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the closed door, "No, just fire the swimming coach." Her tone was decisive, yet there was a hint of resignation in her voice. She looked at her secretary, her gaze unwavering. "Cancel the rest of my schedule today."

“But, ma’am, you have an important call this evening." The secretary's voice held a hint of concern, recognizing the significance of the upcoming call.

"I will call them tomorrow. Send a formal apology letter," Y/N ordered, her tone final, a sense of determination underlying her words.

*********

Y/N went to Ethan's bedroom, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

Ethan, who was playing blocks with Bucky, was surprised to see his aunt, his expression a mix of curiosity and anticipation. As she entered the room, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a sense of tension dissipating.

“Auntie,” Ethan greeted her, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Looking nervous, he turned to Bucky, who gave him a reassuring nod, his silent support evident in his expression.

Approaching Y/N, Ethan said, “Aunt, can I change my swimming coach?” His words were hesitant, a mixture of hope and apprehension lacing his tone.

Y/N replied, her voice calm yet distant, “Sure, I’ll call the Olympic coach.”

Ethan hesitated, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Bucky. “No, can Bucky teach me?” His voice held a note of pleading, a silent plea for connection.

Y/N responded, her tone neutral, “I don’t mind. You should ask him.” Her words were measured, a reflection of her reserved nature.

Ethan turned to Bucky, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Bro Bucky already agreed, I just wanted to ask for your permission first.” There was a hint of excitement in his voice, a spark of hope igniting within him.

Bucky felt relieved that they were finally communicating, his expression softening with understanding.

Ethan continued, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. “And can I ask you another favor?” His voice was eager, his eyes shining with anticipation.

Y/N encouraged him to speak, her expression remaining impassive, yet there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a hint of warmth beneath the surface.

“For foreign language class, can I just study German and Korean? German engineering is great, and South Korea has good products, it's good for my future. For investment class, can I learn how to trade with real money? And can I study martial arts with Bucky instead of fencing?” Ethan's words poured out in a rush, his enthusiasm palpable.

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his surprise evident in his expression. These weren’t typical requests from a 7-year-old, yet there was a sense of determination in Ethan's voice, a silent plea for understanding.

Glancing at Y/N, who didn’t seem surprised, he realized both aunt and nephew shared the same traits, a sense of resilience amidst adversity.

Y/N asked, her tone measured, “Anything else?” Her words were neutral, yet there was a hint of something in her voice, a subtle shift in her demeanor.

Ethan shook his head, his excitement palpable. “That’s everything.”

Y/N assured him, her voice distant yet tinged with a hint of warmth, “I’ll instruct my secretary to change your teachers, and give you the money for you to invest.” before leaving the room, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

Bucky couldn’t shake off the feeling of Y/N being distant from her nephew, his concern is evident in his expression. He thought Ethan felt abandoned again, but it seemed he was mistaken.

Ethan ran to him, his eyes excitedly shining, exclaiming, “Bucky, did you see that? My aunt smiled today.” There was a sense of joy in his voice, a silent celebration of a small victory.

Confused, Bucky probably needed to get his eyes checked, as he hadn’t seen her smile at all. But as long as Ethan was happy, he would agree to anything.

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[unremarkable-house]

Polaris by unremarkable_house

The X-Files, MSR, Rain King

Mulder and Scully attend Holman and Sheila's wedding in Kroner, Kansas.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Part One: Mulder and Holman

“Platonic intimacy is the foundation of my relationship with Agent Scully, Holman, and risking physical intimacy affects both parties. I don’t want to take that risk unless we are both willing.” There is a condensation of intent that settles around the patio of the Kroner Prairie View Ballroom and Suites where Fox Mulder and Holman Hardt - weatherman, meteorologic anomaly, crack relationship analyst, and now very newlywed - share their conversation during a small break in the matrimonial festivities.

It is also something Mulder has never admitted out loud, his desire for something more, and he feels the uncomfortable humidity of it fill the blissfully mild Kansas air. Holman has made it vexingly clear that he expects him to dish on the so-called Mulder-and-Scully-relationship while the blushing bride and redheaded FBI agent were otherwise occupied. Apparently, he and his buddy the weather wizard had a special affinity for these kinds of chats.

“Are you really worried that you wouldn’t be compatible in bed with someone who looks like your partner?” Holman is projecting a bit of his newfound sexual confidence with Sheila, but he doubts he’d have any trouble if Agent Scully came to bed instead. Or both. Holman’s eyebrow quirks appreciatively.

Mulder is not worried about his level of attraction to his long-suffering and comely partner, he does get to look at her every day after all, but he is worried that the weight of their traumas could make the next level of intimacy challenging. He didn’t need a degree in psychology from Oxford to figure that out, he need look no further than his own baffling sexual history. Plus, he knows how much energy she puts into maintaining their professional distance, especially since Antarctica. And Diana. As always, part of how he shows her he cares is by respecting that.

“There is something to be said about the fact that it’s been six years and no one has even mentioned sex. With each other or otherwise. Maybe she’s just not that into me.” He shrugs, also thinking that really isn’t the case. Although it had been not-so-helpfully suggested by a Gunman or two before. As if any of them had any real experience with women outside of chat rooms and computer labs.

Because Scully hasn’t left him either. Hasn’t ever expressed an interest in a life outside the X-Files. Hasn’t ever, ever let him down. She stands entirely too close to him on elevators and drinks from his coffee cup when she’s in a rush. She waits up for him in the middle of the night, she lets him watch her sleep. She rises like the Phoenix time and time again. She touches the stars and toils in the basement. And she kissed him on Tuesday.

Though she would be seriously perturbed if she heard him acknowledge any of that out loud. Especially that last part.

But he was allowed to acknowledge it, right? He had to, or else they were never going to get past this bizarre phase where their relationship was even a secret to themselves. Will they or won’t they? Are they or aren’t they? Damned if he knew.

They didn’t even have the X-Files anymore. The entire pretext for their relationship hovered over the razor’s edge, completely unprepared for Salt Lake Cities and Diana Fowleys and meaningless days spent tracking down literal piles of shit. He made it clear he wasn’t ready to handle anything personal and then they RSVP’d to a wedding together.

Polaris or utter chaos. Scully had once called him unfathomably capricious.

“Yea, but don’t you want to just take her in your arms and kiss her?”

Holman’s aggressively simple advice is reflective of a man who got everything he wanted. Easy words from someone who finally found safe harbor.

Three months ago, he was offering Holman dating advice. Now Holman was freshly married and all Mulder’s gotten were a few chaste kisses he wasn’t supposed to think about. Cosmic justice or just complete fucking irony?

Sighing, Mulder looks back through the windows where Holman and Sheila’s wedding reception is just getting into full swing. Dazzling lights, disco balls, even a few novelty lasers spin dizzily over the guests as they start feeling the liquor and therefore, the groove. Scully is in there somewhere and his eyes scan for her instinctively, but he doesn’t see her red hair in the crowd. She must still be in the bathroom or surely she would come to find him out here, right? Mulder couldn’t believe the amount of insecurity he had been feeling since she came out in that dress and asked him to help her zip up the back. He needed a drink, big time.

“It’s not just about kissing her -” Above them, the full moon is in dazzling brilliance. Not a cloud in the sky, not a hint of chill in the breeze, downright perfect humidity. On Holman Hardt’s wedding day at the end of April. Figures. “I don’t sit around and pine for Scully the way you did for Sheila. We are in a relationship, have been for years, I guess. We are not just partners, I know that. And not just friends. But it’s about being with her all the time - forever - I think. I want to keep that possibility alive.”

At whatever the cost, he doesn’t add, an onslaught of near-misses hurtling past them like a vengeful comet wrought by some dissatisfied god. The weight of the knowledge that he would follow her anywhere - and she, him - whether they liked it or not. Something that was beyond what a ring or social status could ever symbolize, objectively speaking.

It was as simple as wanting Scully like air to breathe, simple as obeying the laws of gravity. A purely biological necessity. No need to complicate things. And no need to scare her off by being as lousy a lover as he was a friend. If all she ever needed from him were chaste yet unforgettable kisses, he would be honored to provide. Ad infinitum, if that’s what it took to keep her in orbit. No need to define the bonds that connect them. Just the need to stay connected.

A light in the sky from which he could chart his course.

Mulder looked hungrily back into the pulsating throng behind him, seeking his personal universal invariant. As much as he wanted her to return so he could end this candid and hyper-intimate conversation, he especially did not want her to overhear how pathetically punch-drunk he was after just the smallest morsels of her affection. He was supposed to remain coolly and Mulder-ish-ly aloof. It was part of their unspoken agreement for partaking on this exclusive jaunt they had both surreptitiously cashed in their vacation days for.

“I’ve kissed her a couple of times, though.” Except for that, of course. Holman gives him a high five. Then he says in the wistful way he’s been saying everything tonight:

“You know, I’ve been in love with Sheila since I was in high school; I was completely infatuated.” Mulder knows, but not really. Who could be in love with someone with a voice like that? Who consistently kicked you under the rug to date the people you detested the most? To him, the sexiest thing about Scully was that she willingly spent time with him. That and she smelled like a secret garden and her skin was as soft as a petal. His own luscious Atropa belladonna; look but don’t touch. It was a fitting match considering his life was rotely defined by his personal, unattainable longings.

“I think it's different, Holman. I love Agent Scully--” more of that condensation settles. “I have for a long time. As a friend first. But I'm not lovesick. I'm not…” he trails off because to say he’s not also in love with Scully isn't the whole truth. But it’s not the same. “I'm still working on being in love with her in a way that is most fair for her. For us.” He looks up into the starry night and grips the edge of the stone wall that he is perched on. “I tend to be a bit overbearing and unpredictable.”

And incomprehensible and dog-headed and nebulous and borderline unreliable - but he’s not really interested in listing all the ways he’s failed Scully or why he knows he’s badbadbad for her. The reasons why she shouldn’t be wearing a short navy blue dress at a private and completely voluntary event with him tonight. Why he should have done the gentlemanly thing years ago and convinced her to get out and save her reputation, to save herself from a lifetime of pain. Should have resisted the tender, irresistible way she always pulled him back to her. Should not have RSVP'd to this damn wedding, at least.

Instead, he spirited her away from the world living into the world of the half-dead and always searching.

Then again he’d probably be dead ten times over, considering the numerous occasions she’d saved his ass over the years. But life without Scully would be a fate worse than death.

He’s seeding the rain cloud, he knows. These are the kinds of words phrased in such a way that he’s been avoiding admitting - let alone thinking - for years. It’s admissions like these to people like Holman that will force him to pay the piper. He envisions Holman and Sheila forcing them to slow dance beneath the dizzy lights to Fools Rush In. He’d prefer a Whiter Shade of Pale, himself. Something a bit more subtle.

“Loving someone isn’t about being fair, Agent Mulder. My life has basically been at a standstill until I finally got my chance to be with Sheila. I wasn’t willing to move forward with any decision in my life if it meant missing a chance I might have with her. I accepted a job in the same town I grew up in, for Chrissake, because she was here! And yes, there were times when I resented the fact that she refused to see me as more than a friend and instead chased after the people I liked the least.

I have a few buddies from high school who got pretty sick of my laments for a woman - who you will probably agree - is completely out of my league.” Mulder resists reacting, different strokes and all. “The fairest route would have been to save myself the drama of Sheila’s many romantic interludes and settle down with someone else - you might not know it but I’m quite the catch in a small town like this - but I was determined to wait until it was my turn. Now those same guys from high school are here dancing at our wedding!

Look at me! I’m married to the most beautiful woman in Kroner! In all of Kansas, probably! And we are already talking about starting our family right away!”

Holman, glowing with pride like the light of the moon with his arms outstretched, has a nostalgic, faraway look on his face, back to his days as the awkward teen in love with the prom queen. Indeed, Holman had received his just rewards for patience, diligence, and the honor of a respectable life.

Scully is his reward too, Mulder knows. Has always known, since the day she walked back into his basement office after spending thirty-six hours hiding in the rain forests of Puerto Rico with no food or water and scared to death that the kill squads were going to find them and use extreme force. He was constantly falling in love with the versions of herself that she shed with each tragedy - always a moment too late. Always under her sharp and disapproving eye. She wore her newfound vulnerabilities with a sign that read: “Danger, Stay Back”. That she refused to be worshipped just made her easier to love. He’d had no clue dignity was such a turn on.

Mulder was just worried he hadn't paid his dues with such noble qualities as Holman’s. His many wrongdoings play with a sad soundtrack in his head, as sad as the desperate way she always looks at him when they’ve cheated death yet again. She had been particularly unzipped by his recent near-drowning and nick-of-time rescue in the Plantagenet Bay. The Gunmen published it in their quarterly and referred to Scully as the Babe of the Bermuda Triangle. He still felt kinda bad about that one.

Was it just Mulder or was the moon shining a little more brightly right now?

“One of the best days of my life was when Sheila started working at the station.” Holman gets another dreamy look upon his face as he recalls the day. Mulder remembers too, it was chronicled in the local paper. That and a portfolio of other newsworthy weather events Holman was responsible for sat neatly collated within his X-Files. And now including their invitation to the blessed Hardt-Fontaine nuptials. It wasn’t every day he got to hang out with one of the curiosities from his wonder cabinet.

Unless he counted Scully which he explicitly and vociferously did not.

“May 11, 1992: residents of Kroner, Kansas, report witnessing a rare quadruple rainbow,” He recites.

Mulder has a similar best day of his life, but he doesn’t recall any meteorological event that marked the moment. It wasn’t even a full moon. Just a regular March afternoon that he had been antipathetic about.

Holman grins. “Some reported seeing a fifth arc as well, but it was never substantiated.” Then his face grows cloudy. “That same day, while we were catching up, was when she told me she was moving in with Darryl Moody and that they were ‘engaged to be engaged.’” He spits the last words out like venom. And that would explain the subsequent supercell lightning storm that knocked Kroner off the grid for three days (also in his files).

“She just wanted to be friends,” he bemoans before becoming annoyingly cheerful again, “but being her friend was the next best thing because here we are! Sheila recently told me that the best relationships are rooted in friendship so if that’s what it took to get here, I wouldn’t change a day.”

Mulder, dipping his chin to his chest, was appalled he found that so pathetically endearing. And a little bit wounding. Were he and Scully not rooted in friendship? For someone who was so quick to believe, he knew he was certainly wanting for a little more faith in the matter. Because here we are, he thinks, together, in other lifetimes, always.

In this particular lifetime in Kansas, there might be drinks and dancing and more than one excuse to touch her companionably and then maybe a little more familiarly, as soon as she finished up inside and he could end this awkward conversation with the groom.

