#the death cure london press tour

[onlydylanobrien]

"Are you the little boy from Love Actually?!" The Maze Runner cast on fans, parties and bad tattoos.

New Interview from the “Maze Runner: The Death Cure” Press Tour in London, UK (January 22nd, 2018)

[shoot-the-smiley]

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[gr-ogu]

NEW/OLD BBC Radio 1 Interview Maze Runner: The Death Cure Press Tour London, UK (January 22nd 2018)

[veenaspakistanlitblog]

Ten Interesting Pakistani Novels

Under the Persimmon Tree by Suzanne Staples (Summary by Amazon)

Najmah, a young Afghan girl whose name means "star," suddenly finds herself alone when her father and older brother are conscripted by the Taliban and her mother and newborn brother are killed in an air raid. An American woman, Elaine, whose Islamic name is Nusrat, is also on her own. She waits out the war in Peshawar, Pakistan, teaching refugee children under the persimmon tree in her garden while her Afghan doctor husband runs a clinic in Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan. Najmah's father had always assured her that the stars would take care of her, just as Nusrat's husband had promised that they would tell Nusrat where he was and that he was safe. As the two look to the skies for answers, their fates entwine. Najmah, seeking refuge and hoping to find her father and brother, begins the perilous journey through the mountains to cross the border into Pakistan. And Nusrat's persimmon-tree school awaits Najmah's arrival. Together, they both seek their way home.

2.) The Diary of a Social Butterfly by Moni Mohsin (Summary by Amazon)

This is the hugely entertaining journal of a socialite in Lahore. Pakistan may be making headlines - but Butterfly is set to conquer the world. 'Everyone knows me. All of Lahore, all of Karachi, all of Isloo - oho, baba, Islamabad - half of Dubai, half of London and all of Khan Market and all the nice, nice bearers in Imperial Hotel also...No ball, no party, no dinner, no coffee morning, no funeral, no GT - Get-Together, baba - is complete without me.' Meet Butterfly, Pakistan's most lovable, silly, socialite. An avid party-goer-inspired misspeller, and unwittingly acute observer of Pakistani high society, Butterfly is a woman like no other. In her world, SMS becomes S & M and people eat 'three tiara cakes' while shunning 'do number ka manual. 'What cheeks!' as she would say. As her country faces tribulations - from 9/11 to the assassination of Benazir Bhutto - Butterfly glides through her world, unfazed, untouched, and stopped short only by the chip in her manicure. Wicked, irreverent, and hugely entertaining, "The Diary of a Social Butterfly" gives you a delicious glimpse into the parallel universe of the have-musts.

3.) Maps for Lost Lovers by Nadeem Aslam (Summary by Amazon)

If Gabriel García Márquez had chosen to write about Pakistani immigrants in England, he might have produced a novel as beautiful and devastating as Maps for Lost Lovers. Jugnu and Chanda have disappeared. Like thousands of people all over England, they were lovers and living together out of wedlock. To Chanda’s family, however, the disgrace was unforgivable.  Perhaps enough so as to warrant murder. As he explores the disappearance and its aftermath through the eyes of Jugnu’s worldly older brother, Shamas, and his devout wife, Kaukab, Nadeem Aslam creates a closely observed and affecting portrait of people whose traditions threaten to bury them alive. The result is a tour de force, intimate, affecting, tragic and suspenseful.

4.) A Season for Martyrs by Bina Shah (Summary by Amazon)

October 2007. Pakistan’s former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto returns home after eight years of exile to seek political office once more. Assigned to cover her controversial arrival is TV journalist Ali Sikandar, the estranged son of a wealthy landowner from the interior region of Sindh. While her presence ignites fierce protests and assassination attempts, Ali finds himself irrevocably drawn to the pro-democracy People’s Resistance Movement, a secret that sweeps him into the many contradictions of a country still struggling to embrace modernity. As Shah weaves together the centuries-old history of Ali’s feudal family and its connection to the Bhuttos, she brilliantly reveals a story at the crossroads of the personal and the political, a chronicle of one man’s desire to overcome extremity to find love, forgiveness, and even identity itself.

5.) Karachi, You’re Killing Me! by Saba Imtiaz (Summary by Amazon)

Ayesha is a twenty-something reporter in one of the world’s most dangerous cities. Her assignments range from showing up at bomb sites and picking her way through scattered body parts to interviewing her boss’s niece, the couture-cupcake designer. In between dicing with death and absurdity, Ayesha despairs over the likelihood of ever meeting a nice guy, someone like her old friend Saad, whose shoulder she cries on after every romantic misadventure. Her choices seem limited to narcissistic, adrenaline-chasing reporters who’ll do anything to get their next story—to the spoilt offspring of the Karachi elite who’ll do anything to cure their boredom. Her most pressing problem, however, is how to straighten her hair during chronic power outages. Karachi, You’re Killing Me! is Bridget Jones’s Diary meets The Diary of a Social Butterfly—a comedy of manners in a city with none.

6.) How It Happened by Shazaf Fatima Haider (Summary by Amazon)

Dadi, the imperious matriarch of the Bandian family in Karachi, swears by the virtues of arranged marriage. All her ancestors including a dentally and optically challenged aunt have been perfectly well-served by such arrangements. But her grandchildren are harder to please. Haroon, the apple of her eye, has to suffer half a dozen candidates until he finds the perfect Shia-Syed girl of his dreams. But it is Zeba, his sister, who has the tougher time, as she is accosted by a bevy of suitors, including a potbellied cousin and a banker who reeks of sesame oil. Told by the witty, hawk-eyed Saleha, the precocious youngest sibling, this is a romantic, amusing and utterly delightful story about how marriages are made and unmade---not in heaven, but in the drawing room and over the phone.

7.) A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Shazaf Fatima Haider (Summary by Amazon)

Intrigue and subterfuge combine with bad luck and good in this darkly comic debut about love, betrayal, tyranny, family, and a conspiracy trying its damnedest to happen. Ali Shigri, Pakistan Air Force pilot and Silent Drill Commander of the Fury Squadron, is on a mission to avenge his father's suspicious death, which the government calls a suicide.Ali's target is none other than General Zia ul-Haq, dictator of Pakistani. Enlisting a rag-tag group of conspirators, including his cologne-bathed roommate, a hash-smoking American lieutenant, and a mango-besotted crow, Ali sets his elaborate plan in motion. There's only one problem: the line of would-be Zia assassins is longer than he could have possibly known.

8.) Home Fire: A Novel by Kamila Shamise (Summary by Amazon)

Isma is free. After years of watching out for her younger siblings in the wake of their mother’s death, she’s accepted an invitation from a mentor in America that allows her to resume a dream long deferred. But she can’t stop worrying about Aneeka, her beautiful, headstrong sister back in London, or their brother, Parvaiz, who’s disappeared in pursuit of his own dream, to prove himself to the dark legacy of the jihadist father he never knew. When he resurfaces half a globe away, Isma’s worst fears are confirmed. Then Eamonn enters the sisters’ lives. Son of a powerful political figure, he has his own birthright to live up to—or defy. Is he to be a chance at love? The means of Parvaiz’s salvation? Suddenly, two families’ fates are inextricably, devastatingly entwined, in this searing novel that asks: What sacrifices will we make in the name of love?

9.) She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by Zeenat Mahal (Summary by Amazon)

Zoella didn’t know whether she was devastatingly happy or happily devastated. Zoella has been in love with Fardeen Malik, her best friend’s gorgeous older brother, since she was ten, but he’s always seen her as a ‘good girl’—not his type—and he can barely remember her name. Besides, he’s engaged to a gorgeous leggy socialite, someone from the same rarefied social strata as the imposing Malik family. In short, Zoella has no chance with him. Until a brutal accident leaves Fardeen scarred and disfigured, that is. Suddenly bereft of a fiancée, Fardeen is bitterly caustic, a shell of the man he used to be, a beast that has broken out of the fairy tale world he once lived in. And a twist of fate lands him his very own beauty—Zoella. This man, however, is a far cry from the Fardeen of her dreams. Stripped of her illusions, Zoella creates her own twist in the fairy tale, beating him at his own game. Order now and read this modern, unusual interpretation of the old-age fairy tale, in which Zeenat explores the themes of love, longing, and arranged marriages.

10.) Undying Affinity by Sara Naveed (Summary by Amazon)

Twenty-two-year-old, Zarish Munawwar, has everything in life she could ever ask for; an elite family, a high profile status, a bunch of good friends and a childhood sweetheart. Being childish, stubborn, imperious, extravagant and a bit impulsive at making important decisions pertaining to her life, is what perfectly describes her overall personality. She takes life easily and can get anything she desires. To her, life is a bed of roses. It is only when she meets, Ahmar Muraad, her mentor and finance professor at university, her perspective towards life completely changes. He looks quite young for his age as every girl at the university thinks he is attractive, seductive, intellectual and rather intimidating. This charming man is every girl's fantasy and Zarish also finds it hard to resist him. But is he fascinated by her? Little did Zarish know how one little interaction could bring about so many twists and turns in her life. After continuous unsuccessful attempts to avoid him, she feels that she is gradually falling for his charm. Ahmar, however, remains oblivious to her feelings. She is ready to abandon her childhood sweetheart for him. Eventually, there comes a time when only he matters to her and nobody else. Awestruck by the sudden revelation, she is dazed to find out that he feels exactly the same for her. Before their love blossoms, a slight tragedy falls into their lives. Zia Munawwar, her father, has some other plans for his daughter. Will Ahmar fight against the world for his lady love or step back? Do not miss this romantic tragedy as it will encapsulate you totally and will stay in your heart forever

[ssromanogers]

Survival of the Fittest

To: Chrissy  @xo-stardust720

From: Terri  @mylifeisloki

Note: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! <33

It was nothing like they said it would be in the movies. The zombies didn’t just appear, people didn’t get sick in droves, there was time for preparation. Natasha could remember the first time she’d seen a report on the news about the strange illness that was presenting with death-like symptoms and grotesque skin lesions; it had seemed so far away from where she was healthy and protected in a skyscraper in New York City. Surely some illness that was probably mutated or poorly treated in some developing country couldn’t touch her at home.

But as the days went on, there were more cases reported in that first country, then another, then another. The Virus was getting worse; those who were sick would decay to the point where they visually resembled a corpse– and then continue ‘living’ in some sense of the word anyway. No one wanted to use it, but ‘zombie’ seemed like the most accurate word. Soon enough, the first case in London was reported on the 11 o’clock news and the UN made a drastic decision to halt all air traffic. With all planes grounded and people beginning to panic, local governments started to lightly suggest that those who were still healthy made provisions for themselves should the disease spread to the United States.

Some listened. Natasha had gone to the store and bought up as much canned food as she could, stockpiling a few first aid kits and a couple of cases of water so she was ready in the event that she had to remain indoors for an indeterminate length of time. But there were others who thought it was a stupid hoax, or that their distance from the initial outbreak would mean they were safe in the long run. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the way things happened.

The very first case in the United States was in Detroit. Once the sickness was identified, the whole city went on lockdown until they could be sure that it wasn’t spreading, but the damage had already been done. One by one, cities and eventually states fell to The Virus and people finally started to pay attention. There were stories of angry mobs pushing their way into hospitals thinking they would be safe there, and stories of people being killed at the first sign of illness whether it was confirmed to be The Virus or not.

The horror that came along with this now very nearby threat were the stories that those who were afflicted were likely to attack if you startled them. People were taking up arms, the news said. Guns were more prevalent than ever and violence as a whole was off the charts.

Natasha saw the writing on the wall and quit her job in favor of staying right where she was, in her apartment, safe.

The world pretty much went to shit after that. She watched the number of casualties get higher and higher as time went on; some people were confirmed dead, others were just missing. Either way, The Virus was spreading so fast that if they were out there, it would get them soon enough.

For six weeks, Natasha managed to stay safe and sound in her apartment. She lived off the canned food she’d bought, which she rationed as much as she could, and spent her downtime either watching the news or reading or just doing exercise so she was ready when the time came to actually go back out there. New York didn’t look like it used to; she could see from her window that the once lively streets were desolate and grey. Even on sunny mornings, there was an overwhelming darkness over everything and at least one or two walkers just wandering about looking for food or a cure or… something. They were dangerous, that much she knew.

It had started with what they thought was an airborne virus, but apparently changed into something like rabies; it was transmitted through a bite, not in the air. It was with that knowledge that Natasha was able to breathe just a little easier.

Two months in, Natasha realized that she had to get out there and move. There were rumors, mostly things she heard whispered in the halls between the handful of survivors around her, that the army was sweeping the city to evacuate anyone who might have survived thus far. But they wouldn’t continue forever. There were limited resources. If the survivors dwindled, they’d stop risking more lives to come in and look for more. Natasha figured her best bet was to make her way into one of the outer boroughs, maybe to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. If there was no way to get out with the army’s help, then at least she could probably find a less populated area to settle in for a while. Manhattan just wasn’t the way to go given just how many people lived there– or had lived there.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but Natasha had never been the type to delay when something simply had to be done. She packed her necessities, dressed in jeans and layers, tied her hair back, armed herself with the pistol she kept in her closet and the knife she kept in her bedside table, and headed out. The city outside her door was almost unrecognizable. She knew the stores, but so many windows had been broken and she saw not one familiar face. All she hoped for right now was a calm trip into Brooklyn.

She opted for the Brooklyn Bridge to avoid spending any time in Queens, where the streets were too unfamiliar and too narrow for her to feel safe. Brooklyn had more options, she figured, and she had at least spent some time there in the recent past. She might be able to negotiate her way around. Besides, there were places in Brooklyn that felt like suburbs– she could definitely find somewhere safe to stay if she played her cards right. The problem was that she didn’t know exactly how long she had to just hunker down and wait. What if this was life from now on?

Not that she had the time to actually think about things like that.

She traveled unhindered and unbothered through Bryant Park. It was still strange for there to be no sounds around her– no children playing even though it was a sunny day, no one playing music, no shouting from the street. The city had never been so quiet and it was unnerving .

It took her a very tense fifteen minutes to walk from her apartment to the intersection where she could stare up at the Empire State Building. It looked different now; monolithic, almost. With no tourists taking pictures and no tour buses stopping by and no business people rushing about, the place was practically deserted.

Practically.

Standing on the other side of the intersection was a walker who looked very intent upon coming after Natasha for its next meal. Natasha put her back against a wall and tried to stay quiet in the hopes that he would change direction and leave her be, but it was already heading her way. The creaking, groaning, choking sound it made as it came closer only heightened her fear, but what else could she do? She couldn’t outrun the thing and still make it a safe distance away without bumping into another one or even attracting a few with heavy footsteps like that.

She’d have to kill it.

Stepping out, she took her knife in hand and braced herself for a moment before carefully moving around the thing and towards its back. It wasn’t moving very fast anyway, so she was able to touch the thing’s shoulder and drive the knife into the back of its skull. It fell and hit the ground with a sick sound that made bile rise in Natasha’s throat. So that was how it felt to kill something, even if that thing wasn’t really a person. Natasha used a strip of fabric she’d tied around her waist to wipe her blade and moved on, seeking shelter in the narrow alleyways on the other side of the main street.

At least that walker had been alone. Natasha couldn’t imagine what it would be like to find a group of them, but that was exactly what she found when she made the mistake of cutting through Madison Square Park. The 23rd Street station was right at the far side and to her horror, there were walkers pouring out of it at a rate that screamed ‘danger’. She had to get out of there before–

They saw her. Natasha pulled her knife immediately and made quick work of the two out in front, but she knew she was at a disadvantage here. They were coming quick and it just wasn’t realistic to think that she could kill them all fast enough that the ones still coming couldn’t overtake her. She stabbed and slashed and did what she could, but she wasn’t a warrior. She wasn’t strong enough for any of this.

With more than twenty walkers coming at her, she made the somewhat ill-fated decision to run. It was more than enough noise to entice them, which meant that by the time she found herself at the lobby to some fancy-schmancy hotel, they were on her heels and ready to grab her. Natasha slipped inside and managed to lock the doors, but the walkers behind her piled up against the glass until she could see clear cracks forming– she had to get out of there. And since there was no way to know whether or not there were other walkers in the hotel itself, she had to explore with caution.

She elected to take the stairs. Getting stuck in an elevator at this point was nothing more than a death sentence. Three flights up, she wandered into the hallway and glanced both ways before venturing to the left in search of safety. She was struck again by the fact that she was entirely alone; it felt like there was not another living soul in this place. Three more flights and she was wandering down an identical hallway when she heard a distinct banging sound coming from the far end. Frowning to herself, she readied her knife and quietly made her way towards it.

It might not have been wise, but if something was in the hotel with her, she had to know.

Eventually, she located a small utility closet that was shaking as something pressed up against the inside. The movements were too insistent and too wooden to be anything else but a walker, so Natasha braced herself and opened the door as she jumped to the side. Out came what presumably used to be a guest of the hotel. It was still wearing the remains of a silk robe with wisps of blonde hair sticking to its skull. Natasha killed it before she could keep thinking about what it used to be and carefully plucked the white key card from the pocket of the thing’s robe just in case she couldn’t pick the lock of a room for herself.

Continuing up, she found nothing else until she arrived on the thirtieth floor and heard what sounded like groaning coming from the door right beside the stairs.

Staff room. Natasha pressed her ear against it and frowned. There had to be at least three or four of them in there, all trying their best to get out. A quick examination of the handle revealed that it was locked; someone must have sealed it when all this started. It was a cruel way to die.

Tired as she was, Natasha forced herself up another five floors and finally deemed herself safe enough to choose a room. She’d boarded up the doors that led to the stairs with wood from desks and end tables she’d deemed strong enough to be of use and found a room with the door left ajar. With the door locked behind her, she was safe and slipped right into the big, fluffy bed to sleep.

The next day, after something like 15 hours of rest, Natasha decided to explore her current floor and find everything she needed. This was a five star hotel; they had to have plenty of toiletries and the like laying around for the guests. Sure enough, she found a supply closet and stocked up on soap, shampoo, toothpaste, razors, and anything else she could carry. Coming back to her room meant that she could strip down and step into a (admittedly lukewarm) shower and just stand there while the water washed away weeks of dirt and grime and sweat and tears.

