#thinking again of when i was at that publishing training program in summer and this girl had a ''reading turns muggles into wizards'' tote

[pleuvoire]

it’s funny how the h&rry p*tter books were like “here’s the magical people and the nonmagical people!” and then made occasional vague incoherent gestures at “also some of the magical people are bigoted towards the nonmagical people like the fantasy blood purity is based off your proximity to the nonmagical people and the wizard nazis like to kill and torture the nonmagical people offscreen where we don’t have to care. this is bad they should learn to be nicer” and then the whole fandom proceeded to seize on “muggle” as an insult or word for someone who’s like inferior or mundane and it became universally known as a bad thing to be. a+ reading comprehension there. honestly i think this speaks to both the failure of the text to properly commit to any clear coherent political allegory and the failure of the fans to pick up on what allegory and subtext visibly exists. great job all around everyone

[damisalakowrites]

How I Found My Publisher

I knew querying was going to be a hot mess for me. I’m an over-planner and over-thinker. I’m the "put 19 different brands of socks in my amazon cart and spend three months agonizing over the different fabrics before realizing they’re just freaking socks for the love of wool and polyester just pick one" type of person.

So when the time came to start putting together my query package, I did what I did best: I overanalyzed. For months. Until finally, on 8/21/2022, after reading an obscene number of reddit posts and tweets about querying and publishing, I took the plunge and sent out my first batch of queries.

As is the case for virtually every first time querier, I thought I was ready.

Reader, I was not ready.

In retrospect, my first batch of queries weren’t my finest work. I received a lot of rejections, and a few manuscript requests...which were followed by more rejections. Authors can receive over 100 rejections before an agent says, "yes." So I was prepared for this.

In fact, one could say I was primed for rejections. I was born in it. Molded by it...

For those who don't know, I'm a doctor. This means I completed 4 years of undergraduate studies, 4 years of medical school, and another 4 years of residency training in my specific field (psychiatry). The process is grueling and can take a huge hit on physicians' mental health and sense of self. So even though the rejections while querying stung, it was...familiar. In some ways, medical training prepared me emotionally for the querying journey.

So thank goodness for that, I guess.

I queried for a year. During that year, I improved my query letter, made some changes to first pages, and made slight revisions to my manuscript as a whole (query stats coming up I promise).

In March, I saw a tweet from Lauren Davila, the acquisitions editor at Inked in Gray. The tweet was just a generic request for more "superhero" manuscripts to hit her inbox. By the time I saw the tweet, it was weeks old and her submissions were closed - so I did nothing. But a few days later, I decided to shoot my shot and slid into her DMs to ask if she was interested in looking at my manuscript, or if she would prefer I wait. She responded quickly, and encouraged me to email my manuscript and query, anyway! So I did.

More on that later.

In June, I was accepted to the WriteMentor program and got to work with Melissa Welliver - a YA speculative fiction author. I stopped sending out new queries and started workshopping ways to improve my manuscript. I started expanding upon some themes and worked on implementing revisions...

In truth, I'd given up on my story getting picked up by an agent around this time. My plan was to workshop, rewrite, and probably shelve for a few months before querying again. But after a few weeks of working with Melissa and thinking about my manuscript in different ways...I started to look at my story and feel excited again.

And then, on my 31st birthday, I got an email...

Thank you so much for your patience as I took the time to look over your MS and chat with the rest of the Inked team about your fantastic novel. It is my absolute pleasure to extend an offer of publication…

The week leading up to The Email were rough. I own my own private practice and the month before, I'd started working at a college counseling center 2 days a week. Which meant I spent the month of September working 6 days a week. The icing on the cake was that the weekend leading up to my birthday, I wound up in the ER for an infection. And I remember being immensely annoyed that I had to go to the ER for an incision & drainage on my only day off.

So waking up to The Email on my birthday was a real treat.

I'll save the rest of the story for another post (nudging agents, talking to a contract lawyer, "The Call," etc) but here's how it ended: I signed on the dotted line. And in the summer of 2025, my debut will be published with Inked in Gray.

And, as promised, my stats:

Queries Sent: 128

Rejections: 101

CNR (closed, no response): 19

Full Requests: 8

Partial Requests: 2

Offer: 1

[dragonmuse]

This proves, once again, that I cannot do anything without a firm deadline (or two). A bout of covid in summer and a couple of long road trips and train rides meant I got through many more audio books than I usually would. So I'll limit myself to my favourites here and give a short teaser each instead. Just because I really want to. Hope that's alright.

To Night Owl from Dogfish by Holly Goldberg Sloan and Meg Wolitzer. Avery and Bett are both 12 years old and live with single gay dads. That's excactly everything they have in common. Otherwise they couldn't be more different. Only now their dads have decided to fall in love and to send the girls to the same summer camp so they can get to know each others as "new sisters". This cannot stand! A reverse Parent Trap, if you will. Utterly hilarious and very heartfelt. Also the most realistic 12yo I've come across in fiction ever, I think.

The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter by Theodora Goss (Part 1 of the Athena Club series). When Mary Jekyll's Mother dies, Mary is left with no family, a lot of debt and a household staff she'll have to let go. When she comes into possession of a bank statement in the name of "Hyde" she is reminded of the cruel Mr Hyde who used to work for her late father and the high reward set for his apprehension. So, as one does when faced with mystery in Victorian London, she enlists the help of one Mr Holmes and the good Doctor Watson. You know how in gothic literature women are usually sidelined to wives, daughters, victims or monsters? Well, this is their story. And by "their" I actually mean "all of them"'s story. Readers of "Dracula Daily" will also encounter familiar names, especially in the second book. Brilliant, brilliant series!