“Don’t let some bad luck cramp your style, Agent Mulder,” Holman says, reaching the end of his proselytizing. “The future will be as bright as you make it.”

Following Holman’s gaze up into the night sky, Mulder finds that the heavens are now alight with the ethereal trails of meteors, dainty and otherworldly, glittering their way across the universe.

Mulder sighs again, equally entranced by and indifferent to Holman’s bizarre skills. “Easy for you to say, Holman.” But Holman just laughs the contented and mirthful laugh of a man in love. To him, everything is limitless: life, love, the weather, and now the entire galaxy.

And though there was once a time where Mulder would have imprudently coveted the ability to touch the unthinkable like Holman Hardt, tonight he is content to reach only one star.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564760

Notes:

WIP, I hope. There should be a chapter for Scully + Sheila and another for Mulder + Scully. Fingers crossed! Mad love to my favorite fanfiction of all time, Parabiosis by Penumbra. This story includes some loving references to that masterpiece. Made with the utmost respect. Thanks for reading.

[tealin]

Basler to the Beardmore 1: You See a Plane, You Take It

As always, the original post is up at the official blog – the formatting definitely works there, if you are having issues with it here.

When planning my research trip with the Antarctic Artists & Writers Program, I had to make a wishlist of places to visit.  One of the more important ones was the Beardmore Glacier, the route by which Scott and his men climbed from the Ross Ice Shelf (or, as they called it, the Barrier) to the Polar Plateau.  It's one of the largest glaciers in the world, but is hardly visited anymore so is rarely photographed, and despite the blessing of Google Image Search, I had too poor a sense of it to draw a journey up or down it with any confidence.

Setting foot on the Beardmore turned out be prohibitively demanding, logistically, but there are regular LC-130 flights between McMurdo Station and the Pole which traverse the Beardmore en route.  The plan we made was for me to get on one of those, and snap as much as I could from one of the small windows as we flew.

November 2019 turned out to be a terrible time for Pole flights – if the weather was OK at Pole, there was a problem with the planes, or vice versa.  However, the weather delays worked in my favour, because they affected not only Pole flights, but one particular season-opening flight, which had been bumped so many times that it still hadn't gone when I turned up. That meant I could get a seat.

The big flights ffor the USAP’s operations in East Antarctica – cargo and passenger flights on/off continent, and to major stations like Pole and WAIS Divide – are handled by the New York Air National Guard, and their fleet of enormous military airplanes, namely a C-17 and small handful of LC-130 Hercules.  There are lots of smaller trips from McMurdo to satellite stations, and these are serviced by Kenn Borek Air, a Canadian company which operates out of Calgary, Alberta.  At the start of every season, they fly their fleet of Twin Otters and Baslers down the length of North and South America, then leapfrog depots down the Peninsula and thence to various hubs including McMurdo.  From there they move people and stuff where they need to go, and also restock those fuel depots.  There was one depot flight that remained to be done, and it happened to be to a cache near the base of the Beardmore, so they agreed to take me along.

I was not the only extra job tacked on to the flight. After depoting the fuel, we were to scout out a camp in the Transantarctic Mountains which had been in regular use until a some fierce winds a few years ago had scoured great furrows in the landing strip.  Was it landable again?  What state was the camp in?  We would find out.  They also wanted to scope out a historic site that left no physical trace, to get updated intel on its condition.  Then we would fly north again via the Beardmore and the coordinates for One Ton Depot.

As soon as the Basler had finished her more pressing engagements, we were put on alert for the depot run.  Everything in Antarctica is weather-dependent, and that can change on a dime, so one is always on standby.  Because they needed to make the most of the Basler's time, they would put two missions on for any given day, then the one with the best prospects would be activated.  For five days I was ready to go – breakfasted, fully suited up, lunch packed, ECW bag to hand – at 7 a.m., in case my flight was the one that was going.  Flight status would be announced on the screens at the entrance to the Galley.

For four mornings I joined the poor Thwaites Glacier team anxiously hanging on the screens – they were trying to get out to WAIS Divide (the high point of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet, from which they would catch a flight to the Thwaites camp) where the weather had been abominable for a month.  One of those mornings my flight was activated and I got all the way out to the airfield only for it to be called off at the last minute because of a change in forecast for the depot site.  But finally, the fifth morning, it was all systems go!

There are two airfields that serve McMurdo: Phoenix, which is designed to take the massive C-17s on a packed snow runway where they can land with wheels, and Williams Field, of groomed snow, for ski'd aircraft.  The extra special thing about Williams Field is that it's more or less where Scott's 'Safety Camp' was located – so named because it was far enough onto the ice shelf not to break up and float out to sea – so the view to Ross Island from there would have been very familiar to our explorers.  On the day of my false start, while waiting to find out that the plane wasn't going after all, I got to take some good pictures of the view from there.  It was also a good day to get a sense of the 'bad light' that obliterated contrast on the snow and made navigation difficult:

The Sea Ice Incident took place between us and the conical hill to the left!  Wild!

Anyway, Try no. 5 was on a much nicer day.  Here is the magnificent bird with her spanking new paint job:

It was a funny experience – I mean, besides sharing the fuselage with many hundreds of gallons of flammable liquid – in that it was an island of Canada amidst all the Americans. The crew all lived in BC when they weren't in Antarctica, and next to my seat were the usual set of flight safety brochures, in English and French, just as if we were flying out of Calgary.

Our pilot was named Steve, and I learned from him that, if you're training to be a pilot in Canada, you have to do your qualifying hours in the North.  Most people put in their time and then get a comfortable job flying passengers between major southern cities, but Steve liked the North so much he stayed and stayed, until he got the job with Kenn Borek and ended up South.  As much as I feel obliged to make a facetious quip about my flammable fellow passengers, I can honestly say I have never felt safer in an airplane than this one.  This was just as well, as one of the first things we did once we were in the air was rather exciting.

The Basler is a workhorse, and one of the Antarctic planes (though I never found out if it was this one) had actually flown in WWII – they just keep going and going.  However, the hydraulics that lift the landing gear were designed to lift just the landing gear, not the landing gear plus 650-pound skis, so in order to get them up we had to lose some weight.  And we did this by climbing steeply up and then nose-diving, bringing us temporarily closer to zero G.  We had to do this every time we took off, and it took 2-3 goes to get the skis up successfully.  You'd expect someone with a history of nervous flying and a sensitivity to motion sickness to find this unpleasant, but it was just plain awesome.

This post is getting long already, so I will describe our errands in detail over the next two posts.  I really must take the time here, though, to give my regards to Kenn Borek Air. I don't think anyone in Canada knows how absolutely vital they are to everything that gets done in Antarctica; their vermillion planes keep camps supplied and people moving around, and are the everyday lifeblood of the continent, in the most literal circulatory sense.  Steve and the Basler may possibly have saved the Thwaites Glacier project this season – after a month of delays getting people and freight out to the field camps, it was reaching a point where they might have called off the massive international project for this year.  But they allocated the Basler to the WAIS flights and Steve landed it in conditions that the NYANG wouldn't – the Basler couldn't fly nearly as much cargo as a Herc, but they got enough out there that some work could begin.  I haven't seen this mentioned in any of the Thwaites coverage and I'm sure it hasn't been covered in Canada, but for a country that doesn't even have a national Antarctic program, they should be mighty proud of the central role their people play in making other countries' programs happen.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 45 – Suspicion with Good Cause

“Miss Lunark, what was the codename of that agent you ran into? Was it Kespar?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Are you sure? Are you sure it was Kespar?”

“She specified it herself. And my ears are more loyal than you’d think.”

Lunark added a touch of playful sneer in her reply, but in turn Tao’s face was rendered much more serious than she had envisioned.

Making a slight regret that perhaps she sounded more aggressive than she had intended, Lunark lifted her gaze to find the largest monitor blinking with life.

Immediately she cocked her head, upon the sight of a woman she had never seen before.

Judging by the color tones of the screen and the faint noises, she presumed she was looking at a screenshot of footage from a security camera.

“Is this what she looked like?”

Lunark’s bouquet-like hair waved side to side.

The picture could have used some magnifying, but difference of appearances of the rat she met and the one in the screen was so very obvious. Even the blind would have noticed they were two different people.

“Eyes, facial line, hair color, hair length... I could go on forever to point out the discrepancies I see. Who is this?”

Tao squeezed his lips for a second upon her retort.

“...This is Kespar.”

Say what?!

Her exclamation silently echoed inside her voice box, having contracted regardless of her will.

“This is Kespar...?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

“I’m positive. I give you my word I’m not the one with a misunderstanding here.”

“...Are you absolutely sure? I know what you can pull off with computers and all, but there’s possibly no way that you’d know every single agent ever registered in the Union.”

Her argument was legitimate; despite the fact that she was once the elder of the Union, during her history as one she had never once memorized names and faces of all agents.

And with the topmost personnel not setting a good example, things were nothing different for lesser agents and researchers.

Not to mention there was no need to stress out one’s brain to do the job, with computers readily available to provide A to Z for whoever they seek.

However, Lunark had overlooked one thing – she was talking to none other than Tao.

“Since my time at the Union, I have taken a liking to hacking. It’s both my specialty and hobby. I used to surf through and collect all sorts of data stored at Union whenever I could, to nobody’s knowledge.”

“...You mean you already knew about this agent?”

“Yep. It took me some time to remember ‘cause I first got to learn about her long time ago, but a conversation with you managed to refresh my memories. And based on what I know, the one you met is not Kespar.”

“...Any chance that you might have learned wrong in the first place?”

“There’s none. This screenshot is not the only file I have to show you what she looks like, and most importantly... Kespar died several years ago during a mission.”

By the end of Tao’s sentence, the invisible net that had been keeping Lunark’s heart barely safe from downfall at last snapped.

In an attempt to somehow retrieve her heart from plummeting towards the soles of her feet, Lunark posed one last question.

“You swear that... That Kespar is dead...?”

“As much as I’d sound like I’m joking, I can swear upon this mansion and everything under its roof. Kespar is dead.”

Nobody would ever swear upon Frankenstein’s possessions as a joke or a lie or an assumption.

Upon processing the fact into her brain, Lunark suddenly felt like the entire world began to shrink into the vortex centering on the bottoms of her feet.

Kespar is actually dead.

However, that orange-haired modified human dubbed herself as Kespar.

Just like the list of dossiers she received.

“But why...?”

Her lips mumbled on their own, momentarily cut off from her cognition.

Tao interpreted the situation as how he viewed it and began to spill the unasked.

“Probably because she had to hide herself – but not too much. Because Kespar is the best alias you could make use of if you want to conceal your true name but maintain your identity as a Union agent.”

<What do you mean by that?>

Tao asked, his curiosity nudging at his mouth.

“According to what I found out when we were still part of the Union, most people there had considered Kespar as a missing-in-action or a renegade, instead of a deceased. And I believe that hasn’t changed.”

<But how is that possible? Even when a random agent that nobody really needs goes dead in no man’s area in Antarctica, Union would have no problem finding out who-when-where-what-why-how and composing detailed record in less than a week.>

“That would have been the case for any other agent. Or should I say, any other time? In Kespar’s case, however, she died at a wrong time, in a way. Back then there was a political struggle of a sort within the Union, and they decided to make Kespar’s death handy. So Kespar’s real data – which happens to be in my collection – is the only record containing her death; any other data have her marked as missing. And they did a really good job of veiling her current status. If you even blink during your search, you’ll end up with the faux data.”

“And with Union’s system completely tattered as of now, nobody would be willing to correct her information. Does that mean it’s safe to suppose she will be remembered as missing-in-action or renegade?”

“Precisely.”

Tao nodded in agreement, with Lunark still frozen in silence.

She could not spare even the slightest of her attention to her surroundings, her mind caught up in review of anomalies that finally started to glint.

During her first encounter with the agent who called herself “Kespar,” she voluntarily flung the name at her, even demanding that she will keep it stuck in her head from now on.

Which is against the fundamental rule and value for any Union agent: anonymity is the greatest treasure.

Now there was more than enough reason for Lunark to suspect that she wanted her to believe she was Kespar.

To top it off, there was another reason why Lunark has come to recognize the orange-haired modified human as Kespar.

On the list submitted by 3rd Elder, the picture of the woman with orange hair and blue eyes was labeled as Kespar for codename.

And there was only one conclusion she could draw from such fact: 3rd Elder and the false Kespar deceived her, and the odds are terribly high that they are as a matter of fact in secret alliance.

“Why, you sly fox... You dare to play tricks on me?”

Just like that, the lab was hit with an unseeable blizzard, her tone throwing delusions at them as if they are stranded in the middle of Siberia during winter.

They kept their eyes fixed on the werewolf warrior, not moving an inch.

“I gave you a warning, and you know it...! You took all that hospitality that you did not even get close to deserving, and you decided you’ll stab Frankenstein in the back! You useless piece of unrecyclable garbage...!”

“W-what do you mean by that?”

Lunark gave them a brief explanation; now she could see no reason to hide it. She could see hiding would be no good at all.

She told them about help she requested from 3rd Elder to deduce who could be shutting down Crombel’s secret facilities, along with the list he produced for her.

She also told them how on that list she read the real Kespar’s dossier adorned with false Kespar’s picture.

The RK’s faces turned awfully beyond pale upon her confession.

“If this is true... There’s no telling what he could be plotting behind our backs as we speak.”

<And there’s no telling what he’ll do to Frankenstein in the future.>

“That does it. I’m going to see Frankenstein right now.”

And make sure I give that sneaky little bastard an unforgettable kiss with the Earth’s core.

Lunark was about to turn upon her heels as she gritted her teeth, before Tao yelled, “Wait! I know you’re in a hurry – and for a good reason – but could you please give me a moment? There’s something I’d like to give you.”

“Do you have to do it now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“It’s something that can help my boss. So please...”

“Spit it out. And be quick.”

Bewildered at how fast Lunark changed her stance, Tao grabbed the USB on his desk.

‘Sorry, boss.’

Tao knew that if Lunark is to walk up to 3rd Elder now, chances are more than high that there will be a physical skirmish.

And chances were horribly high that Frankenstein would be made part of the skirmish.

At the same time, Tao knew what Frankenstein is going through because of the Dark Spear.

Which is why in preparation of cases that require Frankenstein’s participation in a combat, he had been picking and sorting data that could prove helpful for him.

‘I know you made me promise not to tell anybody. But I’m afraid I can no longer keep your secret.’

Sighing with guilt tugging at his conscience, Tao began to unlock the USB.

The screen shimmered with several programs, and the lock was nearly removed when Tao lamented, “Oops, my bad. Wrong USB. Sorry about that. Seriously, my mind is not in its right sta...”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep...!!!