Freshly bathed and wrapped in a fluffy robe, Natasha finally ventured out to the balcony and looked down. Thirty five floors up, the city almostlooked normal. One could almost mistake the moving pieces on the ground for actual people instead of the monsters they were.

She gave herself three days to re-energize before making her way up the next fifteen floors to the penthouse and, once she’d left her things in her room, the roof. But there were no helicopters to be seen, no sign of any efforts by the army to get people out. She waited the majority of two days on that roof and there was no one other than what looked like a single private plane flying way too far to the left to see her. She waved her arms anyway, but there was no point.

Two weeks in, Natasha knew she was one of the lucky ones. She’d managed to find herself a spot where there was food in the form of the vending machines and some canned goods in the kitchen, and there was plenty of soap and water to bathe. She even had a soft bed to sleep in, as she’d nabbed the presidential suite on the top floor. But it wouldn’t last. Walkers were pushing at the doors on the bottom every day; she’d ventured down more than once to see them with their scarred, broken faces swarming at the glass doors keeping her safe. They wouldn’t hold forever and she had to be ready to leave whenever they finally broke.

It took exactly two weeks and four days for them to break in. The minute the glass broke downstairs, Natasha was out of bed and grabbing her bag to get the hell out of there. Thanks to the security cameras she’d rewired, she had plenty of advance notice. She’d managed to arm herself with a couple of sharp knives and a nightstick, but she was loathe to use the pistol stuffed into the side of her bag. It would attract them, surely. Loud noises tended to get their attention more than anything else.

Having already formed a plan, she sought out the (thoroughly tested) employee elevator and took it all the way down to the basement so she could use the employee entrance to get out. That hotel was taken now; it would take more than just one person to fight through the horde of walkers making their way through it. Unfortunately, finding another shelter was not as simple as Natasha had hoped. She still had food in her bag and as many toiletries as she dared to carry, but it felt like the rest of the city was overrun.

Every store she passed was either empty or crawling with walkers, every restaurant was useless this long after the Virus had begun, and there were no humans anywhere! Where had they all gone? Was this Natasha’s punishment for being so isolated before this all happened?

Walking down Broadway wasn’t anything like it used to be. The lights were all out; the whole city felt dead and dark even as the sun began to rise. She kept walking and stayed close to the buildings, keeping her eye out for anything moving on the street. The walkers weren’t exactly subtle, so she was confident that she’d be able to spot one before it got too close to her and hopefully take it by surprise. She hadn’t pulled her gun yet, but she was close. It took a lot less effort than it did to penetrate their skulls with a knife or bash it in with her nightstick.

By the time she hit Union Square, she’d killed seven walkers and her arm was throbbing from the effort of it all. She wanted to find somewhere to stop for the night, but it seemed like there weren’t any options that didn’t churn her stomach in a bad way. She had to go with her gut here and so, she glanced around to make sure there weren’t any walkers to be seen– at least for now –and bashed in one of the windows of the Barnes and Noble nearby. The sound was deafening in the silence around her and Natasha wondered if it had been a bad decision, but the warmth provided by the inside of the store and the fact that she was able to push a few things in front of the window in order to make sure she was secure for the moment relaxed her a little bit. She immediately wandered upstairs to where it was warm and quiet, but she didn’t find the same comfort there that she once had.

Maybe that was because it was almost too quiet. Maybe it was because she felt like she hadn’t spoken to anyone in… Had it really been almost three months? Standing by the window, she could see the walkers already swarming the area and she knew she wasn’t really safe. That noise had attracted more than she was entirely ready to face and there was nothing she could do about that other than hope they got impatient and left. Of course, Natasha had never been the type to hope without reason– and she had no reason to think they would leave.

She hadn’t even settled in by the time they broke through her makeshift barrier and wandered into the store. This time, Natasha didn’t have a plan. All she could do was grab her things and head towards the front door– but she couldn’t get through. They were everywhere, clawing at her and nearly biting and it was enough to make her pull her gun and start shooting as she ran out the front doors and into the park across the street.

From where she hid in the greenery of Union Square Park, she could see more coming. They went towards the sound, not towards her current location, and they swarmed there. Natasha wished she had a grenade or something– she could take a bunch of them out at one time.

Sans grenade, all she could do was watch them gather in the bookstore and search for the food that was no longer there. The whole thing was disgusting; everything from the smell of dead flesh to the sick, wet sounds they made. Natasha only stayed a few more minutes before heading through Union Square Park. She’d escaped, but it was getting dark.

Most of the lights in the park were dim or completely out, so Natasha grabbed her flashlight and peered through the darkness as much as she could. At this point, the light might attract some, but she’d rather see them coming than not see them at all. As she made her way towards the now defunct holiday market at the end of the park, she came across one or two who dared venture up to her and both were taken out with her knife as usual. In the market itself, she glanced around for any signs of ‘life’, whatever that meant, and chose one of the booths that had been selling plushies to settle down for the night.

Instead of opening the little door at the back and risking its integrity, she hopped over the counter and began considering what she had to work with in order to make herself comfortable.

She was considering the big plush bears hanging over the booth when a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle from underneath the counter. She went down immediately and began struggling as the walker clawed at her leg in an effort to pull her closer. All of a sudden, desperation set in and Natasha began hacking at the walker’s arm to get it off her, taking chunks of skin and muscle and eventually bone off until she was able to get away. The thing was still trying to drag itself after her and Natasha panicked, pulling her knife so she could plunge it into the thing’s eye socket and kill it once and for all.

In the aftermath, while she dragged the remains of her latest kill out of the booth, she thought about how her life had come to this point. She supposed it all had to do with The Virus, but maybe it was more than that. Natasha had isolated herself to the point where she didn’t have a single other person to talk to during this whole thing.

Well. She did have one person, but he’d never answered. In the back of her mind, she just hoped Clint and his family were okay because if they weren’t… she honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. It would be too much of a distraction right now.

Hunkering down in the stall was easy after that. Natasha gathered as many plush toys as she could and piled them up so she had something soft to sleep on, pulled one of the ratty bits of fabric underneath the counter over her for warmth, and tried to rest. There were sounds outside the booth, so she kept her knife at the ready just in case a walker managed to make its way over the counter, but none did. She got a couple of fitful hours of rest before the sun rose and a new day began.

Unfortunately, most of the walkers were still outside the booth. For a while, Natasha stood there, out of arm’s reach, and glared at them. She knew it wasn’t their fault, but that didn’t matter. She had so much anger just building up inside her and she had no outlet — Or did she?

Natasha picked up her nightstick and weighed it in her hand for a moment. There were six walkers milling about on the other side of the counter. She could take them. She could.

And she did. Natasha didn’t know where the inner strength came from, but she bashed in the head of every walker threatening her safety and hit them a few more times just to be sure. At the end of it, she was covered in blood and panting heavily at the ground in front of her- and the pieces of the now macerated corpses she’d struck down. So this was who she was now.

Later that day, she found herself standing outside the School of the Arts at NYU and patiently tried exactly three doors until she got inside. She dispatched three walkers who looked strangely like college students and found her way to the dance studio, which was abandoned save for a muffled groaning on the other side of a closet door. And against her better judgement, Natasha set her things down and plucked a record off the shelf without even knowing if the player would actually work. In the complete silence that had been suffocating her for days, soft music began to play and Natasha’s whole body relaxed.

She closed her eyes and twirled around, completely losing herself to the music and the familiarity of her movements. It was rote, it was something she knew better than herself. And it was something that transcended all the terrible things that had happened to the world recently.

She stayed there quite some time, until the food she had was nearly running out. Just as the sun was setting one evening, she headed down Broadway a little further and made a quick decision to seek out refuge at St. Patrick’s. Surely if there were some survivors, they were probably also inside the church as it was something of a fortress. The doors were definitely sturdy enough to keep the walkers out. But approaching the church itself was more of a hazard that Natasha had anticipated. She was alone one minute and surrounded by other people the next. If she hadn’t been so aware that she had several large guns pointed at her, she might have just been happy to see other human beings.

“State your business.”

Natasha frowned. “What’s it look like? I’m looking for shelter for the night.”

“Are you armed?”

Was this guy kidding? Natasha rolled her eyes and indicated the knife and nightstick hanging from her belt. “Of course I’m armed. Do I look stupid?”

Slowly, the guns were lowered just a little bit and the man who’d spoken before came forward. “You don’t look stupid, honey. I bet we could come to an arrangement about tonight.”

Natasha’s stomach immediately knotted. So this was what disaster did to people; she had hoped they’d rise above, but apparently not. “And who might you be?”

“Lester,” he said with a skeevy smile. “But everyone ‘round here calls me ‘Bullseye’.”

“Well, Lester ,” Natasha said smoothly. “I’d rather sleep next to a walker than sleep next to you. So either let me stay in the church until morning on my own , or I’ll just be on my way.”

He soured immediately. Lester’s big hand clamped down on Natasha’s upper arm and she hissed as he pulled her closer. “I should tie you to a pole and let them have you,” he growled. “You’d be lucky to stay with us. You’d be lucky to stay with me .”

Natasha glanced around at the others– there were a couple of women and a few more men, but none looked particularly offended by what Lester was doing at the moment. He was clearly in some kind of leader position, but why? What did he have on them?

“I said I’d be on my way,” she repeated, tugging at his ironclad hold on her arm.

“I think I’ll keep you here.”

It didn’t take nearly as much effort as she would have liked for Lester to pull her past the barricades and into the church. Inside, the pews had been moved to make way for what looked like a tent city for the homeless– there were cots and blankets and food . Natasha’s mouth watered just from the smell of whatever canned something or other someone was making off in the corner. But she wasn’t offered food; that would mean her hosts actually gave a shit about her. Instead, she was plopped down on a heavy metal cot and handcuffed (they must have had an officer around somewhere) to the frame.

“You can’t actually think this is going to get you anywhere,” she deadpanned.

Lester leaned in real close, to the point where Natasha could practically feel his stubble against her cheek. “It’s going to get me everywhere. See you tonight, honey.”

Natasha rolled her eyes again and laid down on the bed with her hand still cuffed to the frame over her head. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but then neither was sleeping on a pile of old, cold stuffed animals with walkers just a couple of feet away. At least she was warm and safe, and there was a good chance she’d be able to get some food on the way out.

For now, however, she was going to rest.

Natasha woke up to Lester sitting on the bed beside her with his hand on her stomach and a creepy smile on his face. She grimaced and wiggled a little bit to get him off her.

“Aw, come on. And here I was coming to give you something to eat.”

All of a sudden, her attention was brought to the tray he’d set down on the bed. There was an unopened bottle of water, a piece of bread, and a bowl of what looked like vegetable soup. It smelled absolutely heavenly, but if he honestly thought it was going to get her to open her legs for him, he was dead wrong.

Natasha gave him a look. “Thanks,” she said graciously. “Think I can have my hand back so I can eat?”

Lester chuckled and pulled back so he could unlock the handcuff and give her a little freedom. Natasha rubbed her wrist as she sat up and accepted the food all while trying not to look too eager for it– even though she definitely was. She was starving and it had been so long since she’d last had a decent meal; this didn’t exactly make her feel warm inside like going over to Clint’s for Sunday dinner, but it was good enough.

And then the nonsense started.

Suffice it to say that Natasha could at least defend herself, so when Lester did something a little uncouth, she reacted by shoving her knee into his groin as hard as she could, punching him hard in the face, and bolting away from him. She got away with a twisted ankle and a nasty wound from a bullet grazing her upper arm; honestly, it could have been a lot worse given the whole tone in that place.

And despite her injuries, she struggled down Centre Street until she reached the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, where she found a place to collapse for just a moment. She’d managed to avoid most of the walkers on the way, only taking out one or two in her frustration and anger.

The best word she could think of to describe the bridge the next morning amidst foggy weather and grey skies was ‘haunting’. She walked as far to the right as possible while walkers wondered this way and that, but most of them couldn’t get over the gate to present much of a problem to her. She threw three into the icy water below them and walked as fast as she could in the hopes that Brooklyn would bring less crowded streets and a more secure option for shelter– hopefully one that didn’t include some creepy guy trying to sleep with her.

But by the time she arrived at the Brooklyn Navy Yard at last, the sun was going down and it looked deserted. …Actually, it looked a little toodeserted. There weren’t any walkers.

Peering around carefully, she slipped into a narrow opening in the gate and made her way into one of the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the property. She’d spend the night there, then make her way towards the water and attempt to find a boat she might be able to commandeer, not that she had much experience with sailing. She’d figure it out like she figured everything else out.

Locked away in some dark corner of the building she’d chosen, Natasha began to think about what her next steps would be if the boat option didn’t work out. Death was all around her. Apparently the survivors were apt to a state of lawlessness thanks to the current state of the world and it wasn’t exactly a place she wanted to be. She didn’t like not knowing what to expect from the world, even though the world had surprised her more than once in the recent past.

The next day, she decided to stay right where she was because she was safe. She hadn’t heard a single walker nearby and no one had attempted to get into her little shack, so she’d be crazy to complain. Besides, it was getting cold out there. She wouldn’t survive sleeping on the streets at this point; she couldn’t risk that. A quick look out the window told her that it was snowing as well. No, she had to stay. She had to hunker down here and hope that the food and water she had on her would last.

It turned out to be a good call, because the light dusting turned into a real blizzard and the snow began to form large piles all around her. Natasha searched until she found an old blanket to wrap around her shoulders and made the best fire she could given the circumstances, but she was still cold. It had to be below freezing and there was no insulation in the building she’d chosen, which had probably been a garage or something like that.

The snow lasted for twelve hours and even when it stopped, the temperature remained frigid and unforgiving. This might be it for her; trapped inside because outside was dangerous because of the elements, not the walkers. She was going to die of hypothermia or frostbite or…well, something a lot worse.

Late one night, Natasha was awoken by the distinct creak of the large door opening. Her fire was still smoldering beside her, so her position was given away, and she immediately had a knife in her hand. Even if it wasn’t a walker, it was someone . As she’d learned, other survivors could be as much of a danger as the zombies themselves.

“Hello?”

Natasha frowned. If this guy was looking to harm her, he wasn’t very good at the subtle thing.

“Hey, I know someone’s in here. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Knitting her brows together, she crept out from her hiding space with her knife still in hand and hidden just behind her. The man in question was bundled up in a thick jacket and a scarf. He looked big and warm and Natasha shivered just thinking about burying herself in a jacket like that one.

“What do you want?” She asked as she came into view. “Don’t come any closer.”

The guy put his hands up to show that he wasn’t armed. “I’m just– I was just coming to see who was staying here. It’s getting cold out. I figured I might be able to help.”

Natasha wasn’t sure if he could trust him, but the way he spoke told her that he wasn’t lying to get her closer to him. Maybe he did want to help.

“I’m cold,” she said slowly. “Do you have another jacket like that one?”

The man smiled a little bit and unzipped his jacket so he could hold it out for her without question. “I run warm,” he assured her. “And my name’s Steve. What’s yours?”

“Natasha,” she answered as she moved closer and quickly grabbed the garment. She wasn’t nearly sure enough of her own fate right now to refuse a gift like that one.

Steve shook his head in disbelief. “You’re the first survivor I’ve met,” he said. “Sorry, I feel like I’m staring. I’m just so glad to see someone else with a heart beat.”

The coat was so warm. Natasha wrapped it around herself and huddled in, briefly glancing back towards the pathetic fire she had going. She had been so cold for so long that it felt like she’d never be warm enough again. Considering the man in front of her a second time, Natasha pressed her lips together for a moment and tried to ignore that they were chapped and dry.

“I’ve got a better way we can both stay warm.”

Steve blinked. “Oh, we don’t have to– I mean, I’m fine, I’ll just–”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Just come over here and lay with me,” she said. Her voice was still trembling just a little bit thanks to the cold. It would just be easier if he lent her his body heat for a while. “What? You don’t find nearly blue skin and dry lips appealing?”

Steve huffed out a laugh and for the first time in ages and ages, Natasha really smiled. Together, they headed over to where she’d been sleeping and Steve laid down, awkwardly opening his arms to her. Body heat was the way to go, but it hadn’t actually skipped Natasha’s notice that Steve was one handsome stranger.

She got down on the floor and gave him a look before turning around and putting her back to his big, broad, warm chest. Steve went ahead and apologized before putting his arm around her waist for additional warmth. It was heaven as far as Natasha was concerned, even if he was a complete stranger. He seemed genuine and sweet– and to be honest, she was really happy to just have some company. The solo life hadn’t been great so far when she didn’t even have people to talk to at work.

“So, how long have you been on your own?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “About six weeks. I, uh… I lost my best friend and it’s been just me ever since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It wasn’t hard to empathize with him over that. For all she knew, Clint was laying in a ditch somewhere, or wandering aimlessly with a horde of walkers. “But you’re staying here?”

“Yeah, over in the main building. I figured it was the safest place to be.”

“Until this whole thing blows over?”

“Until…” He sighed. “I don’t know, really. I keep thinking about what will happen if it doesn’t blow over. I mean, I’ve heard there are other survivors, but—”

“You’ve heard?” Natasha frowned. “How?”

“I’ve got a radio set up. Can’t seem to make contact on my end, but I can hear other people. So there are others. They’re even talking about how some people might be immune.”

So there were other survivors out there, somewhere. Natasha found herself feeling hopeful for just a second. Maybe Steve came with more than just good news- maybe he was a sign of good things to come.

When the sun came out, they made a break for the main building so they had access to the food and water and other supplies that Steve had there. He said he had training in this sort of thing, just surviving on very little and finding his own food. Natasha didn’t question him, especially when he presented her with an actual box of snack cakes. She hadn’t had anything sweet in a long time, so she devoured two on the spot and groaned just because chocolate .

Weeks passed.

Steve and Natasha found an easy rhythm with one another. The cold didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, so they did what they could to insulate themselves and block out the frigid air. Steve would go out every morning and see if there was anything to scavenge in the vicinity of the Navy Yard while Natasha prepared a sad breakfast, and then most afternoons were spent either playing chess or reading (and re-reading) the few books lying around.

One of Natasha’s favorite pastimes, however, was watching Steve work out. The guy had boundless energy, or so it seemed, and he’d drop to the floor and do push ups until he was actually sweating despite how cold it was all the time. Natasha liked to imagine cuddling up with him right after that, while his skin was still hot to the touch and his eyes were bluer than ever.

Obviously it was a stupid thing to even consider what she was thinking about for so many reasons– the risk of pregnancy had never been more of an actual risk, for one. But it had been nearly two months since they’d met and they were sharing more casual touches every day. They still spooned at night and Natasha found herself burying her face in Steve’s neck more often than not by the time they woke up. She’d listen to his heartbeat for a few seconds before moving just because she liked the reminder that he was alive .

“Listen, we need to talk about what our next steps should be.”

Steve spoke up while they were eating ‘lunch’ in the form of canned vegetables and crackers he’d taken from a store a few blocks away. Natasha knew they couldn’t stay there forever, but who was she kidding? This was the best set-up she’d had and she was hesitant about moving on. Besides, what if Steve didn’t want to stick with her?

“I figured we could move into South Brooklyn,” he continued. “It’s way less populated there and we wouldn’t have to deal with the fences and quite so many barriers, you know? We could be a little less on edge. I think it’s our best bet.” He took another bite of his food. “Besides, the snow is melting little by little. We should head out before another storm hits.”

“South Brooklyn,” she repeated. “And you’re sure about this?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. It feels right.”

Natasha wasn’t entirely certain whether or not she was supposed to trust him, but she did. She trusted him entirely and felt that he would make a good decision for the both of them, which was something she didn’t even bother attempting to rectify in her own head.

And so, she agreed and they set out for the other end of Brooklyn just two days later, once they’d packed up the necessities. Traveling with Steve was definitely different than traveling alone. For one thing, he was armed. He had a couple of pistols as well as a bat and an axe that he proudly handed over to Natasha so she could protect herself as well. They watched each other’s backs as they walked to Prospect Park and headed through in the hopes that the larger spaces would mean less walkers to deal with.

But as they headed into Flatbush a couple of days later, things changed. Brooklyn was densely populated just like Manhattan; it was understood that they would eventually run into a neighborhood that was more difficult to get through. It just wasn’t understood that they wouldn’t be entirely ready for it. They weren’t. Oh, they definitely weren’t ready for it.

All of a sudden, they were taking out walkers left and right, slashing and beating and even shooting a few because they couldn’t avoid it. They made their way down the main avenue as quickly as possible, moving from Flatbush to a less populated area further south. Steve said there was a mall near the highway that they could probably find shelter in before they headed even further into the practically suburban area nearby, so they headed that way and used the parking lot entrances to get into the mall itself.

There were walkers everywhere .

Natasha could see them gathered behind the gates of some of the stores where people tried to keep themselves safe. She could see them milling about the mall itself, clearly unable to find their way out. As they neared the staircase and glanced down, she could see masses of them gathered on the first floor and a chill went down her spine.

“We have to leave.”

Steve nodded and they turned to run, but there were already walkers gathering in front of the entrance they’d used thanks to a nearby department store that had been housing them just moments earlier. They didn’t have much of a choice other than to fight their way through and hopefully come out unharmed on the other side. Natasha began swinging the bat at the walkers near her while Steve went at them with one of the thick knives he kept hanging on his belt. It was a losing battle, they were being swarmed and clawed at and pushed and pulled and–

All of a sudden, Steve was down . Natasha felt panic rise in her chest and she immediately went towards him, knocking off a few walkers before she pulled a knife and stabbed the walker on top of him right in the head. There was blood everywhere, but she pulled him up and they bolted for the door, shoving walkers aside as they went.

There was silence between them all the way out of the parking garage, but their battle didn’t stop there. Outside the mall itself, there were lines and lines of cars stopped on a smaller sidestreet and inside them, walkers clawing desperately at the windows. So. These were the people trying to leave before it got worse. They’d been stuck there since it started.

Natasha approached the car and moved to bash in the window, but Steve’s hand caught the tip of the bat.

“Don’t.”

Natasha frowned. “Why not?”

“They were people once too. Doesn’t seem right to kill them unless you have to.”

Lowering her bat, Natasha stared at Steve in disbelief. They weren’t people anymore. They were just— monsters. If they left them alive, they’d kill anyone they could if they got out. They had a right to kill them and keep the world as safe as possible, didn’t they?

But Steve reached out to touch her arm and Natasha just stayed quiet. What a gentle soul. She wondered what he would do or how he would react if he knew that she’d killed any she happened to come across whether they were an immediate danger or not.

“Come on, we’re pretty close,” he said warmly.

Natasha smiled, but all of a sudden a walker came up behind Steve and grabbed him, pulling him back and opening its rotten jaw to take a bite. Steve cried out and struggled, but he was only able to dislodge the walker at first. The same walker rebounded and grabbed Steve from the front, holding onto his shirt and snapping his teeth–

Until Natasha came up behind it and decapitated the damn thing with a single swing of her axe.

As the body fell, Steve stared at it and Natasha stared at Steve.

“Let’s find a place,” she said decidedly.

They walked in a somewhat comfortable silence for a few blocks until they landed in an area that felt as ‘small-town’ as Brooklyn possibly could. With tree-lined blocks and no life to speak of, it felt like… home. But Natasha had a mission here, so she chose a street off to the side and crouched down to pick the lock on the door. Steve didn’t comment.

Once they got inside, she locked the door and they did a quick sweep. Like most homes in the area, it was abandoned and entirely empty. The kitchen was stocked, though, so they would have plenty for a while. Back in the living room, Steve dropped his bag and let out a long sigh.

“This is good,” he said. “Looks like we’ll be safe here for awhi-”

Natasha cut him off with both arms tight around his neck and her lips against his. Enough of this. Enough. She had to stand on her toes to reach him, but it was worth it to have his warmth around her, especially as he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. She refused to actually let him speak at this point. Natasha deepened their kiss to the point where it felt like she was trying to soak up a little bit of his soul and Steve (thankfully) moved back until he could land with a huff on the sofa behind them.

Straddling his lap with ease, Natasha began removing articles of clothing with their lips still together. Her jacket went, then the sweater she had on underneath. Leaning backwards, she let Steve kiss her neck while she pulled her boots off and tossed them aside, then kissed along his neck in turn while she unbuttoned her next shirt. Steve only took control after that, flipping them over and removing his own layers while he sucked on her bottom lip.

It was eager, she wasn’t going to lie. The whole thing felt so fast and desperate that Natasha seriously thought she wasn’t going to have enough time to admire his body. She’d seen enough to know that she wanted to spend time touching him, maybe even biting his abs or resting her hands on his stomach while she rode him. Sue her, right? She was only human.

But this wasn’t about lust and it wasn’t about desire and it wasn’t about anything other than the fact that they were alive, Steve was alive and they were together. That was all that mattered right now. By the time he got his clothes off, Natasha had wriggled out of all her layers and pulled off the bra she’d been wearing for way too long now. She wasn’t going to lie about that either; they were both washed, but there was still some unpleasantness that came with wearing the same clothes, washed or not, for days on end.

It didn’t seem that either of them cared. When her bare chest was finally pressed against his, Natasha let out an audible groan and found his lips again, biting down on his lower lip to drag him closer while her hands worked on his jeans. The idea that they might have to stop for lack of a condom wasn’t even something she could fathom right now, meaning that she shoved his jeans down and got hers off enough that they hung uselessly from one leg. Her intention was too clear to be mistaken and Steve followed her cues without question.

Natasha arched her back as he pressed into her at last, rocking his hips hard in tight movements that were neither measured nor hindered by anything as pedestrian as polite manners or the like. It was messy and kind of rough, but so, so good. Natasha wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world at the moment, not after so many weeks of wanting him– which followed weeks and weeks of extremely minimal human contact.

“Come on,” she urged him. “Come on, harder.”

Steve grunted as he tried to obey her, eventually slamming in and rolling his hips while he was buried deep inside her. Natasha cried out immediately and as her nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, she tried her best to rock her hips against him in turn. It was pure bliss, just the best thing she’d felt in a long time, probably even longer than she’d been traveling the city on her own.

His hand came down to hold her hip and Natasha hiked that leg around his waist as he continued to move, his thrusts going from long and deep and pointed to the kind of frenzied movements that told her he was going to come. She didn’t care. She couldn’t even begin to care that he was going to come inside her because she wanted to feel him. She wanted to feel every drop, every little twitch of his cock, every inch of him as he crested that peak and came down from it.

Steve came with a strangled sound he hid in the curve of her neck. Natasha petted his hair as his hips twitched and he empted himself inside her, his arms moving to encircle her waist entirely. He was still panting as he dragged his lips over her breasts and back up to her lips, where he bestowed upon her a series of soft, sweet kisses she didn’t ever want to stop.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Wow.”

Natasha’s eyes were closed and she smiled widely even as Steve let his head fall to her shoulders again. She hadn’t actually finished, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that either. It felt so unbelievably satisfying just to have a warm body on top of her.

Steve pulled out, but remained close and let Natasha trace over the muscles on his chest for a while. The house was quiet other than their shared breathing and she quite liked it if only because it felt semi-normal. But if she was being honest, she knew that she liked Steve more than she should have. They’d spent too much time together for her to deny it.

“So, where did that come from?” He asked eventually.

Natasha shrugged and laid her hand flat on his chest, just over his heart. “It was a long time coming,” she admitted. “At least on my end.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, mine too,” he said quickly.

Comfortable silence fell between them.

“You didn’t–”

“That’s okay.”

Steve gave her a dubious look. “It’s never really okay,” he said firmly. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and smiled. “You wanna do something about it?”

“You gonna judge me if I do?”

“Really depends on what you’ve got in mind.”

The look on his face was something she’d never seen before; he looked dangerous and boyish at the same time, like he was about to cause some mischief. It was more amusing than anything else, to be honest. It wasn’t like she was scared of what he might do– and when he slid off the couch in favor of kneeling between her legs, she didn’t dare question him.

It was all too easy to arch her back and tangle her fingers in his overgrown hair– Natasha missed this. She missed the wave of good feelings, but even more than that she missed the company of another person. She might push people away on an emotional level, but the physical stuff was totally different. Sex was something she thoroughly enjoyed and it was only made better by the fact that Steve was pretty much her rock right now.

The fact that he was really putting himself into this only urged her on and Natasha pointed her toes as she hooked her legs over his shoulders and tried to draw him in even more than that. Steve was fucking— he was fucking good at this. She supposed she shouldn’t have been shocked, but he was so goddamn pure half the time. Why was someone as seemingly innocent as Steve so good at this?

“Ohh my God,” she groaned eventually. “Steve, what are you doing to me?”

Steve pulled his mouth off her for a moment and glanced up. “Good things,” he told her confidently. “Real good things, just relax.”

Natasha let her head fall back as he resumed his ministrations and tried to give herself over to what he was doing. Breathing hard, she was hit with a sudden shiver as she came with a muffled moan and tightened her thighs around his head. Steve didn’t pull away, though. No, he lapped at her until she was trembling and finally pushing him away with both feet on his shoulders.

Not even sure what to do with herself, she laid back on the couch and laughed deliriously as Steve crawled over her again.

“Don’t judge me, but I think– just laying with you like this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

“I can’t judge you without judging myself,” she laughed softly. “Just stay like this for a while.”

“Hey.” Steve left a kiss on the side of her neck while Natasha traced up and down his back with the tips of her fingers. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.“

After that, things changed subtly between them. They still talked about anything and everything while they lived their day to day lives in the new world, but Natasha got to share a bed with someone who really cared about her. She got to lose herself in Steve’s lips and Steve’s hands and Steve’s big, warm arms just for a little normalcy every day. She got to know for sure that even if the world had gone to shit, he was there with her. They hadn’t said the big ‘L’ word yet, but that was okay.  Maybe it felt too risky in a world wherein their lives could be snuffed out in an sudden moment or one of them could contract The Virus and turn. It was understood; they didn’t have to say anything to one another.

All that really mattered was that Natasha would always have Steve’s back…

-hunting for food,

      –scavenging for medical supplies,

             —taking out whatever walkers were putting them in danger,

                    —-trying their best to make a nice dinner out of whatever food scraps they found even though neither of them could cook

…and he would have hers.

[rajpersaud]

How To Think Like Shakespeare - Scott Newstok discusses his new book

Scott Newstok teaches literature of the English Renaissance as well as film, rhetoric, education, lyric poetry, and the humanities. In 2012 Professor Newstok received the Campus Life Award for Outstanding Faculty Member and in 2016 he received the Clarence Day Award for Outstanding Teaching. Before joining the Rhodes faculty in 2007, Professor Newstok earned his doctorate from Harvard University, taught at Oberlin College, Amherst College, and Gustavus Adolphus College, and held the Post-Doctoral Fellowship in the Humanities at Yale University Library′s Special Collections.

Dr. Newstok has published five books: a scholarly edition of Kenneth Burke′s Shakespeare criticism; a collection of essays on Macbeth and race (co-edited with Ayanna Thompson); a monograph on early modern English epitaphs; an edition of Michael Cavanagh's Paradise Lost: A Primer (CUAP 2020); and How to Think Like Shakespeare (Princeton, 2020). Newstok′s work has been recognized by grants and fellowships from the American Philosophical Society, the Folger Shakespeare Library, the Institute for Research in the Humanities, the Marco Institute, the Mellon Foundation, the National Endowment for the Humanities, the National Humanities Center, and the Newberry Library.

Newstok is the Founding Director of the Pearce Shakespeare Endowment and is a board member of Opera Memphis, Beth Sholom Synagogue, and the Libertas School of Memphis. He previously served as Co-Director (with Dr. Judith Haas) of Postgraduate Scholarships, Humanities faculty member of the Rhodes Board of Trustees, President of Rhodes′ Phi Beta Kappa chapter, and trustee of Humanities Tennessee, the state chapter of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Prof. Newstok's Website

SELECTED PUBLICATIONS

Book projects

Orson Welles, Shakespeare, and Race, supported by a fellowship from the Folger Shakespeare Library

Duluth in Mind, on the place of the Zenith City within the American cultural imagination

Twinomials: "Residual Bilingualism and Philological Citizenship in English Renaissance Literature," supported by a fellowship from the American Philosophical Society

Books

How to Think Like Shakespeare: Lessons from a Renaissance Education (Princeton University Press, 2020).

"Insightful and joyful, this book is a masterpiece. It invokes and provokes rather than explains. It reminds rather than lectures. It is different than any book I have ever read. And it works. Drawing on the past in the best sense of the term, it reminds us that we are part of a long tradition. Few books make the case for liberal education as creatively as this one does."—Johann N. Neem, author of What's the Point of College? Seeking Purpose in an Age of Reform

"Ranging widely from the classics right up to the present with apt quotations, all in service of ideas we lose at our peril, How to Think like Shakespeare winningly blends respect for tradition with thoughtful steps toward a more equitable society. It is the work of a Renaissance man in both senses."—Robert N. Watson, author of Cultural Evolution and Its Discontents: Cognitive Overload, Parasitic Cultures, and the Humanistic Cure

    https://lithub.com/5-shakespeare-scholars-on-the-past-present-and-future-of-theater-amid-covid-19/

        5 Shakespeare Scholars on the Past, Present, and Future of Theater Amid COVID-19

In Honor of the Bard's 456th Birthday

  By Literary Hub

April 23, 2020

  It’s strange to think that on the day we began contemplating a roundtable to mark William Shakespeare’s 456th birthday, New York Governor Andrew Cuomo created a containment zone in the city of New Rochelle, formerly the epicenter of the state’s coronavirus outbreak. We were on the eve of the pandemic declaration and approaching the day Broadway would go dark for the first time since 9/11. It became apparent that just as the death toll would rise, so too would there be consequences for the social and cultural fabrics that bind us to one another.

Briefly, the prospect of a conversation centered on the Bard seemed, at best, like a convenient escape. But the following discussion, between five scholars who have devoted their careers situating Shakespeare alongside issues of performance, education, identity, partisanship and more, feels uniquely primed to our moment. It is an essential guide to the possible futures of our collective engagement with theater.

    Scott Newstok (author of How to Think Like Shakespeare) moderated this discussion with Emma Smith (This is Shakespeare), James Shapiro (Shakespeare in a Divided America), Jeffrey Wilson (Shakespeare and Trump), and Vanessa Corredera, who is currently at work on a book about adaptations of Othello. I hope you gain as much from their vibrant dialogue as I did.

–Aaron Robertson, Assistant Editor

*

Scott Newstok: I suppose we have to start with our inescapable moment: social distancing policies have led to cancellations of public gatherings, and we’re now all teaching remotely. Artistic companies have gone dark; some worry whether they can survive the coming months.

Are there any precedents for this fraught moment in theater history—whether in the UK, the United States, or elsewhere?

James Shapiro: If plague closures in Elizabethan and Jacobean England hold any lessons for us, it’s that theater is precarious, actors and companies are vulnerable. Many wonderful companies will go under, as talented ones did in Shakespeare’s day. Airlines are sure to get a bailout; I doubt that theaters will, though they will need it just as badly.

  Jeffrey Wilson: English theaters closed due to plague outbreaks between 1592 and 1594. So Shakespeare, as he was launching a career in drama, took some time to write poetry. That poetry was very dramatic, and his later drama very poetic. A lot of teachers with campuses closed due to the coronavirus are undergoing a different shift. They’re wondering how their physical classrooms will transfer into online settings. I’ll be very curious to see, six months from now, how our experiences with online teaching transfer back into our physical classrooms. 

    Emma Smith: It’s hard to imagine an equivalent. I’ve seen people comparing the situation in the UK to the situation during the Second World War, only for our seniors to say that they spent much of the war in theaters and dance halls. I’ve been interested to revisit the old chestnut about early modern companies releasing scripts for publication when the theaters were closed, in light of the National Theatre London and the Royal Shakespeare Company releasing their live screenings during the lockdown. 