Out of blue, red-toned noises spread throughout all monitors.

They noticed what this was about; it was similar – no, identical to the phenomenon they witnessed when their computers and communications were made useless on the day they first initiated the QuadraNet.

“No...!!”

Luckily, they had Tao, a master artisan like none other in computers, who experienced this before.

With him as the firefighter, the fire was put out in no time.

“What just happened? Why did we see reenactment of trouble from the QuadraNet incident?”

“...Miss Lunark, did you see how I was trying to remove the lock on the USB just now?”

“Of course I did, though I failed to recognize what exactly you were doing.”

“What about you, M-21? Did you identify the steps I was following?”

M-21 merely tilted his head upon his inquiry.

He would not have recognized it, if Tao did not tell them what he did just before was unlocking the USB.

The only thing Tao did ever since he implanted the USB was playing around with basic programs installed in every computer, in the following steps:

Opening and closing MS Paint for 3 times.

Entering what looks like a secret code on Notepad and saving the file.

Opening a new Notepad file and typing in the same code.

Opening Calculator and deleting the first Notepad file in the meantime.

Entering a certain calculation into Calculator before closing it, to go ahead and close the second Notepad file.

The moment his mind retraced the last step, M-21 felt something knocking on his head.

“Wait a minute...”

“That’s right. It’s the unlocking procedure for the secret USB.”

“Secret USB...? I don’t think this is my first time hearing it.”

“I bet it isn’t. A secret USB is the Union invention created for agents in the old days, when they were sent for infiltrations. If you plug them in like a regular USB, they will display files that seem no worthy of interest. But once you follow a special procedure, it will yield hidden files. And to unlock it, you must carry out the exact steps that make use of basic programs that are installed in every computer available in public.”

“Yeah, now I remember. The procedure is less than a yawn for modified humans proficient in device control like you, but it was deemed inefficient for cases of battle or emergency. Hence it was abandoned by Union long ago.”

“Quite. Which is why I chose it as a method to unlock my USB. At least the current Union agents wouldn’t even dream of such method to dissect my kits.”

The moment Tao’s speech was marked with a period, the lab was enveloped by a dreadful silence.

Because the USB Tao just used was not the one he had kept for Frankenstein, but the one that was laid right next to it, wrongfully chosen by the supreme computer technician due to his lack of coherence.

“...So this is the USB that Yuhyung gave?”

“...Yes.”

It turned out the mostly-new USB that belongs to Yuhyung is to be unlocked like a secret USB.

With new revelation came a new missing link for the occasions they could not dare point out or discuss.

And their question grew into suspicion with good cause.

Now that they have found what could serve as an evidence, they realized evasion is not an option anymore.

Even though some mysteries remain, they will soon be deciphered, once they capture and investigate the human who is to return home.

“I believe I can leave him to you guys. Isn’t that right?”

“You can count on us. You go ahead and give Frankenstein a claw he needs.”

(next chapter)

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen - it’s not Adne but Yuhyung who is the traitor! Very soon his past progress as a traitor will be revealed, via the hints I inserted in the previous chapters. By the way, the secret USB and its unlock procedure are my creation, unrelated to the original webtoon, so I hope there won’t be any confusion regarding this. And we’re slowly moving on to the highlight of this fic. Even though this is a Noblesse fic, I’m aware that there were battles on rare occasions. Which will be made up by the highlight that is approaching. It’s always a challenge to compose battle scenes, but I’ll do my best with this! :)

[anyathebox]

The 30 Best Movies for Kids on Hulu

This post is refreshed routinely to mirror the most recent films to leave and enter Hulu, which you can pursue here. *New increments are demonstrated with a bullet.

You're stuck at home, pushing the controller through such a large number of choices on your shrewd TV, searching for something, anything, that you can use to divert the children and not cause you to feel liable. Allow us to help.

In all actuality none of the web-based features are especially extraordinary at family alternatives now that Disney+ has cornered that advertise, however that doesn't mean there aren't some incredible decisions on Hulu. Here are 30 commendable movies to divert the little ones or timetable a whole family film night around (in the event that you have the vitality subsequent to self-teaching).

It might have some natural story components, yet this 2019 film has the absolute most exquisite visuals in any ongoing energized film, including an influx of blossoms and the plan of its adorable primary character, a Yeti who needs the assistance of a young lady and her companion to return to his home at Mount Everest.

The most unusual energized story of the beginning of the CGI structure was the opposition between DreamWorks with Antz and Pixar with A Bug's Life — two movies that the detail lives of the Earth's littlest animals in astute manners. Pixar appears to have won the more extended fight, yet there's a whole other world to like here than you included, a solid voice cast and fun visuals.

Nancy Meyers co-composed this cunning family satire about an effective lady who gets herself the sudden mother of a 14-month-old infant young lady when her tragically missing cousin leaves her the kid after her passing. This might be for the somewhat more seasoned children, and a portion of its sex legislative issues are dated, yet Diane Keaton keeps it moving with her expert planning.

Precisely which titles Disney permits to bounce from its web-based feature to others doesn't bode well, however here's the undertakings of a sweet trick canine named Bolt, the main puppy of this pleasant film from 2008. John Travolta voices the canine who accepts he really has superpowers, which permit him to take off on a crosscountry excursion to spare his proprietor, Penny.

Travis Knight of Laika notoriety (Kubo and the Two Strings) coordinated the best Transformers film in this suddenly glad side project of the monstrous Hasbro arrangement of movies. It's a film with a similar sort of family-experience soul as '80s works of art of the class, floated by fun exhibitions from Hailee Steinfeld and John Cena.

Recall when motion pictures were as basic as setting cats and canines in opposition to each other? This 2001 family flick has been practically overlooked by history, however it was really a truly success at that point. Perhaps you're mature enough to have some wistfulness for it or need to acquaint it with your little ones at this point. Which side will they pick?

We don't merit Aardman. The masters behind Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, and others made their greatest true to life sprinkle with this 2000 hit. A cunning riff on jail break motion pictures like Escape From Alcatraz (however with chickens!), this is really the most noteworthy netting stop-movement enlivened film ever, a title it's held for right around 20 years now.

Who doesn't cherish the Man in the Yellow Hat and his adorable primate? This is the 2006 dramatically delivered adaptation of the book arrangement by H.A. Rey and Margret Rey that have been mainstream around the globe for ages. With voice work by Will Ferrell, Drew Barrymore, Eugene Levy, and some more, it's a sweet experience story for the entire family.

This true to life transformation of the Nickelodeon animation has no option to be as interesting and astute as it may be. It helps that newcomer Isabela Moner is a wonderful lead as Dora, but at the same time there's a superbly mindful offhanded tone to this film, one that is interesting without each paying attention to itself as well. It's a sweet family experience film that works similarly for guardians and minimal ones.

Possibly trust that the genuine minimal ones will hit the hay first, yet there are unquestionably a few families that can deal with this story about growing up from the ace Steven Spielberg. Christian Bale stars in the account of a little youngster whose life is changed always when he turns into a captive in a Japanese internment camp.

It became something of a climax, yet this family film was gigantic when it was first in quite a while. Who can't identify with the narrative of attempting to free a ravishing creature like the orca that gives this film a name? It made over $150 million on a $20 million spending plan and propelled an establishment. Willy was liberated to run all over mainstream society.

From the overseer of Mad Max: Fury Road! The family movie producer side of George Miller coordinated this melodic satire about penguins who fundamentally need to stop the end of the world with their moving and singing. It's not on a par with the first, yet it has some smart visuals, amazing voice work, and some great tunes for sure.

Individuals frequently highlight the Toy Story films as the model for an incredible energized arrangement, yet credit ought to be given to the set of three of motion pictures about a kid named Hiccup and his winged serpent Toothless. The third and last film in this blockbuster arrangement is as of now on Hulu, and it's a ravishing, ardent, moving last section to perhaps the best establishment of the 2010s, energized or surprisingly realistic.

The LEGO Movie is one of the most innovative and pleasant vivified movies of the 2010s. The spin-off may feel a piece excessively jumbled now and again, yet it holds enough of that vitality to make it worth a look on Hulu, particularly as the entirety of our innovative resources have been decreased by the craziness of 2020.

This isn't the Danny DeVito–voiced late form however the 1972 short unique that disclosed on TV around a thousand times when you were youthful. One of Dr. Seuss' most adored books gets a caring variation in this work of art, an account of duty and natural thought that will never develop old, and should start a few recollections for guardians of the correct age.

See, a narrative! Truly, true to life movies can be family ones as well. Indeed, it was that cross-segment request to the account of the yearly excursion of sovereign penguins in Antarctica to locate their favorable places that made this such an astounding achievement, winning Best Documentary at the Oscars subsequent to making over $120 million around the world. Having Morgan Freeman describe consistently helps as well.

Will Ferrell voices the title character, the supervillain who needs to get a portion of the credit and worship of his hero partners. After really slaughtering his superhuman enemy, Megamind discovers that life does not merit living for a miscreant without a legend and winds up making a scoundrel far and away more terrible for him to overcome. A sharp parody of the hero kind that would rule the following decade of blockbusters, this film plays far superior now than in 2010.

We don't give Laika enough credit. They don't get close to as much cash-flow with films like Paranorman and Kubo and the Two Strings as organizations like DreamWorks and Pixar. Their most recent is as of now on Hulu, dropping not exactly a year after its dramatic delivery. It may not be their best, yet it's dazzling to take a gander at, uncovering the organization that made it as ostensibly the most outwardly intriguing enlivened studio around.

My Dog Skip

This family dramedy from 2000 adjusts the personal book of a similar name by Willie Morris. It's the narrative of a 9-year-old who is given a delightful Jack Russell terrier on his birthday, whom he names Skip, and some developmental parts of his life that he imparts to his puppy. It's a sweet transitioning film with included enthusiasm for canine darlings.

Tune in, this film is somewhat of a fiasco, yet it's consistently an entrancing debacle. Joe Wright coordinates this prequel recounting another cause story for Peter Pan and Captain Hook, played by Garrett Hedlund. Hugh Jackman, Rooney Mara, and Levi Miller co-star in this certainly abnormal blockbuster that is by all accounts increasing a reappraised following throughout the years. Why are individuals despite everything discussing Pan? Look at it on Hulu and report back.

The Pink Panther 2

We should just considerately call this one a passage to better things. The spin-off of the Steve Martin–drove reboot of the Pink Panther arrangement isn't impartially "acceptable," however it might interest your children enough to watch the splendid Peter Sellers motion pictures or even a portion of the first kid's shows. What's more, hell, regardless of whether it makes them need to see a greater amount of Steve Martin, that is likely something worth being thankful for as well.

This was the first DreamWorks highlight to be generally enlivened in 1998 and was a greater hit than you likely recollect. It's the tale of the Book of Exodus and how Moses went from being only the title character to driving the youngsters out of Israel. It's a pretty film outwardly and includes some great music too, yet history appears to have overlooked it in the wake of the amount Disney commanded the '90s.

Carnage Verbinski guided a standout amongst other energized films on Hulu, this Oscar-winning highlighting voice work by Johnny Depp ahead of the pack job and probably the most propelled visuals in any vivified film this decade. Rango is a chameleon who discovered a town considered Dirt in this creative riff on the Western kind that plays similarly to youngsters and grown-ups.

Smallfoot

Channing Tatum magnificently voices the lead character in this melodic satire from 2018. He plays a Yeti who plunges from his overcast mountain town and experiences a human — both understanding that different species thought them a legendary animal. The visuals are connecting with and the jokes are sufficiently astute to work for all ages.

Disney+ has taken practically all the superhuman motion pictures however Sam Raimi's unique adaptation of the webslinger is still on Hulu. Featuring Tobey Maguire, this blockbuster doesn't get enough acknowledgment for reviving the whole hero kind such that plays to the two guardians an

[letterboxd]

The Missing Linklater.

“Any time I’m on a set with Rick I feel very fortunate.” We talk to the writers behind Richard Linklater’s new missing-person feature film, Where’d You Go, Bernadette?

An adaptation of Maria Semple’s 2012 comedic novel about a reclusive architect who goes missing just before a family trip to Antarctica, Where’d You Go, Bernadette? stars Cate Blanchett in the title role. Bernadette’s daughter Bee (Emma Nelson) sets out on a quest to find her, with Bernadette’s husband Elgie (Billy Crudup). Laurence Fishburne, Judy Greer and Kristen Wiig also star.

Directed by American filmmaking icon (and co-founder of the Austin Film Society) Richard Linklater, the screenplay was co-written with his frequent collaborators (and married couple) Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. If their names are not familiar as scriptwriters, that’s because they usually work further behind the scenes for Linklater, and have been since 1993’s Dazed and Confused, when Holly was a production coordinator, and Vince a second second assistant director.

Vince became Linklater’s first AD for the films Bad News Bears, Fast Food Nation, A Scanner Darkly, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Last Flag Flying and Where’d You Go, Bernadette?. Holly co-produced Linklater’s Me and Orson Welles (2008), which she also wrote with Vince.

Reviewing Where’d You Go, Bernadette? on Letterboxd, Tom suggests that after a “generic” opening, the film “slowly starts to show its true colors as the character of Bernadette is unwrapped… it’s a story that is touching and even a bit inspiring for those who aspire to be their own artist in life.” J Oled agrees: “This could’ve been a Hallmark special, but because Linklater generally loves humanity, and is always experimenting, this film is quite watchable, it’s warm, relatable, and modest, and I wasn’t asking for much else.” Melissa, who has read the novel, offers: “If you’re a fan of the book… the movie is starkly different. But if you’re a fan of Linklater… you’re going to love it. Cate Blanchett may be the best actor of the decade.”

We spoke to Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. about their collaborative writing process with Linklater, mining their own relationship for inspiration, and making films for the social-media age.

Cate Blanchett as Bernadette and Emma Nelson as Bee.

How you were brought onto the project? Holly Gent Palmo: We have worked with Rick [Linklater] for many years. We first met on Dazed and Confused, where we were on the crew, and we’ve worked on many projects with him. He’s one of our close friends. He was brought onto the project and then we read the book and loved it so he brought us on. We started from scratch, it was all based on the novel.

What did you relate to in the book that made you feel you had the right perspective to take it on? HGP: This is a movie that for me personally is very relatable because it’s about a woman who has really lost herself in motherhood and as much as she loves that journey, she’s also really looking to rediscover her passion of her past creative impulses. I think that’s something that Rick, Vince, and I all can relate to, not only as parents, but also as people trying to do something creative in this world.

Was the book’s author Maria Semple involved at all? HGP: First of all, the novel is fantastic.