Vanessa Corredera: I share concern over the vulnerability of the arts during this time, especially since the powers that be (at least for the moment) do not seem interested in what would be a modern version of patronage—by that I mean extending monetary and structural support to the arts. I also think our current situation continues to spotlight issues of access and theater. For instance, many people (my family included) cannot access Shakespeare on the stage on a regular basis because of prohibitions ranging from locale to time to finances. 

All of sudden, out of necessity, artistic institutions are turning to streaming, for which I and others are very grateful. This decision opens up a new audience for these performances. What remains to be seen is not only which institutions will be able to weather the storm, but also, how the effects of

  their changes in mode inform their decisions regarding audience and accessibility moving forward. 

  JS: I’d only add that King James I provided Shakespeare’s company with “a gift” in “the time of infection” when theaters were closed in early 1604, and then again in 1608, 1609, and 1610. We’ll see if the governments of Donald Trump and Boris Johnson will be as generous to the arts.

JW: Vanessa makes such a good point—this difficult episode has shown that artistic institutions have the desire, ingenuity, and infrastructure to use technology to make art freely accessible to people who aren’t able to make it to a show in New York or London. And wouldn’t it be wonderful to see initiatives like those continue after the current emergency subsides? But that costs money. I suppose the question is: Would it be possible to develop a born-digital version of the Public Theater’s Mobile Unit? A Digital Unit? 

JS: I work at the Public Theater and am closely involved with the Mobile Unit, which has had to put its upcoming and dazzling production of

  Cymbeline on hold. I can tell you that there are no plans for a born-digital version of the production, which tours prisons and other facilities in and around New York. But one thought I’ve had of late—as odd as it might sound—is to enlist actors who have already had the virus and have developed immunity so they can rehearse and create a taped version of a production and be poised to perform publicly once a vaccine makes it possible for the rest of us to attend shows safely.

  JW: Perhaps one historical analogy could be the world wars of the 20th century. A Google Ngram suggests that Shakespeare’s popularity declined—along with interest in other arts, I have to imagine—during the wartime years. But then the post-war periods saw big rebounds in interest in Shakespeare. Perhaps some post-war theaters might provide models for how today’s theaters can respond to the inevitable thirst for art, reflection, and human connection that will come after social distancing subsides. 

  ES: That’s so fascinating that interest in Shakespeare declined during those periods. I think that streamed theater productions will be wonderful for those who already include Shakespeare in their cultural life. For new audiences, it might not be as easy to make a space for those amid all the other digital offerings.

    Most likely begun in the plague-free summer or autumn of 1605, King Lear was almost surely not written during an outbreak of plague.

SN: You all have probably seen social media posts along the lines of “When Shakespeare was in quarantine, he wrote King Lear” (some citing Jim’s The Year of Lear). There’s cold comfort in recalling that some artists have flourished during prior outbreaks. What other kinds of solace can we derive reading Shakespeare now? 

JS: It’s maddening that my book was misread in that way. Most likely begun in the plague-free summer or autumn of 1605, King Lear was almost surely not written during an outbreak of plague (though Lear horrifically calls Goneril a “plague-sore”). What I actually wrote was that the return of plague in late 1606 led to theater closures, and a remarkable season at the Globe—that included

  King Lear, Macbeth, Volpone, and The Revenger’s Tragedy—ended prematurely, once weekly plague deaths rose to above 30 or so. 

  That said, all of Shakespeare’s Jacobean plays, from Measure for Measure through Coriolanus, were written during or not long after yet another outbreak of plague, which struck London repeatedly (if not always as punishingly) from 1603-10.

ES: It’s interesting that “solace” hasn’t really been what we have looked for in Shakespeare—or in literary texts more generally—for some time. I remember A.D. Nuttall saying something in the preface to Why Does Tragedy Give Pleasure to the effect that we used to praise work by saying it was comforting, but now the greatest praise is to say it is discomforting, or something similar. 

    And now that we need solace, perhaps we will need to return to some less disquieting interpretations of the plays. The great solace I think we could get is the solace of concentrating over something knotty and rewarding. Most people I know feel their ability to focus has been really challenged by the current circumstances. 

VC: While I love Shakespeare, I don’t think his works are particularly unique in their ability to provide solace, at least not any more so than other literature that may speak to our affective needs right now. If we are even seeking solace—which Emma interestingly challenges—the beauty of Shakespeare’s language might provide it, but so might the familiarity of the barnyard animals as I read Charlotte’s Web each night to my son, or the complexity people experience upon finally reading that long novel they’ve been putting off. 

    SN: All of you have worked with digital mediations of Shakespeare, whether Emma’s podcasts, Jim’s recorded lectures, Vanessa’s scholarship on Serial, or Jeff’s extensive online resources. What’s one bit of advice you would offer about teaching remotely? 

ES: It doesn’t need to be perfect. And it doesn’t need to be synchronous—that adds stress with technology. Recording things people can play in their own time has worked for me. 

VC: I agree with Emma. Also, since we lose community by being asynchronous, lean into online experiences that help form virtual communities. Encourage students to engage with these digital meditations of Shakespeare—like Patrick Stewart reading Shakespeare’s sonnets—and then participate in an online forum, thoughtful debates in comments, or a Twitter discussion (like #ShakeRace). 

JW: Vanessa’s point about the possible loss of community is so important. It’s been a big challenge for me. I’ve tried to think very deliberately about how to maintain those connections that students make in the little conversations before class, and the fun we have when we jump into an impromptu performance of a scene. They’re called “plays” for a reason: this is supposed to be fun. I’ve found it vital to spend valuable class time developing those moments and using things like group chats to keep the energy of the course strong. 

    SN: Parents are improvising schooling at home. Any suggestions for helping children engage with Shakespeare beyond their conventional classrooms? 

ES: I admire anyone who is improvising schooling as well as everything else right now, and I’d say, do what’s fun. That might be watching movie versions, or acting out scenes with Lego figures, or learning speeches to show off. I think we need to take whatever advantages there are here, but not to be overambitious! 

VC: As someone trying to homeschool and work right now, helping children engage with Shakespeare is not really on my radar! That said, my kindergartener is now around my work much more, which gives me an opportunity to explain who Shakespeare is and what he wrote or to pause a movie or clip and explain more about Shakespeare when he asks about what I’m doing. 

    JS: One of the initiatives we’re undertaking at the Public Theater is the Brave New Shakespeare Challenge. Every week a new passage will be posted, and we’re encouraging everyone—starting with schoolkids—to share a link with their performance of that speech, poem, or scene. It’ll be fun, and a necessary break from the boredom of quarantine.

VC: James, this sounds like a great initiative! 

SN: Shifting gears, Shakespeare is, exceptionally, the only author named in the Common Core. As secondary school curricula increasingly focus on contemporary prose, Shakespeareans find themselves in a discomfiting position: we teach a figure who is sometimes the solitary pre-20th century poet on the syllabus. Which of Shakespeare’s peers do you wish were assigned more often? (I, for one, love assigning Christopher Marlowe’s deceptively simple “

  Come Live with Me” ballad.) 

  It’s impossible to know what the world will be like in a year or so, once we’re all vaccinated for coronavirus. But it seems likely that theaters will suffer, schools and universities too.

ES: I also love “Come Live With Me”. Texts I enjoy—and my students too—include revenge tragedies by Thomas Kyd (The Spanish Tragedy) or Thomas Middleton (Revenger’s Tragedy). John Webster sometimes makes it onto our high school curriculum in the UK—some A Level students here study Duchess of Malfi. 

JS: Emma’s list dovetails with my own. I’d only add John Donne.

VC: Some of my non-Shakespearean favorites to teach are The Spanish Tragedy, almost anything by Marlowe (last term, it was Dr. Faustus), The Duchess of Malfi, and Elizabeth Cary’s The Tragedy of Mariam. I wish they were taught more so that we could see the different ways authors in the Elizabethan and Jacobean eras approach the same topics (revenge, race, gender, etc.), as well as identify the ideological and social concerns to which they return. 

    SN: Vanessa, you’re writing a book that examines adaptations of Shakespeare’s Othello. How did Shakespeare’s “Moor” come to be “American,” yet also “Global”? 

VC: In an essay on teaching Othello, Francesca Royster notes that it has become the play for thinking about race and Shakespeare in America. I think that’s because Othello taps into long-standing American stereotypes about black masculinity that a wide range of scholars on race in America identify. The work of Joyce MacDonald, Ayanna Thompson, and Robert Hornback, for example, shows how burlesque and blackface versions of Othello were key to reifying these stereotypes of black masculinity during Reconstruction. Othello is angry (the Brute), he endangers and then murders white femininity, and by the end of the play, he threatens the white social order (the Nat). I’m interested in thinking about what has to happen to Othello to make it an anti-racist play.

In Citing Shakespeare, Peter Erickson also calls Othello Shakespeare’s global emissary, pointing to the way the play and character speak beyond America. Issues of race, otherness, religion, and anti-blackness aren’t distinctly American problems.

  Ambereen Dadabhoy’s and Dennis Britton’s respective work, for instance, aptly highlights the importance of religion, specifically Islam and issues of conversion, when intepreting Othello. I don’t want to suggest that Othello’s narrative is universal so much as it’s easily adaptable. As Kim F. Hall remarks regarding Othello, “one of the gifts Shakespeare gave us is the ability to use his texts to talk about the modern world,” including issues of race, sexuality, and status that appear in the play. 

  JW: Vanessa, if you were to swap a scholarly hat for a creative one, how might you do Othello to achieve that anti-racist aspect that you describe? 

VC: I get asked this question so often, and I think I always provide such haphazard and inadequate answers. My responses reveal my vexed relationship to this play. The most hope for an anti-racist version of Othello, I believe, remains with creators willing to let go of Othello almost entirely. One example is Keith Hamilton Cobb’s American Moor. In the play, the unnamed African American actor auditioning for the role of Othello weaves together the threads of Shakespeare and authority, race in America, and the problems with American regional theater (among other topics) into a provocative, hopeful dialogue with the director he’s auditioning for, and the audience itself. 

    SN: Jeff, I know that in addition to your recent book Shakespeare and Trump you’ve been thinking about Shakespeare and stigma. Where do you find overlaps across your projects?  

JW: Literary works create contact zones for conversations spanning the centuries from the early modern period to today. Shakespeare—as both written text deeply shaped by the classical tradition, and living performance often acted and adapted today—is the most obvious example. Under a banner of better living through historicism, I study the past to better understand today’s ethical and political questions. Sometimes that means historicizing the modern manifestations of early-modern literature, as in Shakespeare and Trump. Other times it means using modern ideas to unpack early-modern texts and traditions, as in the “Stigma in Shakespeare”

  project. 

  VC: Jeff, could you speak to what you see as at odds between historicism and presentism in Shakespeare studies? 

JW: Perhaps it goes back to Ben Jonson’s statement that Shakespeare was “not of an age, but for all time.” Shakespeare’s works—as both very old printed texts and plays often performed today—call for both historicism (“of an age”) and presentism (“for all time”). A historicism that doesn’t account for the present is as limited as a presentism that doesn’t account for the past. And this dynamic, which grows organically out of the multi-temporality of Shakespeare, provides a model for other fields of humanistic scholarship.

SN: Jim, you close Shakespeare in a Divided America with a guarded statement about Shakespeare’s future, which, you write, “seems as precarious as it has ever been in this nation’s history.” Have the crisis developments allayed or amplified your fears? 

In times of crisis, we tend to neglect Shakespeare’s poems in favor of his plays, which (rightly or wrongly) appear more readily amenable to contemporary concerns.

    JS: It’s impossible to know what the world will be like in a year or so, once we’re all vaccinated for coronavirus. But it seems likely that theaters will suffer, schools and universities too. Colleges will close, faculties will likely be downsized. When that happens, the study and performance of Shakespeare will suffer too. It would be nice to imagine people emerging from self-isolation eager for culture, but without government support, it’s likely that few companies will be back on their feet anytime soon.

  VC: I agree that it would be great if people emerge eager for culture, and I think they might! But if economic resources aren’t evenly distributed, and there’s no reason to think they will be, then the divide in America may only deepen, and the arts will be affected by that. 

JW: Jim, more broadly, could you predict the future for us: “what’s past is prologue,” etc. How might some of Shakespeare’s plays interact with the issues likely to exacerbate partisanship in America in the coming years—climate crisis, automation, tax code, public education, etc.? Any Shakespearean resonances you see?

    JS: I recently taught the opening scene of Coriolanus to my Columbia students and I couldn’t help imagining, while doing so, a grim future in America in which—given the scarcity of resources—protests and violence were once again a defining feature of our culture. Anyone who imagines higher education and the arts in America won’t be diminished for years to come will have to persuade me otherwise.  

SN: Emma, Shakespeare’s works seem prone to being “weaponized” in the US cultural sphere. Does such weaponization function differently in the United Kingdom?

ES: I learned so much from Jim’s book, and as I was reading it I wondered whether things would be similar in the British context. It’s been interesting to see in recent years the role of performed Shakespeare in ideological debates about so-called “color-blind” casting, or in arguments over casting women in male roles. Because it touches on ideas of cultural propriety, the question of who gets to perform Shakespeare may be our version of the weaponization that Jim interrogates so brilliantly.

    SN: In times of crisis, we tend to neglect Shakespeare’s poems in favor of his plays, which (rightly or wrongly) appear more readily amenable to contemporary concerns. Let’s conclude on a lyrical note: what’s your favorite Shakespearean sonnet, and why? What do you cherish about its formal details?

ES: Confession time: I find Shakespeare’s sonnets alienating. Difficult, yes, but that’s not the problem. To me they are just a touch onanistic—solipsistic, rebarbatively masculine. The space I find for myself or for alternative voices in Shakespeare’s plays I struggle to find there. I’ve been rereading Venus and Adonis, and thinking about it as the signature work for Shakespeare during his own lifetime. 

JW: I do a PSA in my classes every Valentine’s Day: be careful giving your beloved one of Shakespeare’s sonnets

   because they’re a lesson in toxic love. Nowhere is this better captured than in the lines that open Sonnet 138: “When my love swears that she is made of truth, / I do believe her, though I know she lies.” 

  That also captures the follow-the-leader partisanship we see right now in America, and later in the sonnet Shakespeare gives a good gloss of the audience that enables post-truth politics: “Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: / On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.” The closing couplet is a searing takedown of willful self-delusion—whether it’s in love or in politics: “Therefore I lie with her and she with me, / And in our faults by lies we flattered be.”

VC: At the risk of seeming much more sentimental than Emma or Jeff, I have a soft spot for Sonnets 29 (“When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes”) and 73 (“That time of year thou mayest in me behold”). 

I remember reading these sonnets in one of my first college English classes and being struck by the beautiful language of love and community in Sonnet 29, and the stunning imagery in Sonnet 73. As a novice major, I was excited that I could understand that symbolism! I’ve come a long way in my training and thinking, but those sonnets stay with me for very affective reasons. 

    JS: The Public Theater initiative I mentioned earlier just posted Sonnet 29 as its first selection, with Phylicia Rashad reciting it in English, Raúl Esparza in Spanish, and Steve Earle doing a beautiful musical version. If anyone is interested, add your own version!  

Check out this episode!

[materialgirlsfanfic]

Chapter 10: Affordable Prices To Pay...(Pt. 1)

KIERSTEN

“Boy you’ll be the death of me, you’re my James Dean you make me feel like I’m seventeen…” - BEYONCE X RATHER DIE YOUNG

TWO MONTHS LATER…

“Sweetie, like always when you get into one of your moods you dip off, and close everyone off  like we can’t resolve things like adults. Call me back.”

…..

“Bitch! I want to actually see you, IN person for brunch this weekend, mmmkay!? You got London on the verge of tears talking about you keep blowing her off, and even my dad has been asking for you! The project is not that deep, ain’t nobody about to be playing hide and seek with yo’ ass either. Call me hoe!

…..

“Hey Kiersten, its Jessie. Just checking in to see if we’re still good for Friday, at 7pm. We still have to discuss the little things like donors, designs, and the guest appearances for the show. But no worries! We’re almost done with everything. See you soon!”

….  

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s dad, I know you may be busy with school, and your work but I wanted to discuss some things with you. I don’t like going this long without out talking to you sweet pea. Let’s do dinner Sunday. Love you, call me soon.”

…….

“Honey, I’m doing an interview with Vogue for Models On Duty, and I’ll be teaming up with June Ambrose and Ashley Graham, I’d love you to be involved. June asked for you. Being as though you aren’t answering me at least. Call her. Back.

……

“Baby girl, I’ll be swingin’ your way shortly. Give me like an hour. I had to meet with this nigga to discuss somethin’ for the club, you know how that goes. But I’m ‘bout to stop at your favorite spot. Let me know what you want.”

……

“It’s your mother again, you know the one that brought you into this world. That was in labor for 16 hours over you Kiersten Stephanie Whitaker! You’re really behaving despicably! Two months! People are asking questions and growing concerned honey, Please!

…….

She was never fond of pet names. Terms of endearment made for coddling, or pacifying sometimes expressed in a  condescending manner that made her blood boil. Well pet names from her. She placed her phone down after shooting a few texts out, and deleting the majority of voice messages.

Amongst the seven, three voicemails belonged to the woman that birthed her that bordered hysteria, even at the calmest level of her tone. She could picture Fiona Whitaker swallowed in the high priced mansion where the walls were caving in with her stricken with loneliness. Where she was accompanied solely by a wine bottle, Marlboro cigarettes and a broken heart. Coping methods to perpetuate the sickness that will certainly take more than medical assistance to cure. She was sweetie in a drunken slur on most nights, honey when anger was on the surface of aggravation, and love when on the brink of being dismissed for what her mother deemed as a trivial manner.

Kiersten grimaced, setting down the chiffon material meant for sewing, that she couldn’t even attempt to make happen. She wished the internal battles didn’t always make her the common casualty from her mother’s assaults.  So much so, the name coddling was salt poured onto more opened wounds. I’m not a child. Slightly started, she felt the calloused hands caress her shoulders that trailed to her wrist, and finally her hands, spreading them out beneath his large ones.

But when he called her baby? Mmm. Spoken in that gruff bravado was enough to make her knees buckle. The warm  fuzzy feeling of contentment growing fonder these past months as she inhaled his distinctive scent of wood and spice.

“What you in here stressin’ about? I can feel that shit all the way from the other room.” Was her transparency that evident? Kiersten smiled smally as his lips reached her temple causing her to get further cocooned.

“I’m not stressing.” What a lie, Kiersten. Do better.

“Oh, yeah?” She could feel Messiah’s eyes boring through her as she attempted at pulling away. The makeshift desk on her vanity made up of her sewing machine, and kit only providing but so much room for her to find an escape out of her gratefully enormous walk in closet. Or as Messiah would put it: ‘Your couture bedroom’. His pronunciation of couture (CAH - tour) always causing to giggle like an idiot.

“Yeahhh.”

“Nah, stay your little ass in place.”

“Come on‘ Si, I’m working. No interruptions when we’re in our zones remember?”

“Na. I ain’t tryna hear all that baby girl. You been in here too quiet, for too long…” She felt the scruffiness of his beard nestle close to her face as they both looked into the vanity mirror, cheeks pressed together. “Damn you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that soooo much. Now, move. I wasn’t quiet but moreso focused.” She pointed down to the mop of materials to sew in front of her. “As you can see.”

“Come on mami. Come take a break.”

“Nooo, Messiah I have a deadline. You’ve been distracting me enough!” She was becoming accustomed to this… routine of there’s for lack of better words. Conforming to the ways of a hermit, Kiersten for the past month shielded away the outside world as she remained ducked and hidden in her condo. With only the exception of classes, work, and random trips to Mood fabric store, she limited herself of any social interaction. Her excuses being senior projects, creative assistant duties, and lastly the silent emergence of depression coasting that she couldn’t get a hold of. So like usual she figured solitude the best remedy. But not to London, and Brooklyne who have boarded stalking by the definition. And she couldn’t blame them. The only form of communication she was accepting was rushed over phone convos, scarce FaceTime calls, and texting at best. But a particular gentleman, a Brooklyn specimen, who wasn’t accepting the limits Kiersten was dishing out, wanted all in.

So from random pop ups, to persistent contact of the physical kind, he was the only one she was really allowing access.

But having a man of Messiah’s caliber coexist in her presence, and actually wanting to be there, was still mind boggling. Wanting to provide an ear, offer consolement to even something so trivial as a missing earring. Where, as if it was second nature or a necessity for the completion of his day, having to know the condition of her well being, and being in close proximity to receive it. Not to mention he always wanted to touch her. Always.

She inhaled a soft breath feeling herself being lifted and pulled to his steel chest, where a pinch to her ass cheek was then given, causing her to squeal.

“Eeeeee! Messiah, stop! Wha- for one I’m entirely too heavy for this, what are you-?”

“Shut that shit up, it look like I’m having a hard time holding you?”

“I didn’t say that, Messiah. I just…okay. I can spare an hour then I have to get right back to work. You’re so impossible, like seriously.” Wedged between the rock solid arms of him, was Kiersten escorted to the confines of her kitchen and sat down on the cool surface of the countertop, causing her to tug at her shorts. Exasperation was displayed as she watched him pull out various items from her cabinets and freezer. So much for that hour break.

“You know what you need, Keeks?” It wasn’t a guess that the question was posed rhetorically, but she now found herself contemplating heavily. What do I need? Her feet swung back and forth waiting, while allowing her eyes to latch onto the define muscles of his back as he maneuvered around the kitchen preparing a meal she had yet to identify.

“Besides these cute fuchsia Manolo pumps I seen, today?”

“…To get out this house…a peace of mind.” They were face to face now. Him coming towards her with a bowl filled with mixed vegetables, and a neutral expression that bordered him examining. Kiersten figeted reaching for the bowl to occupy her hands that she nervously toiled together looking back at him. But he dodged it out of her reach, and locked her in between his hands that framed her, setting the bowl by them. “How long you gon’ be hidin’, usin’ work as a scapegoat?”

“That’s not what I’m doing. So don’t…don’t try and psychoanalyze me, ‘kay?”

“That’s what you think I’m doin’? ‘Psychoanalyzin’ you like you some nutcase, or I’m a shrink?”

“Messi-”

“Nah, fuck that. So I’m not ‘spose to ask these questions? Like I’m not hip to what you doin’. You’re buying time, and shit to avoid what? Tell me why I’m here, if it’s not to be concerned but your damn well being Ki?”  

“Listen, okay? I just need you to be…” Here. For as long as I need you to be. With me not having to feel like the other shoe is bound to fall any day now.She felt the emergence of tears, and gritted her teeth, now pushing him back lowering her head.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ coward. We not doin’ that shit. I told you that. Talk to me. Finish what you was about to say, and look at me. You need me to what? Be here? Hold you? Feed you? What? Pacify you? Keep you locked in and throw away the key? What, Kiersten?”

“Just be present!” From that tiny place engulfed in her stomach where the grueling feeling of turmoil resided, was the shout’s source. Messiah remained unmoved and focused, waiting for her to continue. “…like now. Messiah, just continue to make me feel like I’m not going crazy, and by myself. Please.”

He nodded. She exhaled. He cooked. She watched, and the night continued as was.

BROOKLYNE

97…98…99-

“Sorry to disturb you baby girl, but you got a minute?”

Benjamin Pierre’s presence, just like his coffee, was served strong. Like the emergence of the rigid taste of the straight black caffeinated beverage on one’s tongue, as expected it was, it still took you aback. The distinction being that stern. Her father’s deep brown melanin seemingly glowed under any light that further highlighted his strikingly handsome features; the eyes that matched her own stared at her for moments of intensity, with urgency in the midst of. She placed a halt in her morning exercise of 100 plies, and barre work giving him her full attention.

“For my favorite old man, of course. What’s up, pops?”

“Fiona contacted me…” Aw, shit. “What’s this I hear about Kiersten’s blatant refusal to go home?”

“That’s what she told you?”

“Yes, so much more. But that’s just the half.” In Brooklyne’s bedroom at an early 9:43am was a stare off. Meddling in normalcy, but she was sure wasn’t to last much longer as that thick bushy brow of his rose. Following the cross of his arms, and the tilt of his head. But Brooklyne wasn’t London. She didn’t crack under pressure easily or allowed any of Benjamin Pierre’s typical courtroom intimidating tactics to shake her the least bit. After all, I am my father’s child.

“Hm, not sure daddy…that’s strange. Last I spoke to her things were fine. And she was definitely home. FaceTimed her and everything seeing she was right in her bedroom.” Yeah, to pack the last box I was to swing by and pick up to finish decorating.

“Is that right? So when was this?”

“A…couple days ago? Yeah, Tuesday.”

“Hm. Interesting. Look, Brooklyne…two things I need you to understand if you haven’t by now…” Through a sip of her chilled bottle of Fiji water, Brooklyne concealed a gulp of concern. It’s one thing for her father to intimidate for answers, it’s another when he already knew them, she supposed, and was behind the fire of checking. “I find out everything. No matter the time of delay it maybe. No matter the circumstance, I…do. It’s what I get paid for, as you know.”

“Dad-”

“So, if and when you hear from Kiersten again and she turns out to actually be “fine” like you say she is? Tell her to call her mother. Thanks, babygirl.”

Brooklyne flopped on the bed huffing heavily.

“This too much.”

———

You’re missing me, I’m missing you

Whenever we meet, we ain’t gonna get no sleep

When I get to be together with you

It’s fait accompli, we ain’t gonna get no sleep

Slick. The droplets that trailed down his steel abdominals, flexed and illuminated his cream complexion. Under the soft light in the studio his shadow trailed closely behind as it remained in sync with Janet Jackson’s “No Sleeep”. Brooklyn seeped in light breaths, as she remained tucked away and hidden by the barre. Taking peeks was growing tiresome like her thighs, she surpassed a little warm up to get started. At this point she was truly stalling. Why am I even doing this?

“So, we startin’ from the second verse…you ready?” Lord knows I’m not.

“Mind explaining to me what’s this for again? I’m not a hip-hop dancer, we know this.”

The heat of his body radiated onto her own as he stepped forward and stood behind her. There in the ceiling to floor mirror was the detection from Brooklyne’s view, trouble. Not a simple attempt of a duet or a pas de deux rather insisted by his mother, her instructor from hell.

“As you know The Joffrey Ballet intensive my mother is instructing has a hiplet component. A mix of hip-hop an-”

“…and Ballet, Tahj. I know, hip-hop on pointe shoes. Yes, she explained this. But why me? Did you insist this little arrangement?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Brooke. She did, actually.” She turned to him and searched his face. “I don’t know…for some strange reason she has this idea that you’re good enough. Let’s get this shit over with.”

She sneered at his sarcasm, tying her hair back. An hour in as she began feeling perspiration coat her skin, she was finally able to blur out the ridicule she felt. Taking this exactly for what it was which was simply a dance demonstration for a bunch of high school students that should last no more than four minutes.

“Shit!” A stub of her toe caused her attitude to look less than stellar, as she tripped into an awkward fourth position. From her peripheral she could see his bemusement.

“Don’t overextend your back like that. The fuck you tryin’ to do? Break it?”

“Since when did you become an expert of ballet? Focus on poplockin’ nigga.”

“You forgettin’ who my mother is? You been in her class long enough, to just be makin’ common fuck ups. What…” He walked closer to her side of the studio. “You nervous?”

“I twisted my ankle, right before the senior showcase…the senior showcase that had Juilliard talent scouts, and the director of Ailey in the audience. Guess who was accepted to both? Tahj…don’t insult me. Can we start from the top, please?” She went to her cue in stance of releve with her arms in Egyptian pose.

“…You were perfect.” She would’ve missed it, had it not been so quiet you could hear a mouse piss on cotton, as he muttered it so quickly.

“What?”

“You heard me nigga…that’s what got you accepted, right? Now, from the top.”

[mimmerr]

Ambition, the music industry and death: an interview with Giant Party.

The alternative music scene is not the way the was. Years ago, finding new and interesting acts to follow was reasonably easy because there was investment in upcoming artists and a culture of support.  Can we say that anymore? Alternative music festivals, venues and labels are having an equally hard time, trying to cater to everyone in a world where everyone is catered to. It’s who you know (or who is a fan) rather than what you’re producing, that seems to make or break a band nowadays. Hopefully, you’ll agree with me that something needs to change, that we need musically diverse, decent bands making it big and changing things up.

That’s where Giant Party come along. A four piece band living and working in North London, Giant Party don’t sound like other bands around and that’s how they like it. Even though you can classify them as a lesser known act, their sound is well produced, so much to the point, you’d think they’d be on that All Points East line up at the very least.

I met with Tim (Synths, vocals) and Hugh (Drummer)  to discuss the state of the alternative music business, their upcoming studio work and ambitions for 2020. 

What are the origins of the band?

T: We had been in several bands for years, with members changing every so often.

H: I’m originally from Scotland. I moved to Guildford about twelve years ago and then onto London where I met the singer Al, Tim’s brother. Then the guitarist Mark and I met and realised we had the same musical influences. He joined and Giant Party was formed.

How has this affected your music throughout the years?

H: I think our sound is lighter now. We still have flavours of those older bands that Al and I were in. I’d say our current music has merged all those together but it’s a lot fresher.

What else has impacted the bands’ sound?

T: The way it works is that my brother will record a demo and then we’ll add to it and edit, using our various inspirations to create the track. There’s a lot more older music influencing the band like The Cure and Tears for Fears but newer bands with big live performances are a part of our sound.

H: Like Arcade Fire, LCD Soundsystem. When you see them, there’s just something so special and ambitious there.

T: The new Tame Impala album is really good too. It has really worked as a whole; it’s not just about those first few singles that came out.

Let’s discuss your ambitions.

T: At the moment, the most frustrating thing is that we’re all working full time. I’d be really excited to see what we could so if we could commit all our time to the band.

H: With the time and money we’ve got to produce now, we’re quite proud of what we’ve made and it’s enough for us to move forward with in terms of working with new people, labels or musicians. In the future it’s about making sure we can afford to go on tour and press on with gigs. Eventually, our end goals would be playing great venues like Shepherd’s Bush and Brixton Academy.

What would you say are the barriers for upcoming bands?

T: I think patience is important. Making music is a slow process and so much success is down to who you know and getting your foot in the door. Being in a band nowadays means being business minded and being able to market yourselves. And still keeping strong in that process. Festival’s lineups have perhaps dipped in quality over the last few years, especially in terms of female representation.

H: The way people listen to music has really changed and festivals are definitely trying to keep up with that. And I’m sure the organisers are thinking, how do we survive as a festival now? We’re not in charge of those big decisions, those sporadic lineups you see, but as I said, that’s to keep up with the way people listen to music nowadays.

You’ve been busy writing material at the moment. What are your songs about?

T: Before it was all about going out in London, White Ink was about that, it was about something people could relate to.

H: None of us are religious, but I’d say the newer stuff discusses religion, symbolism and imagery and big ideas like death.

Tell us about what 2020 holds.

T: This weekend, we’re going into the studio. We’ve got a song coming out in March and then around 3 singles coming out one month at a time. 

H: I’d say this year is going to be big for us. We’re confident that these new songs are even better, they’re newer, fresher and in line with what we’re about. 

What makes Giant Party, Giant Party?

H: We’re melody heavy and we make sure the songs are strong. Along with that, the live shows are equally good. We work really hard on them, all the time, we’re not settling for an average show. It needs to be an experience for everyone that goes.

T: Definitely. We don’t want to be one of those bands that don’t sound as great as they are on record. That can be really disappointing. I’d say as well we don’t follow current trends, we stick to our own sound.

After finishing the interview, it seemed clear to me that Giant Party are a confident band, reassured in their craft and identity. It is we, as listeners that need to support them so they are able to get in the studio and eventually headline Glastonbury. What are we going to do when Tame Impala and Arcade Fire stop touring? Sit at home? No, we need to ensure the big bands of the future are able to get to that stage. So instead of listening to the same album for the sixth time, seek out, listen and follow independent musicians. This means sharing songs with your friends, giving them a like/follow online and catching a gig. From this interview, I hope the first band on your list is Giant Party.

Their Facebook; Their Twitter; Their Spotify 

Bands can request free interviews and press releases by emailing molly@mimmerr.co.uk

[brokensmilefanfiction]

Chapter Three

The next morning, I had a little bit of a hangover. A fact that was made far worse by Carey’s insistent nagging about something, I wasn’t really listening. I was reading my emails and there was one from my agent confirming me for the ‘Game of Laughs’ show in November.

Deciding that twenty-four hours was long enough to spend with my sister, I got to the airport thirty minutes before I needed to be and went and hunted down a greasy breakfast for my hangover.

I was just sitting down to my hotcakes and hash browns from McDonalds when my phone rang, it was a number I didn’t recognize. Normally I wouldn’t have answered it as I was always wary of unfamiliar numbers, but I didn’t have anything else to do for the next hour before my flight, so even if it was a telemarketer I could listen while I ate my breakfast.

“Hello?” I asked as I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hello, is this Bridgette?” asked a British voice.

“Speaking.” I said as I place a slice of hot cake into my mouth, I knew that voice…

“Hi, its Kit Harington.” He said.

“Kit!” I said, my voice going high in surprise, “Hey.” I said happily, “How are you holding up after last night?” I asked curiously as I thought of the last time I had seen him.

“Better than I deserve.” He said sighed, “I just wanted to call and say thanks for that last night.” He said seriously.

“Your welcome.” I smiled, though another question suddenly occurred to me, “How did you get my number?” I asked, I didn’t remember giving it to him.

“I got your agents number off Benioff and your agent gave it to me.” He explained.

I blinked in shock, “Wow. That was a lot of effort to go through.” I commented.

“Yeah well, I wanted to call and explain myself. I’m not normally like that.” He said seriously, “I feel like I’ve made a bad impression.”

“You really haven’t.” I smiled, “I enjoyed hanging out with you last night.” I assured him.

“Oh good.” He said sounding relieved, “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

“Yeah sure.” I said as I spooned another mouthful of the hot cakes into my mouth.

“When are you next in London?” he asked.

“Oh.” I said in shock, he was serious? I thought he had just said we should meet up again out of politeness, I didn’t think he’d actually meant it, “I’m about to embark on a tour of America. I’ll be on a tour bus for the next month. Thirty shows in thirty-eight days.” I explained.

“Wow. That’s hectic.” He commented.

“Tell me about it.” I grumbled, “But I’m coming to Belfast in November for that show. So I should see you then.” I smiled.

“Oh yeah that’s right. That should be good.” He said happily.

“Yeah it should.” I agreed.

“So how’s your morning going?” he asked conversationally.

“It’s been ok. Had a little trouble with airport security as there is a deadly object in my carry-on.” I shrugged.

“What is it?”

“My Emmy.”

He laughed loudly, “That’s considered a deadly object?”

“Apparently.” I said dryly.

“No way. That thing isn’t even sharp. I don’t believe you.” He teased.

“Well it’s not like you have one, so you wouldn’t know.” I quipped.

He laughed again and I smiled at the sound.

“Tell me you at least have some sort of hang over.” He said pointedly.

“I am eating a greasy breakfast as we speak.” I told him.

“Best cure for a hangover.” He agreed, “But you can sure hold your drink.” He commented.

“I’m actually a little disappointed in your effort. I thought you poms knew how to drink.” I grinned.

“We do. You Australians are just inhuman.” He said seriously.

“Oh please! Isn’t Thrones filmed in Belfast? Those Irish must have taught you a few things about drinking.”

“Oh god. I remember the first time I went out drinking in Ireland. I actually got alcohol poisoning.” He revealed.

“Weak!” I laughed.

“They have this drink called Guinness that just messes you up.”

“I’ve never had Guinness. Is it any good?”

“God no! But the Irish love it.” He explained.

“Yeah I’ve dated an Irish guy, he used to drink this stuff that looked like tar.” I mused.

“Yeah that would be it.”

I didn’t reply as I grabbed my hash brown and took a bite.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“With what?” I asked through a mouthful of food.