Vincent Palmo Jr: Love the book, love the book.

HGP: Maria knows so much about the filmmaking process and has that history herself that she knew that she wanted to hand it off to Rick. She talked to Cate and she talked to Rick but she did not take part in the writing.

Richard Linklater seems like a great writer to collaborate with. What is it about him that makes that operate so well? HGP: With Rick, the way we work is that we talk a lot in the beginning and clearly discuss every aspect of the book. This one was particularly challenging in that it was a modern epistolary novel told in emails and transcripts. It’s not a straight narrative and it’s not told in a linear fashion, necessarily. So we had to sort out the chronology of our story and what would be included.

Screenwriters Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. / Photo: Wilson Webb/Annapurna Pictures

It’s the way he works with actors and everyone. It’s a really respectful, really collaborative process where everybody gets to bring to the table their own personal point of view in their own lives. With Rick, we dove into the parts of the novel we liked best and what threads we were going to pick up and carry through.

VP: It was a pretty deep exploration of the novel, of all the different characters and situations. We talked through all that and came to an agreement between the three of us for what we felt said the themes best.

Vincent, you’re also Linklater’s first assistant director, which is an interesting combination of multi-tasking. On set, would you pitch in on the script-side? VP: No, on set as a first AD I’m more concerned about the day’s work and really having everything in place and ready to go so Rick just has to say “action” and “cut”. I don’t talk at all about the script. At that point we’re all dialed in anyway.

When Holly’s around they have their conferences and I’ll be arranging the next set up. I’ve done a lot of things with Rick. I did all twelve years of Boyhood. There’s a shorthand there that I’m intent and focused on each day’s shoot and what’s coming up the next day.

HGP: By the time Rick gets to set, he’s totally prepared and ready. He has his rehearsal process with his actors. Our process is over, he’s very sure of what he wants.

VP: You can’t over-prepare, but we’re very prepared.

HGP: Except maybe in a rare instance in having to negotiate some small change.

VP: Yeah, like in what the weather’s brought or something new at a location, things like that.

Boyhood and Before Midnight are both classics of their decade now. What were those sets like? VP: I’m so happy for Rick [that they’re highly regarded]. Boyhood just stretched on. I remember there were times where we were like, “is somebody in Eastern Europe doing the same thing and it’s going to come out before us?!” We really didn’t know.

To pick it up each year and shoot it on film when all that kind of change [to digital] was in the midst of us shooting… Any time I’m on a set with Rick I feel very fortunate. To see them received in the way they were, it’s really thrilling.

Emma Nelson and Billy Crudup in ‘Where’d You Go, Bernadette?’.

In what ways, if any, did you adapt your style to the talents of Cate Blanchett and the other cast members? HGP: We knew that Cate was interested from the moment that we began. We were always hoping to do justice to her great talent and thinking towards that. To me, there could be no-one better in that role. Cate brings so much to it.

It’s an inspiration to think that no matter what kind of nuanced emotion we write in a scene, she can carry it and do an incredible job. It gives a freedom of inspiration thinking that there’s a possibility that Cate Blanchett can be playing the part.

The book is largely renowned for the way it captures the nuances of Seattle. What types of research did you do for the characters’ occupations and their environments? HGP: Rick did a lot of interesting, in-depth research for Elgie’s technology role and the kind of things he was developing. He talked to a lot of people involved in Microsoft developing those sorts of things, to bring that in the most detailed and up-to-date way.

For architecture, Rick arranged some meetings with some really great architects to go and talk to them about the language they use. As far as Seattle goes, there’s no greater resource for that than the novel itself. Maria really knows that world and has so many funny and interesting outsider opinions about it that I felt it was the perfect way to learn about that.

What did you feel you could bring to the element of marriage when writing as a married couple? HGP: That’s interesting.

VP: That is interesting. Well, we’ve been married for 26 years.

HGP: I do think that all three of us brought in our past relationships and our current relationships to the process. I believe it’s a realistic portrayal of the quest to keep improving your life through self-discovery. It’s a unique story that you don’t really see a lot of.

That whole idea that you can’t ever really know anyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try—Rick really loved those words, they’re the opening words of the novel. It’s this idea that the other person is always somewhat unknowable, but you keep trying to get to know each other while you change through the years.

VP: The search continues! You find new things.

HGP: Nothing is more rewarding in life than those close relationships that last decades.

Richard Linklater, Emma Nelson, Cate Blanchett and Billy Crudup at a New York screening earlier this month. / Photo: Evan Agostini/Invision/AP

Do you think it’s difficult to write contemporary films for the social-media age? HGP: It’s fascinating when you see movies and there’s this before-and-after cell phones dividing line, because so many of the great films and their plots would have been so different if everyone was carrying a phone around.

I don’t know if it’s easier, but it is a change in your way of thinking as you realize everyone has a phone in their pocket. I think both [period and contemporary] are fun. Any kind of story or plot that you’re trying to figure out is a really fun and challenging puzzle. I notice in a lot of films they try and get rid of the phone in some way.

What was the film that got you into filmmaking and made you want to be a part of this industry? VP: Oh my gosh, wow. Jeez, that’s a really tough one.

HGP: There’s so many stages to it. There’s the ones you see when you’re a little kid that just blow you over. Those are so bound with light and emotion that you don’t even understand. I remember Apocalypse Now—that was something that blew my mind.

VP: It just kind of builds. I got a degree in journalism and then I ended up working in film so it’s hard to point to just one that really flipped the switch. I don’t know why, but I saw The Sound of Music a bunch of times when I was younger. Maybe it was just easier for my mom to take me and my four siblings out to see it.

‘Where’d You Go, Bernadette?’ is in select US cinemas now.

[animationnut]

Uncle Trap: Prologue

Summary: Parent Trap AU. Huey, Dewey and Louie were raised separately, believing that they were only children for twelve years. When fate reunites them at a camp, they realize that they are triplets and that they know very little about their family history. Determined to reunite Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone and make their family whole again, as well as find out what happened to their mother, the triplets decide to switch places. Chapter Rating: T (mild violence and character death) Note: Inspired by @adamarinayu Family Trap AU, which I highly suggest you check out.

                                                    Chapter List

The snowmobiles churned through the mounds of white powder, two black dots against the barren landscape. Donald hunched his body against the wind, wrapping his wings tightly around Della’s waist as she maneuvered their vehicle over the bumpy, treacherous terrain. He squinted through his goggles but all he could see was a swirling mass of white, the back of the snowmobile ahead barely visible.

“This is stupid!” he cried. “Can’t we go back?”

“No way!” exclaimed Della, barely heard above the roaring wind. She turned around to flash him a quick grin. “We’re already this far. Besides, we’ve been searching for this crystal for months and it’s finally within reach!”

“I wouldn’t call an ice cavern deep within Antarctica within reach,” returned Donald, flinching as the snowmobile went airborne for a second, leaping off a slope.

“We’ll be there soon, Donnie! Stop worrying!”

A few feet ahead, Scrooge and Gladstone were leading the way, following the map to the supposed ice cavern that would hold the item they’ve been desiring. Gladstone stared at the worn, frayed piece of parchment, at the black markings and landmarks that were meant to guide them to their target. He glanced up, relieved to finally see three tall rock pillars which formed the shape of a triangle ahead of them.

“That’s it!” he called.

Scrooge slowed the vehicle to a stop near the formation and Della and Donald joined them a few seconds later. They huddled together over the map, the wind rushing past them and rustling the hoods secured to their heads. Squinting at the vertical, frost-covered stones, Donald scowled. “This is the entrance? It’s just a bunch of rocks!”

“Yeah, because we’ve never gone through secret hidden entrances to mystical chambers before,” drawled Gladstone.

“It does nae say how tae access the entrance,” said Scrooge, ducking his chin to keep the wind from slapping his face. “But we’re in the right spot. The snow has been gettin’ stronger the closer we’ve gotten tae this area.”

Della went to inspect the seemingly plain pillars, humming thoughtfully under her breath. “Well…these are in the shape of a triangle. And the crystal is supposed to look a prism, right? So what if…”

She trailed off and gave the pillar closest to her a hard shove. Putting all the strength she had into her wings, the pillar slowly began to budge, tipping forwards bit by bit. Soon the stone was positioned at an angle, where it refused to move further.

Scrooge’s eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Well done lass! Lads, get the others! Form a prism with the stones!”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t do heavy lifting,” said Gladstone, flipping the end of his dark green scarf over his neck. “Come on, Uncle McDunkle, you know this.”

Glaring at him, Scrooge snapped, “If ye do nae want tae help, why do ye always come with us?”

“Excuse me?” said Gladstone, offended. “It was me who got the map in the first place and every other secret key you ever needed to find your magic treasures.”

“By dumb luck,” said Donald sourly. “Like everything you do. Pure dumb luck, no effort involved.”

“Aw, don’t sound so jealous, cuz. It’s not my fault I was born awesome.”

“Stop bickering you two and let’s do this!” shouted Della, excitement building within her at the prospect of solving yet another mystery. Without waiting for her relatives to respond, she raced over to the next pillar.

Donald let out a sigh and went to the last one. Together the twins finished constructing the prism while Gladstone and Scrooge watched. Once the tips of the stones connected, there was a brilliant flash of blue-white light and the ground in the middle the prism started to shake. The ice cracked apart, slowly parting to reveal a set of clear crystal steps, leading to a dark chamber.

Smirking, Gladstone rolled up the map and stuck it inside his winter jacket. “You’re welcome.”

Scrooge removed a flashlight from his pack and started down the steps. Della eagerly followed after him and Gladstone trailed behind her. Donald reluctantly followed after them, peering through the transparent steps. His heart lurched into his throat at the depth of the chamber.

“Boo!”

Donald squawked and jumped. When the flash of fright passed, he sent a glare at Gladstone, who grinned at him. At Della’s giggling, the frazzled duck muttered, “Not funny.”

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and found themselves facing three tunnels to choose from. “It can never be easy, can it?” grumbled Donald, stretching his wings to work the chill from his bones.

“It wouldn’t be much fun if it was,” said Della optimistically.

“Does the map say anythin’ else, lad?” Scrooge directed at Gladstone.

“If it did, I wouldn’t have put it away,” said Gladstone pointedly. “I’m not Double D.”

“Why, you--!”

“Honestly,” sighed Della, snagging her brother by the back of his jacket as he made to lunge at their cousin. “You two always have to bicker.” She paused for a second before admitting, “Though he does have a point.”

Donald sent her an offended expression while Gladstone grinned and slung a wing over her shoulders. “Once again proving you’re my favourite cousin, Dels.”

“Stop foolin’ around,” ordered Scrooge, shooting a quick, reprimanding glare at his niece and nephews. When they settled, he peered intently down each tunnel, though it was useless, as his flashlight barely illuminated much ground ahead of them. “We’ll have tae split up.”

Donald’s loud cry of “No!” was expected, but Gladstone’s sharp, “That’s not a good idea,” was surprising.

Della crossed her wings over her chest, amused. “Nice to see you two agreeing. That certainly doesn’t happen often.”

Donald sent Gladstone a curious glance. His cousin never cared about splitting off to go exploring, because he didn’t have to worry. His supernatural luck was his protection. Bad things rarely happened to Gladstone.

But there was a sudden, stinging sensation in the goose’s gut, and it was ominous and uncomfortable and rather alarming. Gladstone kept his expression cool, not wanting his sudden emotional surge to show. “I just think it would be better if we stuck together. Who knows how long these tunnels go for? Don could get lost.”

“Very funny,” muttered Donald, though he was grateful to have Gladstone on his side.

“Nonsense,” dismissed Scrooge. He rummaged through his pack and came out with three different coloured markers. He handed the green one to Gladstone and the blue one to Donald, keeping the red one for himself. “Mark your path with this.”

Donald reached out and made a quick slash on the smooth, glittering wall. The blue stood out boldly, and didn’t disappear when he rubbed against it. “What about Della?” he asked, not missing her lack of marker.

“I’ll go with Uncle Scrooge,” she offered. “Someone really should be there to reign him in.”

“I do nae think ye are the right one for that job, lassie,” said Scrooge, regarding the girl with a raised brow but unable to keep the affection from his voice.

“Hey, I know my limits! More so than you, anyway.”

“You won’t leave his side?” said Donald suspiciously.

“Promise,” said Della, placing her wing over her heart.

“Relax, lad. I always keep her safe, do I nae?”

“Okay,” said Donald reluctantly, knowing it was useless to argue when the two agreed.

Gladstone hesitated, the twisted knots in his gut only tightening. “I don’t know.”

“Since when are you a Nervous Nellie?” asked Della with a laugh, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

“Ouch! Fine, whatever!” Gladstone threw his arms up and picked a random tunnel, uncapping his marker and making a line on the wall. “We’ll see how generous I am when I find the crystal first!”

“Here we go,” sighed Donald, starting down the middle tunnel.

“Come on, Uncle Scrooge! I’ve got a good feeling about this one!”

Gladstone made his way down his tunnel, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. His marker scratched sloppily against the wall, making a wavy line as he progressed. He paused at a fork in his path and before he went to turn left on instinct, there was a loud buzzing that sent vibrations through the chamber, causing the ceiling to rattle and chunks of ice to be dislodged.

“What the heck?”

Aware that this was a man-made sound and not a force of nature, Gladstone hastily retraced his steps to investigate. As he rounded the corner he came beak-to-nose with a wolf dressed in thick black gear. His webbed foot hit a snag in the floor and Gladstone went down just as the stranger went to punch. His fist cracked against the wall, a sickening crunching sound echoing through the tunnel and he howled in pain.

Gladstone was up and running in a second. He cursed the lack of radio to warn his relatives and kept running. He encountered two more assailants near the entrance to the chamber, but as the pair started towards him they slipped on the ice and clunked heads, immediately falling unconscious.

Gladstone stumbled outside, the roaring snow immediately engulfing him. He cupped his wings around his goggles and looked around frantically, the ground still buzzing beneath his feet, getting more intense by the second. His eyes locked on massive metal drill a distance away from the stone pillars, drilling ruthlessly into the ice.

“No!”

He spun around, about to sprint back into the tunnel, but only found himself falling into the snow as a solid form crashed into him. Donald hastily stood up, eyes locking on the machinery attempting to pierce through the thick layer of ice.

“I’m going to find Della and Uncle Scrooge!” he said, grabbing Gladstone by the wing and helping him to his feet. “You go stop that thing!”

Donald raced back down the steps and Gladstone froze, the cold, bitter wind assaulting from all sides as he struggled to think of his next move. He could stop the machine, there was no doubt about that. But even from his viewpoint he could see the sizable cracks forming, snaking across the surface, and he felt the shaking of the land as it grew increasingly unstable. The ice trembled beneath him and Gladstone knew that a cave-in was inevitable, whether or not he stopped the hostile forces.