“The Irish guy. You still with him?” he asked.

“God no. That turned pretty sour.” I recalled.

“That’s too bad.” He said sounding pleased.

“Not really. I got my revenge.” I smiled.

“Uh oh. What did you do?”

“Well, while the cheating scumbag was out surfing I stole his clothes. So he had to walk home in a wet suit in the freezing cold.” I explained.

“Wow. That’s brutal.”

“That’s not all I did.”

“Oh?”

“Well I went around and asked random hot guys to try on his shirt so I could take a picture of them in it. Then I mailed all the pictures and his clothes back to him.” I explained, “He cheated on me, so I wanted to show him the kind of guys I could move on with.”

“That’s pretty original I got to admit.”

“You impressed?”

“A little.” He revealed.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So tell me more about this tour.” He prompted.

“It’s just your standard stand up show.” I dismissed, “I’ll be playing in little thousand seat theatres. Nothing too big.”

“Still impressive. Your own show.” He commented.

“I’m supposed to vlog about the whole experience.” I said dully.

“You sound thrilled.” He observed.

“It’s just not really my thing. It seems like a fame grab. They want me to like sit on a bus and talk about what goes into making the show and stuff.” I explained.

“Well that sounds interesting.”

“No it doesn’t. I’m going to come up with something far better. Something funny.”

“Well what does go into making a stand-up show?”

“Basically it’s just me thinking up material and then trying it out on people.”

He was silent for a moment, “That’s it?”

“Pretty much.” I shrugged, “See that’s boring? There is no way I could make a vlog series out of that. It took me like, two seconds to tell you.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

“I don’t know. Probably just me doing a bunch of funny stuff. I’ve got an entire plane ride to figure it out.” I smiled.

“I look forward to seeing it.”

“Enough about me.” I said, “Tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Just heading back to Belfast to film the seventh season of Thrones.” He explained.

“You training for any fight sequences?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about that. I always love seeing fight scenes, what goes into learning something like that? How do they choreograph it?”

As it turned out, Kit was quite happy to talk everything that went into making a fight scene while I ate my breakfast. Once I was done, I peppered him with questions about stunt doubles and rigs, if he minded he didn’t show it. It actually sounded like something he was quite interested in as he had such an in depth knowledge of it all.

“I’ve always wanted to do an action movie where I could do a cool fight scene and do my own stunts.” I revealed.

“It’s a lot of fun.”

“What’s been the hardest stunt you’ve ever done?”

“Well I think the most physically demanding stunts I’ve done was in my movie Pompei when I was playing a Gladiator. But the hardest stunt I think I’ve done was where I had to dive through a window and roll across the broken glass. That was tough because your instinct is to catch yourself with your hands when you fall like that, but you have to like, tuck your head under and practically hit the ground head first.” He explained.

“Oh god. That sounds complicated.”

“Not really. You do it enough in rehearsals that by the time it comes to film it your good to go.”

“Have you ever gotten injured?”

“Surprisingly no. They look after you very well.”

“Have you ever used a stunt double?”

“Yes actually.”

“What for? Was it something really dangerous?”

“Yes actually. Getting into a hot tub.”

I laughed, “What?”

“I had a broken ankle at the time and couldn’t jump into the little Jacuzzi they had set up, so I had a stunt double do it.” He explained.

I laughed loudly, “That is so funny.”

“The guy was naked too. So they didn’t call him my stunt double but my butt double.” He explained.

I cackled, in hysterics, “That is the funniest thing I have ever heard!”

“That, coming from a comedian, actually makes me feel better.” He said.

“Was his butt better than yours? Did he do your butt justice?” I giggled.

“Oh god, why did I tell you this? It’s so embarrassing.” He sighed.

“No this is great. If I ever do a nude scene I’m going to get a super model body double. It will be fabulous.” I said happily, “I can see it now, some lucky girl out there will be credited as playing ‘Bridgette Mendez’s Ass’. Like that’s a real claim to fame right there.”

He laughed, “Well glad I could help.”

“Wait, does that mean there is some guy out there that can be like ‘Yeah, I played Jon Snow’s ass’?” I asked curiously.

“His name is Steve and he’s actually a really nice guy.”

I laughed again, “Oh my god!” I said as I struggled for breath, “That’s amazing.”

“And he was credited as my double.” He told me.

“But he was your butt double.”

“Yes he was.” He sighed.

I laughed again “So apart from having a butt double you’ve never had a stunt double?”

“Nope. I do it all myself.”

“And why don’t you ever use a stunt double?”

“I don’t know. It feels like cheating. How can I be portraying a character accurately if someone else is doing half the work?” he questioned.

“That’s a good way to look at it. If my abysmal acting career ever requires me to do stunts, I’ll be sure to have them fire the stunt double.” I smiled.

“You know you’re the only person who thinks your acting is abysmal.” He said pointedly.

“Well if critics are to be believed, I’m a better actress than my sister and that’s all I care about.” I said happily.

“That sounds like a bit of sibling rivalry.” He commented.

“Sibling rivalry is cute. Ours is a fight to the death!” I said seriously.

He laughed.

“I’d just like to point out that she was a model and I was a comedian but the moment I tried acting, she had to try it too.” I said lightly, though it was a fact that still bugged me.

“So you did it first?”

“Yes. I believe that should count for something.”

He laughed again.

“What about you? Do you have siblings?”

“One. An older brother, John.”

“He drive you crazy like mine does?”

“Yes, but in a different way.”

“How so?”

“Well we don’t compete career wise. We more compete with girls. Who has the better girl, the hotter girl. It’s stupid.” He dismissed.

“You’re talking to a girl who is paid to have conversations with a fake monkey. I no longer believe in stupid.” I said pointedly.

He laughed loudly.

“You must win that competition now though.” I mused.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you know a lot of celebrities. They are notoriously good looking people. You could just bring a Victoria Secret model home and you’d win.”

“I think you’ll find most models are taller than me.” He said.

I laughed loudly.

“And it’s not just about looks. Their personalities matter as well.”

“What? Guys actually care about a girls personality? I’m shocked!” I mocked.

“No its true.” He laughed.

“Next you’ll tell me big foot is real.”

“Oh he is!”

“I knew it!”

We laughed at our banter.

“I would love to continue chatting but my flight is boarding.” I said regretfully.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Have a good flight.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Hanging up, I headed to my gate feeling a little bemused. If someone had told me when I woke up this morning that I would spend a good hour on the phone with Kit Harington, I wouldn’t have believed them, yet that was exactly what had happened.

Funny how life worked out sometimes.

                                                                …

When I arrived in New York, I was surprised to find there was a message from Kit on my phone when I turned it back on.

I frowned in confusion when I saw it was a picture, which he had captioned with ‘We made headlines. Sorry about that.’

Confused, I clicked on the image to see it was a screen shot of an article by TMZ entitled ‘Emmy Hook Ups; Kit Harington and Bridgette Mendez.’

“What?” I said aloud in shock.

Several people turned to look at me as I made my way to baggage claim but I didn’t care. I quickly googled the article and it came up with not only an article by TMZ but a blurry photo of Kit and myself sitting at a table together talking. There was one where he was laughing and then another one where I was laughing.

Or I think I was laughing, my eyes were closed and my mouth was open. I could have been mid sneeze as far as the picture went.

I wasn’t even paying attention to the baggage carousel as I stared at my phone intensely to read the article.

 ‘Game of Thrones Heart Throb Kit Harington seems to be over ex Rose Leslie, as he reportedly spent the majority of the Emmy’s after party with funny girl and Emmy winner, Bridgette Mendez.

Reports indicate that the two looked quite chummy as they sat at a table talking for most of the night.

‘Kit had eyes for only her. Plenty of girls were trying to make a play for him but he spent the whole night talking to her. She was making him laugh and smile.’ An eyewitness testifies, ‘She’s just his type. Kit likes a girl who doesn’t care about his fame and can bring a smile to his face and she certainly did that.’

So Mr. Harington may not have won an Emmy last night, but he may have won the heart of the Australian darling, Bridgette Mendez, who was apparently loving the attention he showed her.

‘She was smiling the whole night and even managed to take him for a whirl on the dance floor.’ Our source reports.

We’ve dubbed this couple ‘Brit.’

 I blinked in shock, I hadn’t been an Emmy winner for five minutes and I was already getting relationship rumours? My fame had clearly reached more heights than I had expected.

Still grinning in amusement, I text Kit back ‘I’m framing that article.’

It only took the time of me collecting my luggage and getting in my Uber for him to reply from him, which consisted of a smiling emoji and the word ‘Lol’.

I simply smiled in response.

[onlydylanobrien]

A colored pic of Dylan O'Brien and Thomas Brodie-Sangster with the young interviewer, Alexa Rendell from Get Into Film, during the “Maze Runner - The Death Cure” Press Tour in London, UK (January 22nd, 2018). [+]

We previously only got the one in black and white.

[theonetruenorth]

Starman

So this is something I wanted to write for the better part of the last year but never really found the right words. Now, with the anniversary just a couple days ago, I finally feel like I can post it. It’s short, but somewhat personal. It’s not really a tribute because I don’t think I could ever do this brilliant man justice, but it’s... something.

Beware, sad Magnus ahead.

(CLICK ‘KEEP READING’ FOR THE REST OF THE FIC.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alec didn’t think much of the music he heard as soon as he entered Magnus’ apartment.

It wasn’t unusual for the warlock to listen to something while he worked. Sometimes it was classical music, or operas, or even traditional songs from cultures long forgotten. Sometimes it was rock or metal, blasting from the magically enhanced speakers so loudly that the windows shook in their frames. Sometimes it was modern pop, things that Alec had heard playing from mundane phones or performed on the streets or in subway stations. There didn’t seem to be any distinguishable pattern to it, as far as Alec could tell. Magnus just listened to whatever music fit his mood at the time.

Alec hung his bow and quiver up in the closet along with his leather jacket, and the song ended and another began. He stopped for a moment, listening to the lyrics about a man waiting in the stars, which didn’t make much sense to Alec. Even so, he was pretty sure he had heard this song somewhere before.

He moved to the living room, where he expected to find his boyfriend. He did not, however, expect to see Magnus sitting on the floor, staring vacantly into space and clutching a handful of wet tissues.

“Magnus?” Alec was momentarily startled. “What happened?”

The warlock turned his head to look at him. Alec’s breath caught at the sight of his bloodshot eyes, smudged makeup and visible tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Alexander…” Magnus croaked out, his voice small and filled with anguish. As soon as the words left his mouth his face twisted with grief and fresh tears spilled from his eyes.

Alec was by his side in a flash, tumbling down to his knees and gathering Magnus close, letting him hide his face in the crook of his neck and sob his heart out. Alec had no clue what was going on, but it was pretty obvious that something bad had happened. He was whispering to Magnus - all reassuring nonsense and gentle shushing sounds - hoping to calm him down. Magnus had a death grip on Alec shirt, both fists clenched in the fabric and keeping Alec close, holding on for dear life.

Eventually the sobs slowed into great, heaving breaths and then quiet hiccups, before dying out completely. It was only then that Magnus moved away, his fingers unclenching with difficulty. The warlock pressed the already damp tissues to his eyes, wiping off the fresh tears, not minding the makeup that was already ruined beyond all hope.

“What happened?” Alec asked again, softly, as he stroked his fingers over the nape of Magnus’ neck.

“I--” Magnus’ breath hitched once before he inhaled deeply and collected himself. “I’ve just learned that one of my friends passed away today.”

Alec was suddenly reminded of the state that Magnus was when Ragnor Fell died and how much Magnus mourned for him, once things quieted down and he actually had time to process his death.

“I’m so sorry,” Alec said, shuffling a little closer to press a kiss to Magnus’ temple. “Were they a warlock as well?”

“No,” Magnus sighed, the tissue still pressed into his eyes. It was smudged with kohl and eyeshadow and Alec spotted the tissue box on the coffee table next to them. He managed to reach it without letting go of Magnus and offered it to his boyfriend.

“No,” Magnus repeated once he banished the wet tissues with a flick of his fingers and used the new, dry ones to wipe at his eyes, “there was some Seelie ancestry somewhere in his bloodline, which is why he had the Sight, but he was a mundane. Though he was probably the least ordinary mundane that I have ever met.”

Magnus’ voice was still unsteady but for the moment his eyes were dry. He reached for the stack of old vinyl records he had on the floor next to him and thumbed delicately over one of the covers.

“Is that him singing?” Alec asked, putting the clues together.

“I met him in London while he was on tour, in 1972,” Magnus whispered, his eyes still locked on the colorful cover. “He saw me performing magic even though I had a glamour up. He was intrigued. And I wanted to get closer to him, since I adored his music. We became inseparable for a bit, and I spent the rest of the tour travelling with him.” Magnus sighed. “The seventies were… a different time. I spent it on parties, getting drunk and living dangerously. He was very much the same, and we got along splendidly.”

“Sounds like you knew him a very long time.”

“I did. After some time I had enough of the crazy life and returned to New York. And then the Circle happened. He continued on with his career, got married, had children, made his music, made movies...but we stayed in contact, through phone calls and emails mostly.”

Magnus’ face crumpled once more.

“He didn’t tell me that he had cancer.” Magnus turned his teary eyes to look at Alec and he was visibly holding back from falling apart again. “He knew what I could do. I could have helped him. Why didn’t he say anything?” He inhaled shakily. “We hadn't really talked in a long while, but he knew about my immortality. He knew that for me years often blend into a blur and I have trouble staying in touch, sometimes...”

“Magnus…”

“I could have helped him,” Magnus dabbed at his eyes again, “I could have done something.”

“Magnus,” Alec said gently, “as far as I know even warlock magic can’t cure cancer…”

“I still could have helped,” Magnus said, a little angrily as he glared at Alec. “I could have given him more time. Made him more comfortable.”

“Or maybe you would have worn yourself thin trying to come up with a solution to an impossible problem,” Alec countered. “And you would have blamed yourself for not doing more, for not being better. If he really knew you that well, he would have known that you wouldn’t rest until you had fixed everything, even though there was nothing you could've done.”

Magnus pursed his lips into a thin, unhappy line and looked away.

Alec gathered his boyfriend close once more when Magnus shuddered. “And maybe he didn’t want you to slowly suffer through losing another friend. It sounds like he lived an eventful, rich life and you were a part of it. Maybe...he felt that it was his time to go.”

And it was as good explanation as any. Alec knew that older warlocks tended to lose their connection to the mortal world, once they reached certain age. Warlocks younger than Magnus were already lost to it, to the apathy that gradually overtook them. They couldn’t find any joy in life itself. They stopped feeling sadness or loss. They continued to exist but they weren’t alive, not really.

The fact that Magnus could still feel grief was astounding. Alec knew that it was getting harder and harder as the centuries went by, but this amazing, ageless man still had compassion and love and trust and he still had space in his heart for grief.

Alec loved him, so very, very much.

But he couldn't help but think about what was going to happen to Magnus once Alec himself passed away. He did not want Magnus’ heart to turn to stone. But that was a conversation for another time, when Magnus wasn’t so upset and vulnerable.

“You don’t even have any idea who I am talking about, do you?” Magnus whispered with a quiet huff of amusement, and Alec was happy to hear even that tiny hint of humor back in his voice.

“Not really, no,” Alec admitted, not really bothered by his lack of pop culture knowledge. “Will you tell me about him?”

Magnus sniffed, dabbing at the corners of his eyes one more time to make sure they were dry. He scooted on the floor until they were pressed together again, Magnus’ head on Alec’s chest and Alec’s arm around Magnus’ shoulders.

“Yes,” Magnus said as he closed his eyes and listened to the beat of Alec’s heart for a moment. It was reassuringly strong and steady. “Let me tell you about David.”

[stevecoleridge-posts]

SPANISH LOCKDOWN …DAY14

Saturday night s all right for fighting.. on Facebook of course,

i was just casting my mind back to a Ninurta  Night , as there called their Saturdays Night in Uruk, capital of Sunny Sumeria, and  imagining what a great time they were probably having 5000 years ago , getting pissed on the local beer, because they invented that ,as well as the seven day week. Of course they did nt have Netflix, but they got to go out more..i don’t have Netflix either , yet , but have axs to lots of stuff including Music documentaries , which we are watching in order , chronological order that is..starting with The Birth of Country music .. and Mr Ralph Peers,from new York, who looked a little like Brian Epstein by the way , who set up a temporary recording studio above  furniture shop, there you go agin , NEMs , well no, it was nt , but anyway I digress, and into this temporary Studio  walked The Carter Family..3 of them .. and Jimmie Rogers.. yes.. that Jimmie Rogers , the Singing brakeman..i mean ,Okay , i can hear you mumbling about Sam Phillips, and the Chess brothers etc.. but this was Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia..a place no-one who doesn’t live round there has heard of..its like discovering the Beatles and the Rolling Stones..or rather signing them..   After that we watched a newish doc about the King , E.V. Presley..and it was mad by some guys driving round America in his Rolls royce..great stuff   That led to the Fab Four , Eight days a Week.. which was about their touring years and the whole world has seen it except me… its absolutely.. the F word , second letter A..anyway this time 55 years ago they were filming Help. inSt Margarets..Twickenham..and taking photos for the infamous Butcher cover , in the Vale , Chelsea, where my first nursery school was located..ah well.. don’t want to get too carried away on Beatles Lore..or i ll bore you to death , because i don’t mind admitting i am well versed in that subject…   The Beatles represented the 60s in the same way Elvis represented the 50 s…and someone told a story about how the disgusting Colonel Parker, in inverted commas,used to put a cover over Elvis Cadillac so the girls could nt see him when he drove on to the Movie lot in hollywood… well once the Beatles arrived the Colonel still put the cover on , so Elvis could nt see there were no longer any girls..A sad figure..but  his mantle of  loneliness was later to be worn by Michael jackson and especially Prince..Do these Royal titles always end with a solitary death on the loo or in a Lift

From there we moved too the Seventies… and surely the quintessential Seventies hero is Bowie..well now it so alluringly sunny outside ill have to go and play guitar on the terrace .. and leave David for another time..

No i don’t want to see the News..