His family was out of his protective bubble. If he was above ground while the stability collapsed, he wouldn’t be able to save them.

The sick feeling in his gut only intensifying at the thought, Gladstone ran as fast as he could back into the ice chamber.

“Don! Dels! Uncle Scrooge! Where are you?”

…

Della and Scrooge reached a long, rectangular cavern, where sharp ice spikes covered the floor. At the very end was an intricate pedestal which bore an ornate wooden chest. With a wide grin, Della exclaimed, “That has to be it!”

“We just have tae get over there,” said Scrooge, eyeing the room with a critical eye. “Lass, do ye have your rope?”

“Always.”

Della lifted the item along with a hook out of her pack. With precise movement, she swung the hook to latch onto an outcropping of frost-covered rock jutting out from the ceiling on the other side. She tied her end of the rope to the nearest spike.

Della went first, slowly inching her way down the line. Scrooge was about to follow after her when a shout of, “There they are!” grabbed his attention.

Whipping around, his eyes narrowed at the bulky bulldog and bear storming out of the tunnel towards them. Della started to flip around, intent on helping her uncle, but Scrooge called, “Keep goin’ lass! Ah can spot Glomgold’s goons a mile away. Get that crystal!”

“On it!”

With urgency Della started to crawl along the rope. Wielding his cane, Scrooge dodged the first punch and tripped the bear, who came at him first. While he was on the ground, he raised his cane and whacked him over the head with a strength unexpected for a duck his age, rendering him unconscious. The second goon grabbed him from behind, but Scrooge wrenched his body downwards, forcing his attacker to flip over him and land head-first on the hard ground, cracking his skull.

“Uncle Scrooge! Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine!” answered Scrooge, taking a quick glance to see how his niece was faring. She was more than halfway towards the chest. With a furrowed brow he poked at the still bulldog lying at his feet. “Though Ah must say, Ah’ve never known Flinty to be so…lackluster in his plans tae thwart me.”

There was a sudden shaking as the cavern began to tremble. Scrooge jumped backwards as large cracks appeared in the ceiling, leaking in sunlight from above. Chunks of ice began to fall, shattering the spikes beneath into mere splinters. Holes began to open up in the floor, revealing an inky black depth, where Scrooge could distantly hear the sound of rushing water.

“Della!”

“I see it, Uncle Scrooge! I’m almost there!”

Focussed on the treasure within her grasp, Della strained for it. She yelped as a rock narrowly missed striking her in the head. Heart in throat, she forced her limbs to stop shaking and reached for the chest once more.

“Della, come back at once!” ordered Scrooge, terror beginning to rise as the ice ceiling above Della started to split apart.

It was then Donald appeared, stumbling to halt next to Scrooge, breathing heavily. He caught sight of his sister and he screamed, “Della! What the heck are you doing? We need to get out of here!”

“We’re this close! I almost have it!”

“Della, please, we have to go!”

“Not yet! McDucks don’t quit!”

Donald went for the rope, intent on grabbing his sister himself, but Scrooge restrained him. “The rope is no longer stable enough tae support two of ye!” he said.

“I don’t care! I have to get her!”

As Donald struggled in his uncle’s grasp, Gladstone hurried into the room, feathers askew and out of breath. “What the heck are you people doing?”

“What are you doing?” returned Donald, horrified. “You were supposed to stop the machine!”

Scrooge’s spine straightened with dread. “What machine?” he demanded, though he already had a good idea of what the answer would be.

No one got a chance to explain, for just as Della grabbed hold of the chest the ceiling split apart, creating a giant crevice down the middle. After their vision adjusted to the abrupt burst of sunlight, they could see Flintheart standing atop the ledge, a wide grin on his beak.

“Aha! I got ye nao, McDuck! On the first try, too! Bless modern technology!”

“Glomgold!” snarled Scrooge. “What do ye think you’re doin’?”

“Claiming that crystal! The energy it provides will bring me a flood of money, and Ah’ll finally be richer than ye!”

One goon lowered through the gap on a rope, straight for Della. Eyes narrowing, Della hissed, “I don’t think so!”

With all the strength she had she whipped the chest across the cavern, so it clattered at Scrooge’s feet. He picked it up and watched desperately as Della hung above the crumbling floor. “Lass, ye need tae move!”

Della started to wiggle her way back down the rope, the goon pursuing her. But they did not get far, for there was a giant cracking noise and Flintheart let out a shout, scrambling backwards as the ice began to cave in completely.

“Everybody move!”

What happened next was a series of consecutive events that blurred together, colours mixing with sounds. The cry of the goon as the ice under his hook displaced, sending him tumbling straight to one of the few fully formed spikes below. The screeching of metal as the drill was swallowed by the hole, creating yet another avalanche of ice and snow. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone screaming as the rope gave way, leaving Della to plunge into the dark abyss with a terrified, haunting shriek. Donald charged forwards, ready to follow his twin into the depths, but Gladstone grabbed hold of his coat, pulling him back, just as a tremendous rush of wind exploded behind them. blowing them upwards and through the ice along with a geyser of snow.

For a while, there was silence. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone lay in the snow, still with shock. Donald was the first to react with a scream of pure grief and agony which echoed in the artic wind. Scrooge clutched the wooden chest, body shaking with silent sobs as the realization of what had just happened struck him. Gladstone swore loudly and viciously, cursing Glomgold with everything he had as tears trailed down his cheeks.

Why¸ why couldn’t he control his luck? Why couldn’t it have saved Della?

Incoherent with rage and despair, Scrooge and Gladstone had to drag Donald to their snowmobiles. The two vehicles managed to remain unscathed by the chaos. The stairwell was now closed in, blocked by snow. With a tremulous voice Scrooge radioed for help.

It took three days to recover Della’s body. Donald, Scrooge and Gladstone remained in the freezing atmosphere, refusing to leave without her. None of them spoke with each other, cold anger and resentment simmering beneath their stony facade. They kept it reigned it for the sake of Della, for she did not deserve to be surrounded by anger as they bid her farewell from life.

It was after the funeral when the fallout happened.

“This is all your fault!” screamed Donald, shaking with fury, glowering at his uncle who sat stiffly behind his desk. “Why didn’t you go after her?”

“What would that have accomplished?” demanded Scrooge. “Ah had Glomgold’s goons pursuin’ us. If Ah did nae stop them they would have cut the rope themselves! Why did ye nae warn me aboot Glomgold’s plan from the start?”

“I didn’t think I needed to!” Whirling with a ferocious glare at Gladstone, he snarled, “Someone was supposed to put a stop to the machine!”

“What good would that have done?” hissed Gladstone. “Maybe I could have disabled the drill. But that ice already took damage! If I didn’t come down there, all of you would been lost!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!”

“I though you couldn’t control your luck,” said Donald scornfully. “How could you possibly know you would have been able to save us?”

“I don’t know how it works, I just have guesses,” said Gladstone tightly. “When you’re in my immediate vicinity, my luck covers you, so long as I will it.”

“Guess your will wasn’t strong enough for Della. So much for her being your favourite cousin. But then again, you never cared about anyone but yourself.”

The punch came before Donald was prepared for it, sending him flying across the carpeted floor. Donald sprang to his feet and launched at Gladstone with a wild cry. Scrooge hastily got up from his chair and intervened, forcing himself between his brawling nephews.

“Stop it!” he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. “This is ridiculous!”

“No,” said Donald shakily. “What’s ridiculous is that I lost my sister. Because she took your lesson to heart. When you’ve gone so far, never turn back, no matter how hard the road ahead is. Look where it got her.”

“Do nae blame me,” said Scrooge angrily. “Ah told her tae come back. She did nae listen.”

“Probably because she knew how you’d react when she returned without the treasure,” said Gladstone bitterly.

“I never would have—”

“You’ve never given us a reason to think otherwise,” interrupted Gladstone. “The time Donald lost the gold lamp in the river escaping from crocodiles? You gave him the silent treatment for three days. The time Della dropped the sacred jewel down the mountain to keep her foothold steady? You were mad at her for a week.”

Scrooge went silent for a minute, slowly lowering his wings. “The problem with ye lot is that ye never listen,” he said at last, voice cold.

“We never listen?” cried Gladstone. “That’s rich coming from you!”

“Like you’re one to talk,” hissed Donald.

Their arguments overlapped, resentment and anger rising above their grief as they pinned blame on one another. They only stopped when a knock came on the thick wooden door and a lawyer along with a Child Services worker entered.

The sight of them sent the trio into silence. Immense guilt swelling in Donald’s chest, he immediately went to where three eggs lay snug in a stroller. He knelt next to them and he whispered, so only they could hear, “I’m sorry.”

He hoped they couldn’t feel the negative energy in the room. They had already lost their mother, they deserved a happy life from here on out. But as the reality descended upon him, Donald screwed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t be able to give them the life they deserved, not with in his income. But it would destroy him if he had to give all three of them up.

Della had not left explicit instructions on what should happen to her sons if something befell her. She didn’t think she needed to, given that she was young and fit. With their parents gone, it left Donald as her closest living relative, and therefore the first choice for guardianship.

“I don’t…of course I want them,” he said helplessly, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “But I just can’t afford to take care of all three of them.”

“Ah can help—” began Scrooge, but Donald cut him off.

“I don’t want your money. You’ve done enough.”

Scrooge bristled at that, but even as anger flashed through him, he couldn’t miss the devastation on Donald’s features. Neither did Gladstone. Crossing his wings over his chest, he looked away and said tightly, “If you can’t raise all of them, you can at least raise one.”

Donald shifted his gaze to look at Gladstone, eyes narrowing. “You mean split them up?”

“If you won’t accept Uncle Scrooge’s money and I know you won’t accept my lucky influence, then you really have two choices. Raise one or let one of us raise all three.”

Gladstone knew Donald wouldn’t accept the second option. The duck had already made his decision not to have anything to do with them. Gladstone didn’t blame him, for he was eager to leave as soon as possible and not come back, for if he had to stay in this environment any longer his emotions were going to strangle him. And he couldn’t forgive Scrooge and Donald for their decisions, for their behaviour. It was much easier to live with himself when he could pin responsibility for the tragedy on them.

Donald seemed aghast by the idea, though nothing about this was ideal. He scrubbed a wing down his beak, staring at the eggs. The notion of splitting the triplets up made him feel horrible. But not being able to raise even one of them made him feel worse. He knew that made him selfish, but he needed this.

“On one condition,” he said at last, voice shaking. “You treat them right. You keep them safe. You give them the life they deserve.”

Scrooge gave a short nod. Huffing out a shaky breath, suddenly realizing what he was committing to but refusing to back away now, Gladstone said, “All right then. We’ll each raise one.”

It wouldn’t make much sense for Donald to take an egg and Scrooge to take the other two. Though nothing about this was fair, they knew they couldn’t keep one triplet separated while the other two grew up together. Gladstone knew nothing about raising kids, but for once, he was more than willing to make the effort.

Anything for Della.

The documents were made up and soon enough they were finalized. Donald and Gladstone went their separate ways, Donald to the coast and Gladstone to Las Vegas, and Scrooge remained in Duckburg.

They never spoke again.

[welovekpopscenarios]

More Valuable than Riches (Fortune Hunter! I.M x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Description:

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: I.M/Changkyun x Reader

Warnings: Small mention of violence

Word Count: 2172

A/N: I’m not really happy with this, it didn’t turn out as adventure-y as I wanted but I wanted to get it out before I think too much about it and leave it sitting there forever, never to see the light of day again. It seems kinda rushed at the end but I hope you still like it. Happy reading, as usual! (was this inspired by uncharted? You bet your booty it was)

Since Changkyun was a young lad, with chubby fingers that pried open the libraries history books and small dark eyes that absorbed each word on the ancient, worn pages of pirates, explorers and others alike, he wanted to be an explorer. A great discoverer, who would uncover lost lands and find old tombs, digging deep into the history of the earth to become one of the greatest men in the world – but of course, life doesn’t always work the way we want it to.

Instead of fame and glory, all Changkyun became was an infamous fortune hunter (a fancier term for thief, as Jooheon had put it), stuck in a lousy Indonesian ruin trying to solve an impossible puzzle (because of course people had to make things difficult when they could be solved in a matter of minutes), and with a smart ass who liked to point out his misfortune every waking moment, as if he wasn’t already aware of the miserable turn his life took.

“So if I turn the dial here, the light on the wall moves over there…” he mumbled, brows furrowed and a sweaty forehead creased in concentration as he focused his attention on the current puzzle in front of him. He was amazed at how he was able to solve the other bizarre puzzles he had encountered on this journey before finding himself in the middle of the Indonesian jungle in a run-down temple trying to figure out the next clue before moving on. This one was proving quite difficult so far, however. But it’s not like you were helping in any way.

“Gosh, it’s so hot out,” you whined, opting to recline on a broken stone slab in the middle of the room rather than aid Changkyun in the impossible task of opening the mysterious door. “Do you have a fan?”

“Well, my mom used to always tell me she was proud of my achievements,” Changkyun began, a minuscule smirk flashing on his face once he heard your dramatic groan followed by a sarcastic laugh. “But, no. I don’t have a fan. Want me to ask the hotel to turn up the AC?” he mocked.

“Do, and file a complaint while you’re at it. The service here is terrible, it’s like the workers are dead,” you chimed, flinging a pebble towards the remains of some poor unfortunate soul who thought himself smart enough to handle the puzzle in here too. Maybe Changkyun will join him. Well, he hopes, anyway, with how little progress he’s making with the puzzle. He sighs out in frustration as he turns another useless dial.

“So…” you droned, sitting up and scuffing the ends of your boots against the gravel littering the ground. “You nearly got it, bud?” Another sigh from Changkyun, this one louder and wearier than the last. “I’ll take that as a no. I wish I brought a book with me, if I knew you were gonna take this long.”

Changkyun turned to face you, a brow raised, and indignation etched into his dirtied and sweat ridden face. “You could, oh I don’t know, help?” he commented, frowning when a wry smile spread across your lips.

“I could,” you began, “but I’m just the hired help who was never really hired, remember? You’re the brains of us two, and you’re the one who wanted to go after this treasure to begin with. Besides, I’m no good at these weird ass puzzles, so just leave the fighting to me.”

Changkyun grumbled incoherently, taking a step back from the dials. His cocoa coloured eyes roved over the mysterious contraption, hands poised on his hips and a furrow to his brow as you watched his face take on a look of pure concentration. It was something you admired about him, admittedly, how intelligent he truly was behind that mask of humour and his dedication to pursuing his childhood dream. A dream that took a slightly different, more illegal turn, but still, he was doing what he wanted, and you envied him for having his life seemingly sorted out while you still drifted in and out of messy brawler jobs that you hated.

Lost in your thoughts you missed what he had said until a pebble was chucked in your direction.

“What?” you snapped, rubbing your knee from where the impact of the pebble hit you.

Changkyun pursed his lips and narrowed those chocolate eyes of his. Yikes, not a look you enjoy aimed at yourself. “You’re not stupid, you know,” he remarked, eyes scrutinising your form, and suddenly this blazing hot temple felt as cold as Antarctica under his gaze. “Far from it. So uh…don’t sell yourself short,” he shuffled awkwardly, gaze flitting between the ancient puzzle and you, at a loss of what to focus on as a silence descended upon the temple. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Help me with this, will you? Or else we’ll never get out of here and you’ll never get to fulfil your dream of taking a bath in a solid gold tub.”

Feeling unusually fuzzy after his backhanded compliment, you rose from your spot and moved to stand beside him, your arm brushing against his muscled one that left you with the same familiar sparks you’ve been feeling every time he was close to you.

“What do you need me to do, Captain?” you joked, a half assed way to cover your blushing form in the mask of humour and waving a hand in your face to fight against the heat of the jungle. Changkyun seemingly took no notice, having averted his eyes and moved his body away from yours to stand at one end of the puzzle. He nodded his head towards the opposite end of where he stood.

“Go to that end of the puzzle, we’ll see if we can finish this damned thing together,” he grunted, flicking through the pages of his notebook. You did as told, fiddling cautiously with the dials, all displaying different symbols and letters ranging from crosses to stars, A-Z, and everything in between. Why were pirates so stingy with their gold? Did they have to make everything as complicated as this?

Changkyun began giving orders as soon as you were ready - “turn that one”, “try that one”, “ok that one’s broken, let’s just put that one aside”, “ok nevermind, that was actually a large snail shell”, but to no avail after a full hour of bickering. Fed up of hearing the word ‘dial’ once more, you changed the topic of conversation.

“What made you want to do this kind of stuff?” you asked. Changkyun paused, glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes before returning them to the notebook in his hands. “I’ve always wanted to be an adventurer when I was younger. I wanted to discover new places and find riches, ever since I was a kid. I can remember reading every book about pirates I could find in the library, I went there so much, the librarian eventually just gave me a book to keep for free,” he said fondly, fingers tapping idly at the worn leather cover of his notebook. You smiled warmly at the image of a toothless Changkyun hounding anyone who would listen the stories of the worlds most famous pirates.

“And how did it work out?” you questioned. He looked up in confusion, a light ‘hm?’ reverberating in his chest. “The fortune finding,” you clarified with a smirk. Changkyun gave a wry laugh, his eyes scanning the dingy cave you both landed yourselves in in search of these so called ‘riches’.

“Well, I’ve found none so far-“ you cackled loudly, “-but! I think we’re onto something good here. I really do. Plus, with the views and adventure we’ve seen so far, I think it makes it all worth it. Don’t you?” he grinned, and oh. Oh no. That smile was more dangerous than any fight you’ve been in, because it made you weaker than a kitten and gave you the strongest butterflies you’ve ever felt. Damn you, Im Changkyun. Why must you be so imperfectly perfect?

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” you replied, moving to sit on the stone slab like before. Changkyun followed, sitting on the opposite end but close enough that you could feel the summer heat radiating off his bronzed skin.

“Why did you decide to be a security-type person?” he asked awkwardly, unsure of how to phrase your ‘occupation’. Should have been blunt and just said ‘thug’. You sighed, rubbing your neck.

“I didn’t really, it just kind of happened, grew up that way. Got into a lot of fights when I was younger, did some defence classes and boxing, got into bar fights more than I ever went to school, and then one day a guy comes up to me and offers me a job to be his protection for a while. I needed the cash, took the job, and doing these types of jobs is all I’ve been doing ever since. Not good for anything much other than that,” you mumbled sombrely, eyes trained on your boots.

“Don’t say that,” Changkyun argued, but you cut him off with a scoff.

“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m only good for putting a fist to someone’s face and ruining lives-“ a sharp pain to your forehead interrupted your self-deprecating speech, and you looked up with a scowl to see Changkyun’s hand raised mid-flick, a pout on his handsome face that made it look years younger. It suits him.

“Stop,” he demands, sticking out his tongue childishly.

“Stop what?”

“All that negative talk, bad mumbo jumbo, not good. You’re amazing.”

As if this jungle couldn’t get any damned hotter your face just flared as hot as the sun at his words. He too realised his bluntness and coughed awkwardly a few times before continuing. “Since we started this expedition you’ve been annoying, cheeky, a pain in my ass-“

“Oh thanks, I really appreciate that,” you droned, but he shushed you quickly.

“But… you’ve been nothing but amazing and helpful since the day I met you. You’re strong, kind, well-abled, cute, independent, funny, intelligent, and overall one of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I am not worthy to stand in such a divine presence,” he whined dramatically, falling to his knees and bowing at your feet. You smiled bashfully, near ready to flick him right back over his kind words and goofy actions, but you remembered something.

“Wait, go back. What was that you said?”

“Uh…you’re one of the best people I know?”

“Back.”

“You’re intelligent?”

“Back again.”

“You’re funny and independent?”

“One more,” you smirked, enjoyed how the tips of his ears turned pink despite his attempt at feigning nonchalance.

“You’re strong?”

“Go forward,” you sighed good-naturedly, crossing your arms as you stared down at him.

“You’re…you’re cute,” he mumbled shyly, refusing to meet your gaze. You laughed quietly and leaned forward to get a better look at his face.

“Bingo.”

“Yeah well, you are. You’re beautiful. Anyone would be a fool not to see it,” he said quickly, still not raising his head to look at you. His words made a comfortable warmth spread over you – not the blistering heat kind like all around you. It made you feel liked, wanted – accepted.

“I…thank you. You’re not so shabby yourself,” you joked mildly, noticing the growing smirk on his lips. “How long have you thought that I was cute?”

“Oh, you know. Since the day I met you, I guess,” he shrugged nervously, standing up to face away from you and towards the puzzle again. Your jaw dropped in shock.

“Changkyun, that’s over a year ago!” you exclaimed.

“You know what they say about pining,” he simply replied, fiddling with his notebook once again. Pining? Oh lord save you, he was going to be the end of you.

“I don’t know, what do they say,” you inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know either. I was hoping you knew,” he sassed, and it was like he was back to normal with his front of humour to deflect situations he did not feel confident in.

“Well,” you began, “we need to finish this puzzle as soon as possible so we can find our riches, get back to our hotel and you can take me on a real date. Somewhere classy. Like KFC.”

Changkyun turned to stare at you in mild shock for a moment, until a grin spread across his lips and a light rosy hue dusted his dirty cheeks. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get going, shall we?”

Safe to say, after spending hours solving the puzzle, the only thing you received for your efforts was another clue pointing to another damned puzzle somewhere in Malaysia that would no doubt require more climbing, searching, and thinking. But, as you sat next to Changkyun, watching as he drove by the coast in his 4x4, you’d like to think something more valuable was discovered in that ruin. Something completely priceless.

[a-writers-block]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

[11] Beauty & Truth

BEAUTY.

Gio read that part. Gio finally read the most wonderful ending in the Book.

As the father and son were taken to the heavens where Shakuntala was, slowly, Bharata changed into his original form. He had been lost for so long that he grew out of his real character. A 7 year old kid who was playing around wild animals.

He felt warm and cold at the same time. All of a sudden, there’s a space between him and the world. Loneliness overshadowed his place in this world. But the warmth was overwhelming when he thought of that kind of smile the child put on when he saw his dad for the first time. Shakuntala isn’t all about the love between a man and a woman but it is as well as the beauty of having a family. For how many years, they had been lost from one another’s arm.

Isn’t it ironic that every time he sees Bharata, it reminds him of his past self. The one kid who tries to put on a game face even in difficult and lonely times. One pulls the trigger, and he's the transparent and vulnerable kid he should be.

Unconsciously, a sad smile stretches Gio’s lips.

He’ll miss that kid.

He should probably talk to his parents when he gets back home. Would they listen?  Gio scrunches up his face, Probably not. They wouldn’t understand it either.

He walks past the drowning sunset. A low grumbling in the sky indicated that there’d be rain tonight. I should probably look for a shelter. Gio thought. He looks up ahead and...

A familiar figure stood in front of Gio. It took a second before Gio recognized the man.

He’s the priest from the market a few days ago. The one that led him to meeting Bharata… Chills ran down his spine as he gave him a once-over. An upper and lower garment with a shade of dirt white, long dark hair, a brief red line with a red dot on its bottom is drawn on his forehead. His hands were behind him and he’s barefooted. But the thing that caught Gio’s attention is his eyes. You can feel Antarctica with the coldness that comes out as he stares at Gio. Did I do something wrong?

“Y-You must be the author of…” Gio tries to speak but it comes out gibberish as he stutters.

A weak smile planted on the man’s face. Gio was baffled. The author seemed to not be pleased by the ending of his story. Disappointment is written all over his face. Gio gulps.

The man took a deep sigh and nodded his head, yes.

“Yes. I am.”

He began walking towards the reader while still setting his gaze on his eyes.Gio panics, his eyes try to avoid the priest but something draws him back. Is he intimidated? Definitely.

“Collectors like yourself… they are not called because they were the Chosen One or the One who saves these people of the land. They are called because of the past mistakes the others made. You inherited those mistakes and committed your own. You were called to fix them.  Now, you seemed to be overwhelmed that you are almost at the end of the page. You think you already finished your job but I must tell you. You’re way too far behind what's truly is that needs saving.” Kalidasa, the author, lectures him.

Gio was baffled by his words. The author smiles as the first drop of the rain falls.

“Why don’t we talk in a more dry place?” He walks past Gio and Gio feels obliged to follow.

—

TRUTH.

Gio found himself entering the temple of the Sun God, Vishnu. Kalidasa, a priest and called himself the author of Shakuntala, explained to him about the whole situation.

Gio’s fingers fidgeted as he looked around the sacred temple. Delved into deep thoughts.

How could this be happening? Why did Sharma didn’t tell me all about this?

Did he lack any questions of what his mission truly is? If there are more Collectors before him, there are more burdens he has to carry all by himself. What mistake did he make for him to suffer?  It was too sudden. It was as if his anxiety attacks and lack of self-esteem pulled him down more of this misery.

“Hold on, sir,” He suddenly faced the author who was seated on the floor, a cup of tea on his hand, “I already collected all of the lost pages. Would that mean that I’m already done with this mission? What mistakes are still there that I haven’t corrected?”

“Perhaps you’ve already collected all the pages of the book but…” The author stares outside, a raging storm hovering the city fading all the lights, “It’s  still sitting there, quietly.”

 “What is?” Gio followed the gaze of the author but couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.

The author gazes back at the curious Gio, “The one thing that could restore the book at once.”

Gio felt frustrated and somewhat… scared. He’d already done what Sharma said, he collected the pages, he read the stories, he even had the time to reflect on every point of the whole stories but… there are still things that puzzles him and he felt like a line that separates his mind in total insanity broke.

“Why can’t you just tell me what I did and let’s get this over with?”

Perhaps, his punishment might be the clueless he is with the one mistake that ruined it all.

“Read me my page.” The priest has his eyes closed as he breathes in deeply and exhales after.

Gio clenched his hand into a fist as he muttered something under his breath. He searches the pages in his bag and when found them, he flips them and looks for Shakuntala’s story. Gio froze. A beat.

“What’s wrong?” The author said as if not surprised by what Gio discovered.

The page has almost faded writings and smudges  on it that must be caught up in the rain. 

“Do you recognize that penmanship?”

It was his.

Cold sweats form on his forehead as he realizes what he did.

—

“Well.. this more on your decision than mine.”

"Will you stop it with the encryptions?”

“I can write an ending for that character and you, the Reader, can make it come alive.”

His eyes brighten up.

“I-I can do that.”

“But… there’s a condition.”“What do we have to do now?”

“What?”

“He has to go.” Kalidasa looked at him intently.

 “What?”

“He has to be erased from this world.”

“B-But why? I mean, you can just write him another story or… or just put him in the background ;like an extra character.”

“You don’t really understand it, do you? This character that you’ve made created an imbalance to the Indian Literature. If I give him his story, that would change the history of India itself, the history I have written. Moreover, changes would also be implied in the present time wherein we don't know what will happen. And I’m not risking that myself.”

A beat.

“Gio… there is no other way.”

A beat.

“Five days. Five days to tell him the truth… and your goodbyes.”

--

Gio is deep in his thoughts  that he didn’t realize that Bharata was sitting beside him.

“W-What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you! Where have you been?” The kid had a full sunshine smile.

I don’t want to erase that.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” No.

“You look pale, are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I found your family.” Keep lying to yourself, Gio. Like everything’s gonna be alright after this.

Bharata looks at him suspiciously but waves it off, “Anyway, I gotta give this back to you.” He hands Gio’s pen.

Gio can’t find his words and just stared at his father’s memento.

Am I doing the right decision, dad?

At that moment, he realized how tough it is to make his own decision. He missed home.

—

⥺ Chapter 10          Chapter List           Chapter 12 ⭄

[gnomegirlgabby-blog]

History of Garden Gnomes Thoughts

So a few days ago I posted this article by Max! It is pretty lovely but I do have some responses to it since it has made me think pretty hard about a few things in it!

Max did an epic job writing this and doing some serious Gnome research! I will say though that I am not sure why he put them in the West... they are all over literally everywhere! if you keep your eyes peeled you will find them all the time!

I do not like that he says they are just male... that is totally not the case! Female gnomes may be uncommon but they are gnomes! GNOMES DON’T HAVE TO BE MALE!

Gnomes still are good luck charms! Most just got associated to Garden magic instead, not only that Leprechauns exist too and the luck became more their vibe than gnomes but gnomes are definitely lucky little creatures!

Garden Gnomes Meaning

During this section I learned what etymology is, the study of a word’s origin and its changed meaning over time.

Paracelsus gets more explained later but he is used here without explanation as an explanation which bothered me. For reader clarity Paracelsus is a Swiss physician, alchemist, and philosopher. He actually has a lot more importance than they gave him since he is basically the person who made up gnomes! I will post his more in depth crazy article later!

Basically though they believe the word Gnome came out of the Greek language either ‘genomos’ or ‘gnosis’ meaning earth dweller and knowledge. I think personally that a combo of the two is most likely because Gnomes live forever in the Earth really so they are very very knowledgeable about Earthly things.