DAY 15..Sunday…

The clocks have gone on to sensible time..even in lockdown this is cheerful news.. I was wondering how long it will take for people with imaginary ailments to return to their plastic chairs in Hospital waiting rooms throughout the Western world.. these people presumably will be the ones most frightened of Covid 19..there s nothing imaginary about that..but if you have ME and you re lying on the sofa all day, and you feel depressed , and your bones are aching etc.. well how do feel different from everyone else..and as for food intolerance .. that should be interesting when the statistics come in about consumption in Supermarkets..i know there are allergies and allergies.. but the possibility of imminently drowning in ones own mucus does concentrate the mind wonderfully, and a lot of people will find themselves in the second category once shortages begin of certain previously essential items..suddenly one has to be tolerant of a whole raft of things one had previously considered unacceptable ..two weeks ago i could not have imagined four days without bread.. but its no big deal.. onions likewise..thats what happens when you shop with no list.. bit like going on stage without a playlist.. its a gamble … it can produce unexpected benefits in that you try stuff you had nt tried before.. but you often forget the best songs..

We watched the film about the Kursk, the Submarine which was on the seabed and owing to bureaucracy and politics the Crew were allowed to die..even though t5here was a foreign Ship with equipment nearby that could have saved them.. reminds me of something..are we the mariners or are we the mariners wives?

Does the Chinese government have a cure? are they just waiting for the US economy to completely collapse?..Will we ever know?

Day 16

Each day just goes so fast , i turn around , it s past..

One of my fave tracks from Revolver..anyway playing in E7 , as usual , in fact I’ve been stuck in E 7 since Lockdown started..Catfish , Smokestack lighting ,Good Morning Blues , Take Out Some Insurance..however now the time has come to expand ..and try Freight train..the classic finger picking song..so ,if i observe radio silence for a while you ll know why..

Saw the news…The government had adopted some economic measures which seemed very well thought out , in the sense they were are determined not to let the mistakes of the last crisis , where the poorest people got the rawest deal. I won’t go into details , its all online if you re interested..it was more a sensation than anything  logical , but it made me feel a bit less pessimistic for the first time in a few weeks,i found i was nt thinking about Death quite as much , even in the abstract. that may sound overdramatic , but i think everybody is thinking about it subconsciously a great deal more than they were, say, last Christmas..well actually in our particular situation , where we had been frequenting cancer wards and the like , maybe i should go back to 2018…but  the awarerness of death affects every facet of how you think about everything else..i don’t just mean concentrating the mind wonderfully..anyway its half past two, and tomorrow ill probably delete all this..The gist was that for some reason things don’t feel quite so bleak..

Day 17

Yesterday was a 3 own a scale of  ten as far as ding anything worthwhile was concerned. After watching a film i unreservedly recommend..The vanishing.. about  3 men who disappeared from a Scottish island where they were repairing th elighthouse , i watched Tolkien , the movie about one of my heroes , but not one of Auroras heroes apparently as she fell asleep during the first reel, so to speak, anyway she s not huge Tolkien fan , having been made to sit through the fellowship of the ring seven times..be that as it may , the sofa is not designed for sleeping comfortably so she had a severely cricked neck the next morning and stayed in bed, leaving Tina and i to our own devices..this meant i ate a packet of chocolate biscuits for brunch and did nt eat again till midnight , which goes to show how lucky I am not to be on my own.

  to entertain myself between bouts of fingerpicking i decided to9 look up on google what English people disliked the most.. while i did nt find the answer to this question i did get seriously sidetracked and found out the answers to several more pressing questions about Europe,and i m proud to say the british isles scored very highly

The Dirtriest City..Yay .. London The Ugliest people..The British and the irish  and the Germans ..okay , so we cant beat the Germans but at least we drew The Rudest people..That was easy..The French win every time, when i lived in  Paris  i prided myself on becoming Parisian, and adopting local customs , but one day , in a moment of absent mindedness , and for a subconscious second imagining myself in Spain , i said Good Morning to my next door neighbour, a short fellow with a mop of dark hair and glasses, who i passed on my way to the metro in Boulevard St . Germain… i am not a Physiognomist.. he replied…i made a not e of that , hoping i could use the phrase Je ne suit pas Phisionome, myself on some future occasion..but sadly , said opportunity has not arisen. Most boring City..Brussels .. for the third year running…Hasve nt these people been to Oslo? Most Friendly Country..wait for it… Scotland..most friendly capital .. Dublin Worst Cuisine..Malta , tied with Kosovo Best ..Italy Most Beautiful Women ..Norway ..and Bulgaria..i would have voted for Madrid..but you cant argue with Norway Most ignorant Country in Europe ..italy. Most Rapes..Sweden..well that was no surprise..however i won’t analyse those statistics or Ill be done for Isamolophobia Most ignorant country in the World ..Indonesia Most depressed ..World..China , India, Brazil,..what??..USA.. and Bangladesh Most mental Illness..Estonia,Belarus , Russia Most Obese Europe..Yes We won agin .. Britain

And so on .. there was more , i could nt stop , but i did check the criteria..and obviously ruled out anything from the Daily Mail or the Independent.. which are not really newspapers at , but sheets of opinions conforming to the prejudices of their readers.

When i got tired of this i got the Scythe out of the tree and  cut the grass for half an hour .. feeling like a peasant woman in Quiet Flows The Don..its quite restful when you get in rhythm. Aurora was still ill so i made her some chicken soup.. well , packet chicken soup with some noodles and chicken added.. anyway , she did nt eat it .. so i had it saved for my supper.. I did nt watch TV..i could nt be bothered to work out how turn it on to be honest , thats how lazy i felt, and i just sat by the fire and went through all the fingerpicking songs again.

Spanish lockdown..Day 18

Aurora s feeling a wee bit better, but cant eat anything , so cannot take Iboprufen, or whatever it is in English ..but says she could probably handle bread.. so..that means a trip to the heart of Fukushima, err..well ...on with the masks , gloves etc  and to the shop in El Llano.. small village near here , a lot more isolated than Carboneras..I was feeling fairly confident as i trundled along the track  , that the town hall had tarmacked before some election or other..anyway , rounding a corner there was a woman of un certain age in the road waving me down,.,.

What to do?…You re are not allowed passengers , plus she was not wearing gloves or a mask..

Should i observe the Law, or basic good manners? i d vaguely recognised her.. and had she she been a total stranger i would have passed on by , but , hell , she was Local, so i had to pick her up..

She did nt recognise me.. obviously , as i was wearing a cap , two masks with a scarf on top, and polo neck unrolled over the bottom half of my face , like a character in the Bash Street Kids..an way i had the window down , and was almost sticking my head out as i drove..

@ Chilly out @.. she observed…

i pretended not to understand this hint that i should close the window..

@ Do you think it s going to rain ? @

@ I  think probably not @

@All these people with masks @  she observed ,as a car squeezes by us, going in the opposite direction . I began to wonder if she knew there was  such a thing as Covid 19,and  saw the driver  studying us..I was hoping he  would nt recognise me either.. and was weighing up whether what i was doing would meet with his approval. i.e. helping a distressed local, or would be considered a breach of community sprit. On coming into the village we received more enigmatic looks..and i  felt uneasy as i got out in front of the shop and followed her to the door … pausing  to read the safety notices outside.and thus give her a head start . i won’t reproduce them ..wherever you are you ve probably seen the equivalent..anyway ,no sooner did i enter the shop than she was next to me selecting suit and veg..and ignoring safe distancing, which i agree was academic , as we d just been in much too close proximity,..thus forcing me to leave the fruit and go and study the options in frozen fish..while she was having a conversation wi the owner

  @ Do you think it will rain?@   @ Its chilly out @ etc..

As we went about our purchasing i saw more and more foodstuffs i would nt normally consider..and soon had over a weeks supply..which , considering how much we already had at home made me hope this lockdown was going to go on for  a while ..or otherwise id feel a fool .. no , i did nt really think that.. Much as i wanted to prolong my shopping experience there was queue forming outside , so felt obliged to go more quickly that i would have liked..especially as i hoped to delay long enough not to have to take the woman back to her house..vainly as it turned out as she was a quarter of a mile along the track when i was obliged to pick her up again..

We passed the garbage truck.in a lay-by. @ My nephew..@ she explained..I began to feel id made the right decision..as i doubted she d been more than a mile from her house in the past few months… nonetheless i observed full protocol on arriving home..even disinfecting the car having a shower and putting all my clothes in the machine.

[biofunmy]

US advises no travel to China, where virus deaths top 200

BEIJING — The U.S. advised against all travel to China as the number of cases of a worrying new virus spiked more than tenfold in a week, including the highest death toll in a 24-hour period reported Friday.

The virus has infected almost 10,000 people globally in just two months, a worrying sign of its spread among people that prompted the World Health Organization to declare the outbreak a global emergency.

The State Department’s travel advisory told Americans currently in China to consider departing using commercial means, and requested that all non-essential U.S. government personnel defer travel in light of the virus.

China as of Friday morning counted 9,692 confirmed cases with a death toll of 213, including 43 new fatalities. The vast majority of the cases have been in Hubei province and its provincial capital, Wuhan, where the first illnesses were detected in December. No deaths have been reported outside China.

The National Health Commission reported 596 cases have been “cured and discharged from hospital.” WHO noted most people who got the illness had milder cases, though 20% experienced severe symptoms. Symptoms of the new coronavirus include fever and cough and in severe cases, shortness of breath and pneumonia.

Meanwhile, China’s foreign ministry said it will send charter flights to bring home residents of Hubei from overseas. It gave few details, but said those from Hubei and especially Wuhan would be sent directly back as soon as possible in light of the “practical difficulties” they were encountering.

China has placed more than 50 million people in the region under virtual quarantine, while foreign countries, companies and airlines have cut back severely on travel to China and quarantined those who recently passed through Wuhan. The virus is believed to have a two-week incubation period, during which those infected can pass on the illness even if they show no symptoms such as fever and cough.

Since China informed WHO about the new virus in late December, 18 countries have reported cases, as scientists race to understand how exactly the virus is spreading and how severe it is.

Experts say there is significant evidence the virus is spreading among people in China and WHO noted with its emergency declaration Thursday it was especially concerned that some cases abroad also involved human-to-human transmission. It defines an international emergency as an “extraordinary event” that constitutes a risk to other countries and requires a coordinated international response.

“The main reason for this declaration is not because of what is happening in China but because of what is happening in other countries,” WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus told reporters in Geneva. “Our greatest concern is the potential for this virus to spread to countries with weaker health systems which are ill-prepared to deal with it.

“This declaration is not a vote of non-confidence in China,” he said. “On the contrary, WHO continues to have the confidence in China’s capacity to control the outbreak.”

A declaration of a global emergency typically brings greater money and resources, but may also prompt nervous governments to restrict travel and trade to affected countries. The announcement also imposes more disease reporting requirements on countries.

On Friday, the U.S. Embassy in Beijing said it was authorizing the departure of family members and all non-emergency U.S. government employees from Beijing and the consulates in the cities of Chengdu, Guangzhou, Shanghai, and Shenyang. Staff from the Wuhan consulate departed earlier this week.

The decision was made “out of an abundance of caution related to logistical disruptions stemming from restricted transportation and availability of appropriate health care related to the novel coronavirus,” the embassy said.

The level 4 “Do Not Travel” advisory is the highest grade of warning.

Mike Wester, a businessman in Beijing who has lived in China for 19 years, said he has no plans to leave.

“I feel safer self-quarantining myself here at home than I do risking travel,” said Wester.

He pointed to potential risks from crowds at airports and being required to remove a mask for passport and security checks.

Speaking by Skype from Utah, Kelly Flanagan, 36, a school counselor in China since 2011, said she is planning to stay out of China as she watches the virus spread.

“This is probably going to be awhile,” said Flanagan, who said her Type 1 diabetes added to her health concerns. From the U.S. she is working remotely with her students to help them pass English proficiency exams.

Japan and Germany also advised against non-essential travel and Britain did as well, except for Hong Kong and Macao.

Tedros said WHO was not recommending limiting travel or trade to China, where transport links have shut down in places and businesses including Starbucks and McDonald’s temporarily closing hundreds of shops.

“There is no reason for measures that unnecessarily interfere with international travel and trade,” he said. He added that Chinese President Xi Jinping had committed to help stop the spread of the virus beyond its borders.

China’s U.N. Ambassador Zhang Jun said Thursday evening in New York that “we are still at a very critical stage in fighting the coronavirus” but stressed that the epidemic is still mainly confined to China and urged the international community against any overreaction.

He said China appreciated “the friendly gesture made by the international community” in providing medical equipment, and “what are needed urgently,” especially in Hubei province, are masks and other protective medical supplies including glasses.

Although scientists expect to see limited transmission of the virus between people with close contact, like within families, the instances of spread to people who may have had less exposure to the virus is worrying.

In Japan, a tour guide and bus driver became infected after escorting two tour groups from Wuhan. In Germany, five employees of German auto parts supplier Webasto became ill after a Chinese colleague visited. The woman had shown no symptoms of the virus until her flight back to China.

“That’s the kind of transmission chain that we don’t want to see,” said Marion Koopmans, an infectious diseases specialist at Erasmus University Medical Center in the Netherlands and a member of WHO’s emergency committee.

On Friday, Thailand said a taxi driver became its first case of person-to-person spread. The Southeast Asian country, a popular travel destination for Chinese, has counted 19 cases in all.

The new virus has now infected more people in China than were sickened there during the 2002-2003 outbreak of SARS, or severe acute respiratory syndrome, a cousin of the new virus. Both are from the coronavirus family, which also includes those that can cause the common cold.

———

Associated Press writers Joe McDonald and Sam McNeil in Beijing, Maria Cheng in London, Jamey Keaten in Geneva, Edith Lederer at the United Nations, Elaine Ganley in Paris, Frank Jordans in Berlin and Mari Yamaguchi in Tokyo contributed to this report.

Sahred From Source link Health

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[londontheatre]

The Original Theatre Company and Ghost Light Productions will present a short tour ahead of a London run of Torben Betts’s new play MONOGAMY, starring Janie Dee as Caroline Mortimer. MONOGAMY will run at the Festival Theatre in Malvern from 2-5 May 2018, Yvonne Arnaud in Guildford from 8-12 May 2018 and York Theatre Royal from 22-26 May 2018, ahead of a limited 5-week run at Park Theatre in London from 6 June to 7 July 2018, where there will be a national press night on Monday 11 June. Further tour venues and casting to be announced.

Janie Dee is currently starring in the National Theatre’s critically acclaimed production of Stephen Sondheim’s Follies. Her other West End credits include Carousel (National Theatre), for which she won the Olivier Award for Best Performance in a Supporting Role in a Musical, Comic Potential (Lyric Shaftesbury), for which she won the Olivier, Evening Standard, Critic’s Circle, Obie and Theatre World Awards for Best Actress, Mack & Mabel (Criterion Theatre), My One and Only (Piccadilly Theatre), Betrayal (Duchess Theatre), Noises Off (The Old Vic),Hand to God (Vaudeville Theatre), Blithe Spirit opposite Dame Angela Lansbury (Gielgud Theatre) and Calendar Girls (Noël Coward theatre). Her TV credits include Suki in the TV film version of Harold Pinter’s Celebration, Emma Lavenham in the Adam Dalgliesh TV mini-series Death in Holy Orders and The Murder Room, and regular character Remy in London’s Burning (ITV).

Caroline Mortimer, the nation’s favourite TV cook, has it all: a sparkling career, a big house in Highgate, a (golf) loving husband, smart kids and the best kitchen money can buy. But beneath the immaculate furnishings and studio lighting and away from the glare of the ever-present cameras, Caroline must face the looming collision of living a private life in the public eye. What happens when the cameras turn off and the truth comes out?

Janie Dee

Torben Betts said of his new play, “I’m delighted that The Original Theatre Company and Ghost Light Theatre Production are producing my new play after they did such a fine job with their two touring productions of Invincible. I’m also very much looking forward to working with Janie Dee again after she starred in my adaptation of The Seagull at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre a few years ago. There are elements of that play in MONOGAMY, in that it’s about, amongst other things, the conflict between an unhappy middle-aged celebrity and her angry son who feels very much at war with the modern world. 

As with Invincible I have attempted to take the pulse of the nation and, though I don’t offer a cure for the self-evident sickness, I hope I have come up with a play which will make people laugh as much as it might prompt them to ask themselves some uncomfortable questions about the way we are living our lives right now.”

Torben Betts was born in Lincolnshire and studied at Liverpool University. He became the resident dramatist at Scarborough’s Stephen Joseph Theatre in 1999. Poet and dramatist Liz Lochhead said Betts “is just about the most original and extraordinary writer of drama we have.” His play The Unconquered won Best New Play 2006/07 at the Critics’ Awards for Theatre in Scotland. 2015 saw a revival of his acclaimed 2012 play Muswell Hill at London’s Park Theatre, his latest work, What Falls Apart, opened at Newcastle’s Live Theatre, and his version of Chekhov’s The Seagull was staged at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. In February 2016, Betts adapted Get Carter for Northern Stage in Newcastle, running in tandem with The Original Theatre Company’s UK tour of his critically acclaimed Invincible, which, earlier this year, had a month-long run at the 13th annual Brits Off Broadway festival in New York City.

MONOGAMY will be directed by Alastair Whatley, with design by James Perkins and lighting by Chris Withers. The national tour is produced by Tom Hackney for The Original Theatre Company and Freddie Ryecart for Ghost Light Theatre Production.

Website: http://ift.tt/NuwTBV Facebook: TheOriginalTheatre Twitter: @OriginalTheatre/ @MonogamyPlay

2018 SCHEDULE

2 – 5 May Festival Theatre, Malvern 01684 892277 http://ift.tt/Y4jW5c

8 – 12 May Yvonne Arnaud, Guildford 01483 440000 http://ift.tt/2dSdJqv On sale 11 December

22 – 26 May Theatre Royal, York 01904 623568 http://ift.tt/N8WRKO On sale soon

6 June – 7 July Park Theatre, London 020 7870 6876* http://ift.tt/1k7vYDl

*10% telephone booking fee, capped at £2.50 per ticket. More venues to be announced

http://ift.tt/2mcKp4n London Theatre 1

[christinaepilzauthor-blog]

St. Nicholas Abbey: A 17th century sugar plantation

by Cryssa Bazos Long before Barbados became a travellers' destination, renowned for its beautiful beaches, the island was a lucrative English colony and a source of exotic commodities, particularly sugar.

Barbados had been first colonized in 1627 by London merchants, and by approximately the mid 1640's, the island's plantation owners had started growing sugar cane. For the next three centuries, Barbados would become one of the major sugar producers in the world. Even today, when driving around inland Barbados, acres of sugar cane fields are a common sight. One of the oldest surviving sugar plantations on the island is St. Nicholas Abbey, which also has the distinction of being one of three remaining Jacobean mansions in the Western Hemisphere. A visit to St. Nicholas satisfies those interested in the island's history, Jacobean architecture and life on a sugar plantation. 

Front entrance of St. Nicholas Abbey (picture by C. Bazos)

A tale of many families St. Nicholas Abbey is located to the north of the island in St. Peter's Parish, and the mansion was built in 1658 by Colonel Benjamin Berringer. With its 400 acres of prime land, at least half devoted to sugar cane, and its proximity to the main shipping port of Speightstown (once called Little Bristol), the plantation was indeed a jewel. As you drive up to the mansion, you pass under a shaded roadway lined on either side with mature mahogany trees. Those trees would have been planted in the 19th century, but when the house was first built, this roadway would have been graced by cherry trees. 

Picture by C.Bazos

Originally, St. Nicholas Abbey was part of a collective property owned by Colonel Berringer and his business partner, John Yeamans (whose own portion was called Greenland). Over the years, the two men would engage in a heated rivalry over the property, and more scandalously, the affections of Berringer's wife, Margaret. In the early days of their partnership, Berringer and Yeamans competed for the favours of Margaret Foster, a preacher's daughter. Berringer came up as the winner in that contest, and he and Margaret married and settled down to have three children. Yeamans, no doubt, stewed. It's very likely that the subsequent and ongoing disputes about the plantation borders were spurred by losing out on Margaret's affections. As these things often happen between married couples, Berringer and his wife's marriage had its ups and downs, and in 1661, the couple had a major argument which forced Berringer to leave the home and remove to nearby Speightstown to stay with friends. The cause of the argument is unknown, but he and Margaret did not have time to reconcile. Not long after his departure, Berringer died suddenly and under very mysterious circumstances. Many whispered that Yeamans had somehow poisoned his old business partner, and these rumours dogged Yeamans for the rest of his life. Whether Yeamans did poison Berringer or not, no one could say nor was any proof established, but everyone noted the speed to which he and Berringer's widow, Margaret, were married—her mourning lasted only ten weeks. Not only did Yeamans profit romantically by his former business partner's death, he came out significantly ahead financially. Upon his marriage to Margaret, Yeamans acquired the Berringer plantation and merged both properties under the new Yeamans Plantation appellation. John Yeamans's star was now on the ascent. A couple of years after Berringer's death, Yeamans was awarded a peerage by King Charles II and appointed Governor of Carolina, and he and Margaret eventually relocated to Charlestown. The man was reputed to be a greedy opportunist, and his reputation soon soured his dealings in the new world. He eventually moved back to Barbados with his wife and died in 1674. St. Nicholas Abbey eventually passed to Margaret's son from her first marriage and then shortly to his daughter Susanna Nicholas. This was when the plantation changed from Yeamans to its present day name. Eventually the plantation would change hands in 1720 when Joseph Dottin, the Deputy Governor of Barbados purchased it. In 1746, he gave the property to his daughter as a dowry, with the provision that it would revert back to her heirs, when she married Sir John Gay Alleyne (he was the Gay Alleyne connected to the famous Mount Gay rum). Sir John was a Speaker of the House and one of the first plantation owners to have educated his slaves. Unfortunately when Sir John's wife passed away, there were no heirs and St. Nicholas was in a state of legal limbo. The plantation eventually grew deep into debt and had to be sold off. Enter the Cumberbatch family. If you're wondering if there's a connection to that Cumberbatch, yes, there is indeed. Meet Benedict's 7 x great-grandfather (give or take). The resemblance is uncanny.

Abraham Carlton Cumberbatch (1728-1785) Father of Edward and Lawrence Cumberbatch (Picture by Cryssa Bazos)

Two brothers, Edward Cumberbatch and Lawrence Trent Cumberbatch purchased St. Nicholas Abbey in 1810 and through the Trent Cave branch owned the property until 2006. The property was sold one last time to architect Larry Warren, who restored the home to its former glory and opened it to the public. Features of St. Nicholas Abbey Come with me on a virtual tour of the mansion. When you walk up to the house, you will pass an old stone wall and gate which leads to a forecourt, filled with local plants and flowers. The front of the three storied mansion features three Jacobean curvilinear gables set above an arched entranceway. When you enter the short hallway, to your right is the formal dining room. In the 17th century, the kitchen would have been a separate building accessible off the dining room, but in recent years, the kitchen was connected to the main house through this route. Of note in this room is an English Sheraton sideboard that dates to the late 18th century and a mahogany dining table crafted from local wood. The Minton china dates back to the early 19th century.

Dining room (picture by C.Bazos)

China display (picture by C.Bazos)

To the left of the hallway is a grand drawing room with sash windows, which were installed in 1746, and which replaced the original shutters. These windows overlook a herb garden (with bay leaf, lemon grass, and aloe) and expose the room to refreshing tropical breezes. One amusing aspect of the house was that there were fireplaces built into the design. I don't think a chimney sweep's services have ever been needed. 

Drawing room (picture by C.Bazos)

View to the herb garden (picture by C. Bazos)

Just off the drawing room you will find a private study and in it, a unique gentleman's chair. Consider it a modern day equivalent of a La-Z-boy recliner. The master of the house could read, eat, sleep, and when his snoring grew too loud, be wheeled around to another room, all without having to vacate the chair! Upstairs there are seven bedrooms, accessible by a Chippendale staircase which dates back to the early 18th century. When the staircase was installed, it didn't just replace the original staircase, it was moved over from the left to the right. Moving toward the back of the house you'll find a 17th century English Oak Settle in the Jacobean style. A closer look at the settle will show the upper panels depicting various knights. 

Picture by C.Bazos

  From there we exit into the courtyard with a very large (and thorny) tree stands. This tree is believed to be nearly as old as the house, and locals call it a "monkey-no-climb tree" because the monkeys sensibly stay clear of it. There are a number of outhouses positioned in the courtyard including a bathhouse on one end and a barn at the other end. Sugar and rum and all things yum St. Nicholas enjoyed continuous sugar production from the 17th century until 1947. After a sixty year break, it resumed again in 2006. Today St. Nicholas crushes 350 tonnes of cane each year. The plantation crushes the cane on site between January to June using steam powered rollers which were introduced in 1890. Before then, the crushing rollers would have been wind powered. You still see these windmill structures throughout the island. 

Traditionally, the cane was cut by hand (a foot off the ground), stacked vertically in a wagon and taken to the crushing mill. Time was of the essence in harvesting the canes, for they had to be crushed by the end of the day or dry out. By stacking the cane vertically, instead of been laid flat on the bottom of the wagon, they're quickly offloaded at the crushing mill. Basic sugar production includes extracting the muddy brown cane juice, passing it through a series of copper pots in the boiling house and then curing it in clay pots. The coarse, brown sugar takes about a month to cure, while the refined white sugar takes a few more months longer. 

For rum, they distill the skimmings which run from the three lesser coppers in the boiling house to another building called the still house. From there the resulting liquor would need to be distilled twice and aged. Today, visitors can try the St. Nicholas plantation rum and be a part of the island tradition. If you're ever in Barbados and look for a unique experience and a trip back in time, I recommend a visit to St. Nicholas Abbey. 

References:

St. Nicholas Abbey Tour Guide: 350 Years of Heritage Preserved for Future Generations

The True & Exact History of the Island of Barbados, by Richard Lion

~~~~~~~~~

Cryssa Bazos is an award winning historical fiction writer and 17th century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War. She is a member of the Historical Novel Society, the Romantic Novelist Association and is a co-editor and contributor of the English Historical Fiction Authors blog. Her debut novel, Traitor's Knot, is published by Endeavour Press.

Connect with Cryssa through her Website (cryssabazos.com), Facebook, Twitter (@CryssaBazos) and Instagram. Traitor's Knot is available through Amazon.

Hat Tip To: English Historical Fiction Authors

[moosterrecords]

King Kong

To Open on Broadway in Fall 2018

At the Broadway Theatre

Written by

Jack Thorne

Score Composed and Produced by Marius de Vries

With Songs by Eddie Perfect

Direction & Choreography by

Drew McOnie

Producers Global Creatures (CEO Carmen Pavlovic) and Roy Furman are pleased to announce that King Kong, will arrive on Broadway in the fall of 2018 at the Shubert Organization’s Broadway Theatre.

King Kong’s first preview, press opening, and on-sale dates will be announced in the coming months. King Kong will play the Broadway Theatre following the limited engagement of Miss Saigon which as previously announced will begin its North American tour in September 2018. King Kong is written by Jack Thorne, who received the 2017 Olivier Award and the Evening Standard Award for Best Play for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, and wrote the critically acclaimed play Let the Right One In. The show will be directed and choreographed by Drew McOnie, an Olivier Award winner for the London production of In the Heights and an Olivier Award nominee this year for Jesus Christ Superstar. McOnie directed the U.K. premiere of Baz Luhrmann’s Strictly Ballroom The Musical, and the recent London productions of The Wild Party and On the Town. The score for King Kong is composed by four-time Grammy nominee Marius de Vries (the films La La Land, Moulin Rouge, and Romeo + Juliet) with songs by Helpmann Award winner Eddie Perfect, composer and lyricist of the Broadway-bound Beetlejuice, Strictly Ballroom The Musical and Shane Warne The Musical. Pioneering creature designer Sonny Tilders developed Kong for the show, bringing together the worlds of animatronics and puppetry that has never been seen on stage before. Tilders was honored by the Helpmann Awards, Australia’s highest theatrical honor, for Outstanding Theatrical Achievement. Carmen Pavlovic said, “I’m thrilled that King Kong will be coming to Broadway next season led by Drew McOnie and Jack Thorne, who will bring a new dimension to the telling of Kong’s story. Drew’s physical world will allow Kong to live in ways we never thought possible, propelled by Jack’s text and the score and songs written by Marius de Vries and Eddie Perfect.” Producer Roy Furman said, “King Kong is a quintessential New York story and I’m proud to be involved in this historic production. Our team is creating a theatrical experience that we hope will astound audiences, while delighting them with its heartfelt storytelling." Based on the novel of the original 1933 screenplay, the stage show of King Kong is a contemporary take on the classic tale of beauty and the beast. King Kong’s design team for Broadway will include Peter England (Set Design), Sonny Tilders (Creature Design), Roger Kirk (Costume Design), Peter Mumford (Lighting Design), Peter Hylenski (Sound Design), Gavin Robins (Aerial and King Kong Movement Director), King Kong is authorized by the Merian C. Cooper Estate. Casting, additional members of the creative team, and ticketing details for King Kong will be announced at a later date. BIOGRAPHIES JACK THORNE (Text) writes for theatre, film, television, and radio. His theatre credits include Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Hope, and Let The Right One In, all directed by John Tiffany; Junkyard, a Headlong, Rose Theatre Kingston, Bristol Old Vic and Theatr Clwyd co-production; The Solid Life of Sugarwater for Graeae Theatre Company and the National Theatre; Bunny for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival; Stacy for the Trafalgar Studios; 2nd May 1997 and When You Cure Me for the Bush Theatre. His adaptations include Woyzeck, Old Vic; The Physicists for the Donmar Warehouse and Stuart: A Life Backwards for Hightide. On film his credits include Wonder, War Book, A Long Way Down, and The Scouting Book for Boys. For television his credits include “National Treasure” (2017 BAFTA winner), “The Last Panthers,” “Don’t Take My Baby,” “This Is England,” “The Fades,” “Glue,” and “Cast-Offs.” He won 2016 BAFTAs for Best Mini-Series (“This Is England ’90”) and Best Single Drama (“Don’t Take My Baby”), and in 2012 won Best Series (“The Fades”) and Best Serial (“This Is England ’88”). DREW McONIE (Director, Choreographer) is one of Britain's most sought-after emerging directors and choreographers. He is the Artistic Director of The McOnie Company and a proud Associate Artist at The Old Vic theatre. Drew won the Olivier Award for Best Theatre Choreography for In the Heights in 2016 and he was nominated for the same award in 2017 for the ground-breaking production of Jesus Christ Superstar at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. Theatre credits as director/choreographer include: On the Town (Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre); The Wild Party (The Other Palace); Strictly Ballroom (Toronto/West Yorkshire Playhouse). Theatre credits as a choreographer include: Jesus Christ Superstar (Olivier Award Nomination for Best Theatre Choreography 2017 – Regents Park), Kinky Boots (Malmo Opera), In the Heights (Olivier Award Winner for Best Theatre Choreography, WhatsOnStage Award Nomination for Best Choreography, Winner of the Off West End Theatre Award for Best Choreography – Southwark Playhouse and Kings Cross Theatre), The Lorax (Old Vic), Hairspray (BroadwayWorld Award Winner for Best Choreography – U.K. national tour), Bugsy Malone (Lyric Hammersmith), Oklahoma! (U.K. national tour), The Sound of Music (Curve Theatre Leicester), Little Red Riding Hood (NYB), Chicago (Curve Theatre Leicester), West Side Story (NYMT), British Style (collaboration with Matthew Bourne at Buckingham Palace – BBC), Laurel and Hardy (The Watermill), James and the Giant Peach (U.K. national tour), 13 (directed by Jason Robert Brown – West End), Tommy (European tour), Spring Awakening (German premiere – Frankfurt), The Full Monty (German premiere – Frankfurt), Kes (Liverpool Playhouse & U.K. national tour). For The McOnie Company: Jekyll and Hyde (BroadwayWorld Award Winner for Outstanding Achievement in Dance – Old Vic Theatre), DRUNK! (Curve Theatre Leicester/ The Bridewell Theatre London) which lead to him being nominated for the Emerging Artist Award at the National Dance Awards, Making Midnight (Jermyn Street Theatre/ Latitude Festival) Slaughter (Audience Choice Award Winner – The Place Prize), and Be Mine! (Robin Howard Theatre). Film credits include: Me BeforeYou (directed by Thea Sharrock) and Recordare: Days of Remembrance (pre-selected for the Cannes & Berlin Film Festivals). Upcoming projects include: choreographer of Stephen Sondheim’s Company (directed by Marianne Elliott for the new Elliott Harper Theatre Company in the West End). MARIUS DE VRIES (Composer) has won two BAFTAs, an Ivor Novello award, and four Grammy nominations.  He is best known recently for his music direction and production on the multi-award-winning musical La La Land, which won 2017 Academy and Golden Globe Awards. Beginning his career playing keyboards for The Blow Monkeys, he has worked with artists such as Madonna, Bjork, David Bowie, Rufus Wainwright, Chrissie Hynde, Neil Finn, Annie Lennox, Bebel Gilberto, David Gray, P.J. Harvey, U2, Massive Attack, Elbow, Perry Farrell, Josh Groban, and many others. In the film and theatre world, he has collaborated with Baz Luhrmann, George Lucas, Andrew Lloyd Webber, A.R. Rahman, Zack Snyder, Daniel Kramer, and Stephan Elliott.  De Vries' long collaborative relationship with Nellee Hooper was responsible for landmark recordings with Massive Attack, Björk, Madonna, The Sneaker Pimps, Tina Turner, and U2, and ultimately the soundtrack and score for Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet and the groundbreaking Moulin Rouge.  Marius composed the score for Stephan Elliot’s The Eye of the Beholder and Easy Virtue. In musical theatre, Marius has worked with Andrew Lloyd Webber on Bombay Dreams and the sequel to The Phantom of the Opera: Love Never Dies. He also produced the cast album for Jerry Springer The Opera. In 2010, Marius contributed score and song productions to Kick-Ass and Sucker Punch, as well as co-producing an LP with Robbie Robertson. Another collaboration with Rufus Wainwright arrived in early 2016, an album of musical settings of nine Shakespearean sonnets, released to coincide with the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death, entitled Take all My Loves. Marius worked on George Lucas' animated fairytale musical, Strange Magic. He is now attached to Teen Spirit, starring Elle Fanning, directed by Max Minghella, and earlier this year he signed an agreement with the English National Opera to develop new and adventurous opera-related projects. He is also completing an album with The Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde.  EDDIE PERFECT (Songwriter) is one of Australia’s most diverse, respected and prolific writer/composer/performers, having made his mark in the fields of comedy, music theatre composition, playwriting, screenwriting, classical music, jazz and acting for stage and screen.  Perhaps best known for his portrayal of Mick Holland on Ten’s Offspring, a judge on Australia's Got Talent, and as the new host of Play School, Eddie has won multiple awards for his work both as a performer and a writer. His stage credits include Baz Lurhmann and Global Creatures’ Strictly Ballroom, Malthouse Theatre Company (Babes InThe Wood, Drink Pepsi Bitch, The Big Con), Shane Warne The Musical, Keating! The Musical, Songs From The Middle in collaboration with ANAM, Iain Grandage and the UK’s Brodsky Quartet, Opera Victoria’s The Threepenny Opera and Opera Australia’s South Pacific.  His solo music comedy shows (Angry Eddie, Drink Pepsi Bitch, Misanthropology) have received Helpmann and Green Room Awards, touring Australia, New Zealand, Edinburgh and London. His first play The Beast (for Melbourne Theatre Company) was a commercial and critical hit, before touring Australia with Ambassador Theatre Group in 2016. Eddie is currently writing a new play (Vivid White) for Melbourne Theatre Company, a musical adaptation of Beetlejuice for Warner Bros. Theatricals in New York, and is co-Artistic Director of Adelaide Cabaret Festival.