Petite Gnome In Ancient Rome

The first thing about this section that got to me was the picture... why have a picture without a gnome in it to show that gnomes were in Ancient Rome!

But to be fair I couldn’t find a good picture for it either.... I did find a cool one from Turkey that will be shown off later!

I wish we could see one though and some of the god statues that paved the way for gnome statues! not to mention naughty gnomes since the most common God Priapus had a permanent erection!

Early Modern Period-From Gobbi to Lampy

So now after all that we finally get to find out who Paracelsus is and why he is relevant! So during the Renaissance Era the gnome statues had a spiritual connection as well! Paracelsus is who said they have magical powers (which they do!!!) So he said they were one of the four elementals or nature spirits that were invisible to humans but belonged to the Earth. Gnomes in particular would come out at night to help the plants grow!

They also had another name during the time period of ‘Grotesques’ which at that time was pleonastical because it was very obvious they were not very good looking at time. They were made a ugly petite hunchbacks. Then painted bright colors and called Gobbi which is Italian for hunchback.

Not gong to lie to you all Gobbi sounds a lot like Gabby and I do have the worst posture so this felt like cruel fate!! But will say totally fits and makes a lot of sense to me why I love them soooooo much!

If I was from that time period I would have had the wealthiest family for the amount of gnomes I have! 

The popularity of gnomes grew due to all of the folklore and stories with them in it! Epp which makes gnome what they are today!

The First Garden Gnome

The iconic red hat gnome came form a sculptor named Phillip Griebel from Germany!! I love love love that his name is Griebel because it is real close to me true name Gabrielle! I just feel like it was meant to be! I was always supposed to be with the gnomes! Can you believe all these years later his factory still is there and producing gnomes?!

So a while later Sir Charles Isham showed up and brought Griebel’s gnomes over to England! He was believed to start the tradition of Garden Gnomes in the United Kingdom! Gnomes became nicknamed Lampy because Lamport Hall is what made them famous! There is another article of this coming later ;) One still exists and is being preserved at the family residence!

So fun fact one of my sorority sisters is an Isham! She also saved and preserved some of my gnomes from frat boys so I think it was another meant to be moment! Isham helps ‘Gobbi’ Griebel!

The 20th Century- Intermittent Rise And Fall Of Gnome

So I totally get the less money less gnomes thing but I never remotely thought about how gnomes would be impacted by war so that was an eye opening moment.

Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs restoring the glory of the garden gnome got to me... awww no way that happened!!! DRAWFS ARE NOT GNOMES! GNOMES ARE NOT DRAWFS! but I kept reading trying to see Max’s logic.... BECAUSE THEY LOOK SIMILAR!? WHAT!?!?!? Oh I can not get on board with the logic here! I think that many other things helped them out way more but hey not my article!

But seriously why that picture? It is not very snow white... guess it is somewhat gnomie...

I personally am so glad gnomes went to mass production or I would not be able to have a lot! I know that the quality is different but I do not think it is lesser and having gnomes of all sorts is so much more of a blessing than before!! Not less artistic either it is just a different artistic expression! The fall from being only for the wealthy is the best thing that could have ever happened to gnomes!

The Traveling Gnome Prank

Since this happens to me a lot I have a bit of bad vibes! I need to find these pictures of the Antarctica gnome travels that started it all! 

Garden Gnome Liberation Front deserves there own posts for sure and will get it but i have a serious love hate with them.... but gnomes do deserve travel freedom! I will say I need more of the epic pictures of gnomes with landmarks!

I have never got one of gnomes back with a travel diary but they really should be! It would make their absence bearable for me!

Amelie is a great movie with one of the cutest gnomes I have ever seen but I will say I hate that it encourages people to take my gnomes on adventures without me!

Gnomes' Red Cap

The Phrygain Cap is the most known thing about a Garden Gnome! I did not know that a gnomes hat had a specific name before this article so I thought it was an awesome fun fact! Really the hat had a whole different vibe before the gnome got to it! But it does make the liberation of garden gnomes and giving them freedom make a lot more sense because those hats used to be the symbolization of freedom and is still worn by nation symbols of France today!

Making of Garden Gnomes

Once again why pick a picture without a gnome in it? I’m sure there are a few of someone out there sculpting a gnome....

Also terracotta clay gnomes are the cutest but also the worst because they break sooooo easily!!! I actually have one I have to fix :(

I need to find all these tutorials and try them honestly!

Types of Garden Gnomes

I am so so glad he amends the male part of garden gnome here and includes females and the babies! Gnome families are real!

Can we just say gnomes are branching out into doing more things of modern culture like playing with a cell phone or being a scientist!

Uses of Gnomes In The Garden

Now the box he puts gnomes in here is not ok to me... they can go literally anywhere and everywhere! Plus they come in so many different forms! Like necklaces, shirts, sheets, the kitchen!!! ANYWHERE! There is a gnome for that I swear!

Gnomes, from Gardening to Popular Culture

So now he kind of shares some gnomes that are not meant to be lawn care takers... once again GNOMES ARE NOT DRAWFS!

I have to admit  I am glad the operating system is called GNOME but I hate when I search gnome and only that jazz pops up!

Social Deomcratic Party of Austria used gnomes for marketing and a post of this will come later because I didn’t even know that existed until this article!

A post of gnomes in the mentioned novels will come too because I need to see the reference of these in some of them... I have no idea where the gnomes are!

Travelocity thank you for using a gnome and its cool pictures but it encourages people to take mine toooo much! Plus my Travelocity gnome named Gnomad has never been returned! A post of their twitter is needed though!

I need to check out the George Harrison album with gnomes... another post that will appear!

Gnomeo and Juliet and Sherlock Gnomes are so amazing I hope they make a thrid! Please Elton John Please!

A post on all the festivals around the world that have gnomes will have to come! I need to know where all of these are!!!!

Truly this portion of the article has made it so I have to go down the well and learn more about these gnome appearances!

Garden Gnome Aesthetical Debate

Why is there a picture without gnomes in it?!?! Seriously they were jsut let in so they better be int he picture!!!

2013!!!! 2013!!! The gnomes were just accepted in 2013.... that is crazy to me! I am so glad they are allowed now! Next is to get rid of the gnomophobes and garden snobs!!! 

Conclusion

Garden Gnomes are just a big part of life and if you say otherwise you aren’t using your eyes! I don’t think they are a stereotype either!!! or a sweet cliche!!

Yes I do have garden gnomes in the garden but I don’t really have a garden...

Gnomes are Beautiful artistry and the best creatures on the planet really! If you think they are expressions of bad taste we can’t be friends!!

YESSSSSSS GNOMES ARE JUST SOOOOOO CUTE!

I just did a whole response to your article so I will skip writing in the comments :P

Welp that concludes my thought on this article and it taught me a lot and gave me a lot of other gnomes to look into! I hope you feel the need to check some of these gnomes out as well!

https://www.greenandvibrant.com/history-of-garden-gnomes

[scoutshonor56]

The Uninvited Guest

Have you ever had an uninvited guest?  You know, the one who promises to help around the house, get along with the wife and kids, stay in the background, kick in some money for food and bills, just until he finds a job and moves out in a timely fashion…

 …and then does none of the above?  Now, 8 months later, the wife is one more “incident” away from filing for divorce, your kids are hardly ever home, and the funds are getting so lean you’re pulling extra hours at work to compensate (and avoid homelife) and even brown-bagging it for lunch.  I know some countries that probably feel that way - it certainly reminds me of our relationship with the Middle East.

 As I watched American troops withdrawing from Syria last week, being pelted with rocks and potatoes, angry mobs of Kurds shaking their fists and holding up signs, I had nothing but shame for my country; shame and anger.  Yup, shocking even those in his own party and members of his cabinet advisors, our reality-challenged Moron in Chief announced that he was bailing on strategic ally, the Ukraine, in his fairy tale effort to spin his own story and “Bring our troops home!”  

 Oh BOY, that phrase has such a positive ring to it! It smells of mission accomplished, implying some sort of victory! Tears and hugs, excited dogs, welcome home parties, and a return to mom’s Sunday beef stew and apple pie with the family!

 Whooo-WEE did that one push the bullshit meter needle into the red; all we’re doing is moving the tokens around the board, and not very far at that.  They are already being re-deployed two steps over, primarily back to Iraq.  This occupation - let’s call it what it is - has become a marathon game of insanity and blood, where there is no end and everybody loses.  It’s an open scrum played on a dangerous field of rock and sand with no rules, no boundaries, and goal posts that were torn down long ago - just make shit up as you go along.

 I know it’s been a long time, so it’s understandably easy to forget, but the invasion of Afghanistan began on October 7, 2001, and soon expanded into Iraq on March 19, 2003.  Meaning in two short years, we will have reached the twenty-year mark, the longest war by far in America’s relatively short history. There are teenagers today who have known nothing but this occupational war.  It has literally become part of our national fabric, background static in our everyday lives; and like an ever-present mild tinnitus ring in your ear, you soon learn to live with it, tune it out.  Put a WE SUPPORT OUR TROOPS bumper sticker on your car and carry on with your day, feeling secure that you’ve done your part.  

 It’s filler for the media when they run short of something more “interesting” to prattle on about, something more eye-grabbing!  This war is sooo old news – it has no cute, fuzzy animals doing funny things, not even any chesty cleavage for God’s sake!  And where are the celebrities, the Hollywood scandals!?  Oh never mind, switch the channel to “America’s Got Talent”, or “Dancing With the Stars”, or “The Voice”…

 Again I ask myself, why is it that America, in all it’s nationalistic hubris and arrogance, simply can’t imagine the horror and hatred generated by military occupation of one’s own country?  What if it was us that had M2 Bradley fighting vehicles and Humvees patrolling our streets, troops banging down our doors, searching our homes, families rounded up in our streets and being harshly interrogated in a language we don’t even understand.  The ever-present “accidental” shootings and beatings, tempers flaring, hospitals, social events, and schools bombed, all justified with the flippant term “collateral damage” - OOPS!  

 Proud cities laid in ruin, jobs lost, and forced mass migrations pushing you here, there, and then back again as the bloody conflict moves from place to place, country to country.

 And I might add this is something we’ve had a lot of practice at over the last century; this is far from the first time we have flexed our misguided muscle in a world that we continue to see through our myopic American eyes.  “Surely everyone shares and envies our values and culture, right?”  Granted, there may have been a time not long ago when this was true, and the premise still holds some validity today, but no ride lasts forever, and this is a new century with a new game that is already seeing a lot of new players.  It’s time this country and its people came to grips with the reality that as of 2019, we comprise 4.27% of the world’s global population.    

Many might say, “Well yes, but we’re liberators, not aggressors…”

 To which I would say, let’s hold off on the flag waving until such results are achieved – until then, and after almost 20 years, the distinction to me appears rather blurry.  Or more to the point, let that call be made by the hapless bystanders and victims caught in the middle; let’s ask them if all the sorrow and rage is/was worth it.  Then let’s be honest and open with the American people and tally up our cost, and then put it on the scales of justification:

 According to a study at the Watson Institute at Brown University, the combined cost of this war in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq so far is just shy of, and soon approaching, 6 trillion dollars; that’s trillion.  

 According to this same study, there have been an approximate total of 500,000 people killed, and that’s not even including another half million deaths attributed to Syria, a bloody skirmish we joined in 2014.  How much of that can be directly attributed to our involvement?  Certainly debatable I grant you, but you can cut those numbers in half and they still represent a staggering figure.  

 According to Military.com a record total of 321 active duty members of the American military took their own lives just last year - that’s almost an average of one a day.  I’m no psychologist, and I’m sure there are a myriad of complex reasons, but quite frankly I don’t find it that difficult to understand the feeling of hopelessness and absurdity as you contemplate a life that you used to know fading from your day to day reality.  Home?  Home will never be the same for you, especially if you are one of the maimed and scarred…

 Maybe I’m being idealistic or naïve, or reading too much “fake news”, or simply not clear on how we keep score in such endeavors, but I’m not seeing much of anything on the plus column here yet…  

 Meanwhile, let’s imagine a parallel universe where America embraces a much more effective and sane method to “win the hearts and minds” of countries in turmoil, who are tipping on the brink of political and social chaos. What if we took a tiny chunk of those trillions of dollars, let’s say 5 or 10 billion, and built schools to educate, libraries, and hospitals.  Sent over professional and knowledgeable advisors instead of soldiers to help with a country’s medical needs, sustainable farming techniques, and developing new industries to generate a stable economy.  How do you think the rest of the world would judge us then?  How many nations would not only become willing allies, but maybe even emulate this humanitarian effort that recognizes we are all people sharing the same planet.

 Now for the bonus feature that enhances life here at home – we could utilize a couple of those trillions of dollars to rebuilt and modernize our roads and bridges, our water management systems, airports, and mass transit infrastructure.  I can’t tell you how many documentaries I’ve watched where American engineers grade all of these areas as antiquated and sorely in need of repair or replacement.  Did you know nearly 85% of our bridges were built before 1970?  Major airports around the world put ours to shame.  As our climate rapidly changes, flood management has now become a major concern here in America.  We could greatly expand and improve renewable energy, making it more cost efficient and readily available.  

 Improve our schools and pay our teachers a competitive wage.  Why would any country not treat the education of its citizenry as a top priority? Schools are the very soil in which we carefully nurture the human seeds of a globally successful and competitive society, critical today more than ever.  According to an international study done by the Pew Research Center in 2015, our educational system rates middle of the pack, or worse – how do you think that bodes for our future in a rapidly changing and developing world? 

And we would still have plenty left over to maintain a robust Defense Dept. 

 Instead, we continue to feed an insatiable Defense budget.  A gluttonous monster that holds sway over our politicians and lobbyists. Last year alone we spent more than the next seven countries combined, and yes, that includes China and Russia. Our military budget for 2020?  $738 billion, and it goes up every year.  

 While we now have a record breaking deficit of over 1 trillion dollars, military spending eats over half of our discretionary budget annually.  Why do we continue this madness of “might makes right”?  Pursuing peace through aggression and intimidation, carrying the biggest club?  According to The Wall St. Journal, America has more than 400 military bases around the world, located on every continent but Antarctica. As of this year we have an inventory of over 6,000 nuclear warheads – now that’s what a call a redundant backup…

 This is exactly the madness that retired five-star general and former president Dwight Eisenhower warned about in his farewell speech at the White House on Jan. 17, 1961. He called it “the military-industrial complex”, referring to the growing and dangerous union of our defense contractors and the armed forces.

 His successor to the highest office in the land, John F. Kennedy, once said:

"And we must face the fact that the United States is neither omnipotent or omniscient - that we are only six percent of the world's population - that we cannot impose our will upon the other ninety-four percent of mankind - that we cannot right every wrong or reverse each adversity - and that therefore there cannot be an American solution to every world problem."  

 Just maybe it’s time to try a little harder at getting along; to lead by example, instead of might.  America first?  Great, I’m all for it - let’s start in our own backyard, because it’s a mess.

[invergo]

The Perils and Pleasures of Bartending in Antarctica

At the South Pole, the freezer is just a hole in the wall to the ice outside.

A cosy sight: the entrance to the geodesic dome where the Club 90 South bar was originally located. NOAA/ CC BY 2.0

When Philip Broughton boarded a flight to the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station in 2002, he didn’t intend to become an Antarctic bartender. Following a terrible day at work, he had decided to get away, and, after a Google search and a two-year application process, he found himself on an American research station in Antarctica, working as a cryogenics and science technician for a year and a day.

A few weeks after his arrival in the summer of 2002, Broughton walked into the local watering hole, Club 90 South. “The only seat left was the one behind the bar,” Broughton says of his initiation into the pantheon of South Pole bartenders.

Broughton sat behind the bar and put his feet up against the beer case. Inevitably, someone asked for a beer. Glaring, Broughton handed one over. “Don’t get used to that,” he said.

But then someone asked if he knew how to mix anything. Which, thanks to a Playboy cocktail guide, he did. Using his own stash of Angostura bitters, he whipped up a Manhattan.

“And there I stayed for the rest of the year,” Broughton recalls.

A toast on board the Endurance during Shackleton’s Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition, 1914-17. Frank Hurley, Scott Polar Research Institute, University of Cambridge/Getty Images

Explorers have always packed booze. Ferdinand Magellan never sailed without wine and sherry. During the Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration, Sir Ernest Shackleton stocked his ships with whisky to fight off the cold and endure voyages that could last more than three years.

Just as it was with Antarctica’s first visitors, so it is with its current residents. Every year, thousands of scientists, researchers, station staff, and even artists descend on Antarctica’s 45 research bases to live and work at the end of the world. (There are even more research stations if you include stations staffed only for the summer.) But those thousands winnow down to a persistent and hardy several hundred during the six nearly sunless winter months. (Once summer ends, planes and ships can rarely reach Antarctica due to storms and sub-zero temperatures that freeze fuel.) Their only external contact is through phones and the Internet. So the “winter-overs” come prepared … with heaps of alcohol.

Club 90 South was one of the many bars that serviced Antarctic research stations during Broughton’s winter on the continent. Broughton says that almost each of the 45 stations has a bar.

Broughton (center, holding a glass) behind the bar of the Club 90 South. Philip Broughton/Used with permission

After stepping inside from temperatures that reached -100 degrees Fahrenheit, says Broughton, Club 90 South felt like a portal back to the real world. Constructed by the Navy “Seabees” Construction Crew out of building and shipping scraps, the cozy space had the warm, smoky atmosphere of harbor-side barrooms, with chairs, couches, and a classic wooden bar scattered around a low-ceiled room.

Over the bar, empty Crown Royal bags (the drink of choice at Club 90 South) hung from strings of Christmas lights like bulbous, satin ornaments. The freezer was a hole in the wall to the frigid snow and ice outside. Entertainment consisted of poker tournaments, watching TV, listening to music, reading left-behind books, talking with family and friends back home, and experiencing the station tradition of stripping naked (except for shoes) and running from the station sauna to the South Pole marker.

Broughton at the geographic South Pole marker. It’s a station tradition to run to the marker wearing only shoes. Philip Broughton/Used with permission

No one owned Club 90 South, and no one paid. Instead, people shared supplies they brought from home (as part of the allocated 125 pounds of luggage per person) or bought from the station store. Bartenders did not earn salaries—only kudos. Broughton started tending bar Fridays and Saturdays, and soon he spent most nights after dinner mixing cocktails and pouring a “disturbing number” of Prairie Fire shots, which Broughton made with tabasco and tequila. He served absinthes from the astrophysics team, Black Seal rum from a Bermudan at McMurdo Base, and Bundaberg rum from an Australian. Mixing his research job with his side hustle, Broughton made cocktails using liquid nitrogen, bringing the haute cuisine trend of molecular mixology to the bottom of the world.

The best (and worst) part? No official last call.

Club 90 South, with its homey, pool-room decor and casual atmosphere, became a lifeline for many barflys. In a place of near-eternal darkness that lacked restaurants and movie theaters, it doubled as a station “melting pot.” The bar “bridged the gap between the ‘beakers’ and ‘support,’” says Broughton, referring to researchers on National Science Foundation grants and contractors who operated and built the stations.

“A few months in, everyone in the bar knew everyone’s stories,” he adds.

A 2006 picture of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station during the winter. Chris Danals, National Science Foundation/Public Domain

But it wasn’t all cryogenic cocktails and sharing news from home. During the long months on a barren, isolated ice cap, drinking was often the only escape from the cold and monotony.

It’s an understandable reaction. Sink into a smooth glass of a favorite liqueur, and the cold bites a little less. The distance from loved ones feels more manageable. The time until the flight home, just a bit shorter. Some people drank to make the days go by faster. Regulars used pickaxes to clean frozen vomit off the ice outside Club 90 South.

Alcoholism can be a big issue in Antarctica. While there are no official statistics, some stations held Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and the hearsay was troubling enough that in 2015, the Office of the Inspector General audited several American stations. Due to reports of drunkenness on the job and alcohol-fueled fights, the National Science Foundation, which supports and operates U.S. scientific interests on the continent, is considering mandatory breathalyzer tests.

But Broughton says the honor system and communal atmosphere at Club 90 South helped prevent the affliction.

“It got people to drink together, rather than alone in their rooms,” says Broughton. “While you might drink more than normal with good company, that is still healthier than unchecked drinking alone, as good company might also slow you down.”

A ski-equipped Hercules cargo plane at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station, 2004. Public Domain

Broughton says he swapped out soda for booze when people drank too much, and he preferred to serve people so they could pass out in the bar, instead of watching them stumble out the door where, completely inebriated, they could hurt themselves or pass out in the snow.

After Broughton left the research station in 2003, Club 90 South closed during an effort to modernize Amundsen-Scott. But the legacy endures at other station bars, including Gallagher’s Pub, Southern Exposure, and the Tatty Flag. Broughton, meanwhile, is working as a radiation safety specialist at UC Berkeley, and he credits his time in Antarctica with his newfound interest in alcohol history and his appreciation for good, high-quality booze.

“I learned that if I’m going to consume alcohol, I’d better actually enjoy what I’m putting in my mouth,” he says. “Enjoyment is more than mere flavor.”

And would he go back?

“I would happily return for another winter” if my fiancée could come along, Broughton says. “I dream of Antarctica most every night. It is a haunting place.”

[raisingsupergirl]

My Weird Writing Journey, Thus Far

The life of a writer can be pretty glamorous. Authors can go on book tours around the world, hang out on The Today Show, and go to world movie premiers of their novels turned to film … and then there's me. At thirty-years-old, I've been in the game for around ten years, and I have no publishing credits to show for my efforts except a few flash fiction pieces. I've been promised contracts and commercial success more times than I can count, and I've had enough strikeouts and rejection letters to crush any man with at least an average helping of common sense. But here I am, a writer light-years ahead of who I once was and further still from the writer I desire to become. And again I stand on the brink of an opportunity, looking out at all that could come of this new stage in my journey. But to understand what's at stake, you should know where I started.

The first thing I should say is that I never wanted to be a writer. I never wanted it because I never knew about it. I inherited a passion for reading and a gift for art from my mother, and my father bestowed upon me a love for all things weird—science fiction, fantasy, and Stargate SG-1. But my brothers loved sports and trucks and other wholesome, manly things, so I figured I should love those things too. And despite winning first place in a school-wide creative writing contest in the third grade, I spent the rest of my adolescence riding bikes, playing baseball, and getting lost in the woods. In high school, sports were again a center focus, but there was something creeping up from underneath—something a little … weird.

I then went off to college for Physical Therapy, so most of my undergraduate studies were in the sciences, except for a few required philosophy and writing-intensive English classes. But slowly, in the quiet areas spent in my room, hiding from my housemate (a Russian, Jewish, elitist, pothead … not that there's anything wrong with that), that weird thing surfaced. That need to express myself. To explore words and thoughts and adventures without the limitations of reality weighing me down.

The first thing I wrote since my mermaid story in the third grade, aside from droll school projects, was a contemplative description likening my college room/cell to Plato's cave. Exciting, right? I did several of these little allegorical gems, exploring free will, racism, and other riveting subjects. But I never saw them as anything other than convenient creative outlets. And then, in my parents' basement, on Christmas Eve, 2007, it happened. The weird exploded.

I was sitting on my old bed, reading the book of Revelation, as all totally normal college students do, when I stumbled across an interesting passage about the 144,000 people who would be chosen, in some capacity, during the second coming of Jesus Christ. "Huh," I thought. "144,000 people, saved from a dying world. What if they just, like, went to some other planet that God created for them … that would make a pretty cool book."

And BAM. It was like my mutant gene finally activated—that spark of consuming fire that us lucky few experience when we know our purpose in life has finally been revealed. And I'm not being dramatic here. I flopped back on my bed, awestruck at the path unfolding before me, wondering how I had not thought of it before. I was going to write a book! And of course the book would become a best seller and I'd be uber-rich and famous.

So I set out immediately writing this story that God had pre-ordained to change the world. In the spare moments of my degree work, I plotted and outlined. As I planned my wedding and prepared to start a new life in Virginia with my new bride, I built worlds and formed characters from formless lumps of clay. With the Wednesdays off afforded me in my first real job, I would sit for literally 10 hours straight, clacking away at my keyboard. And in 2010, only three years after I started, my masterpiece was created.

And then I spent the next three years realizing I had no idea what I was doing. I went to writing conferences, joined critique groups, read craft books, and they all said the same thing. "You did everything wrong." So I threw book one into a drawer and started again.

Since one book proved too easy for me the first time, on the second attempt I decided to write two at the same time. The first was a young adult urban fantasy titled Night Games. In it, a high school boy fights vampires, werewolves, zombies, and his own fears of eternal damnation. The second novel was a sci-fi/fantasy adventure novel set in Antarctica, a place where magic is real, and the dying world will do anything to harness it. And since four heads are better than one, I set out to write this novel with 3 other authors. Needless to say, we're still working on it … 5 years later. And despite its awesomeness, an unfinished book generally doesn't have much chance at publication.

Thankfully, I finished Night Games in about 2 years, and it even caught the eye of a literary agent. And then I hit the big-time. I was officially represented. I had an agent. My agent. My own. My … well, my agent. Then, she pitched the novel to several publishing houses, with great feedback. But in the end, they all passed because there was, "no market for that kind of fiction in the Christian publishing industry."

Oh, yeah. Did I mention that everything I'd written so far was meant for the CBA (Christian Book Association)? And everyone failed to tell me Christians don't believe in zombies. But, when I finally realized that precious fact, my agent teamed me up with a ridiculously talented non-fiction author (Clay Morgan, check him out!) to re-write the highest-selling fiction work in the history of Christianity, A Pilgrim's Progress, and we added … wait for it … zombies.

It was brilliant. And I'm not just saying that. Probably my favorite creation so far. The ending made me cry. But, it didn't sell either. I mean, it sat at a large publisher who promised publication for about a year, then fizzled. So I threw it on the stack and searched for my next target. 

And then my moment finally came. My agent contacted Clay Morgan and me about a "special request" from a publisher. A quirky suspense novel without an ounce of anything weird. Naturally, I was immediately intimidated since I would have to endure the journey without a single dragon or robot, but with a publisher specifically asking for the story, I couldn't pass it up (especially with my friend Clay by my side). So we drew up an outline and some sample chapters, and they were a hit. I mean, more like a grand slam. The acquisition editor loved everything about it, and a contract was just a matter of time. And then, once again, it all fell apart. I can't get into specifics, but it was bizarre. Divine intervention barely explains it, but the point was, it fell through.

And that's when I hit my low point. I had this story idea that I loved, but I couldn't find the strength to write it. I mean, why put in so much time and effort just to lay it on the stack of unpublished works? I sought council from my agent, and from Clay, and anyone else who would listen. I begged them to read sample chapters, and give feedback, and pour sugar in my ear. But in the end, it didn't matter. The story wouldn't leave me alone. I had to write it. Whether there was a "market" for it or not, I had to get it from my head to paper. 

So I did. I poured myself into it for another 2 years, creating something I could be proud of. And when I finally turned it into my agent, she ripped it apart. You see, I'd written it as a young adult novel, but apparently I was wrong. The main character turned out more like Scarlett O'Hara when I'd intended her to be closer to Jo March (from Pretty Women). And I'd focused too much on the journey and not enough on the story.

So I RE-wrote it. The whole thing. In about 3 months. And I loved it even more. And my agent loved it. And my beta-readers loved it. And then I turned in the official proposal to my agent. And then I had seven heart attacks. You see, this was the first novel I'd finished that was not an overtly Christian book. And my agent was pitching it into the Pacific Ocean of publishing. Huge Houses with intimidating track records. And all I could do was wait.

And that's what I'm doing. Waiting. Again. I feel good about this one, but I felt good about the others, as well. And as I wait, I can't help reflecting on how far I've come. As I've said, I don't look much different on paper (so to speak), but the last 10 years have been a wild ride. I've met a massive network of sensationally gifted and peculiar people. I’ve become the executive editor of a wonderful literary magazine. I've navigated a world I never knew existed. And I've found fulfillment I never knew possible. Writing has been a blessing. It has shaped how I see the universe and the individuals who populate it. And most of all, it has taught me to never give up on something worth starting. It may be stubbornness. It may be delusions of grandeur. But it's definitely worth it.

And believe me, I want to scream that to the struggling people I see every day. Those guys and gals wondering if it's worth it. Whether "it" is a career, a healthy lifestyle, a friendship, a marriage, or life itself. "Don't give up!" I want to say. I know what they're going through, because I've asked every single one of those questions at one time or another, and the answer has always been yes. God gave us choice for a reason (If you don't believe me, I'm happy to send you one of my college allegories to explain it), and it's that choice that makes life worth living in the first place.

So whatever happens with my insane choice to be a writer, I'm satisfied. I've committed to something bigger than me, and I'll leave a legacy long after I'm gone, one way or another. And if this latest novel becomes an international best-seller, well that's just icing on the cake. So stay tuned. Things are about to get awesome.