The Fetch Philips series by Luke Arnold (of Black Sails fame), starting with The Last Smile of Sunder City. My current obsession. Detective noir novel set in an urban fantasy setting with a twist. Very cool world building and character development.

Identitti by Mithu Sanyal (translated from German by Altal Price) Nivedita's life is turned upside down when superstar postcolonial and race studies South-Asian professor Saraswati - her supervisor, mentor, idol and crush - is discovered to be actually… white. One of the most brilliant books I'v ever read, I think. A very, very darkly funny take on identity, race, academia and finding a place in the world. It makes you constantly go "Come on, the case is crystal clear now!", only to make you go "Huh. Or not." two pages later. You will also learn A LOT.

Now.. saving the best for last. Stories Beneath our Skin by Veronica Sloane. I will not give a summary here, because that simply feels too weird. But I loved it so damn much! This was my comfort while I was in bed with covid for over week. The found family dynamic reminded me quite a bit of Becky Chambers' books, and I mean that as the highest praise. I listened to it before Smut Nights became a thing so I was a bit suprised by the steamier bits, but that is in no way a complain ;) Can recommend it highly to anyone following you here!

Thank you for this reading program! It was a lot of fun! And thank you, just, for everything I guess!

omg omg you read my novel? I am torn between joy and wanting to hide under the bed. Just as a note to anyone who reads it now, please know I don't think it's cool for white guys to have dreads. It was really ridiculous that I wasn't aware of that in 2013.

I actually HAD to write the smut bits back then because the press (now defunct, hence it being self-published at this point and quite messy) required a certain steam level for novels.

AND MY MOTHER READ IT. She called me her 'little pornographer'. Truly a dark day.

But uh, being compared to Becky Chambers makes me want to ugly sob because I love all of her books very deeply, thank you.

And I love all of your reviews, my TBR list is now longer!

ANYWAY, please excuse me experiencing all my emotions at once, on to

YOUR POEM:

I wish I were a bonsai tree

so carefully tended

to be coaxed and trimmed

taking on a perfect shape

Would that I could give such peace

just by growing my tiny leaves

and reaching for the light

To be loved like that

for myself alone and the things

we make together

[sapphicellegreenaway]

once more to see you

hockey player!aaron hotchner x figure skater!fem!reader

switching training facilities before your most important season should have been a complete disaster, but you manage to find love along the way

word count: 15.0k

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, moderate description of injury, needles

a/n: hi! this is the first and only time i'll publish anything in relation to the men of the bau because i wanted this story to live and exist in the world in an iteration that felt was authentic and how i originally pictured it. anyways enjoy nhl superstar aaron hotchner (yes he plays for philly bc they're my dumb little team)

⭒⭑⭒

Aaron swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility. At the very least he’s going to give them a piece of his mind.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Aaron just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They destroy the ice with their toe picks and leave it in terrible shape, which makes it hard to properly execute plays that could be the difference between a win or a loss in a game. It frustrates him because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence on the rink owned by the organization that has him on payroll.

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Aaron had those experiences as well, it’s clear he never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Derek finally says something.

“Christ Hotch, relax. It’s only for another month until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they please. The grief Aaron catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place.

⭑

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs than you’ve had at another rink. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championship roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more.

US Figure Skating has taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty-one you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you could get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit was kind to you throughout the summer and fall, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. With its conclusion all your attention is on landing higher on the podium at nationals.

⭑

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain.

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to show frustration, leaving the boards with an impression of your pick, but you peel away from them anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by, gaining speed in hopes of actually executing the element correctly. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your centre of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground and the entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Everything throbs, and it takes an inner strength you didn’t know you possessed to not take your skates off and throw them in a garbage can. You’re tired of the regression that’s plagued you since coming to train here. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and your head hangs low as you skate over to the woman who looks just as defeated as you feel.

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut — nothing is working. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is just about up. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better, but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at.

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you notice it’s the hockey team that the building is named after. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks to be your age is sending you daggers. His anger confuses you, and somehow fuels your own because there’s no reason for him to look at you like that.

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. It will do you good to work through the things you’re feeling with someone who can actually provide strategies for coping. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is in just over a month, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck.

A couple of hours pass with the pair of you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it to make money.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness.

⭑

Aaron doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong about the situation until Gideon suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault.

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” the captain says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. Hopefully taking the moment to talk to the youngster will help him understand that other people are allowed to struggle. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes, we need to be at the top of our games.”

He gives Aaron a pointed look and taps the raven-haired winger with the nearest stick “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? That things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Aaron didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you he’s going to apologize.

⭑

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your endurance — too often have you been out of breath at the end of a performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals.

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed the time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic — every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your nerves settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things.

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree, a small smile breaking out on your face. “You know, I hate it here slightly less than two weeks ago. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting.

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Aaron sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of music he presumes belongs to you from inside the pad. He had begun to think you were never going to reappear at the rink, but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Aaron immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s slightly nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology? No one has ever rebuffed him in the manner you had, not even opponents on rival teams, and he hates the idea of someone smearing his name in the media.

Aaron knew you were good. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, he knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically — your scores reflect those facts. Regardless, Aaron is surprised how much better you seem when he’s watching you from the corner of the rink.

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than a hundred percent. The music drives you forward in a way he’s never seen before — you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed Aaron finds himself holding his breath. From watching footage of this program on the plane home, he knows you’re about to attempt the hardest element in it. The quadruple salchow is one of the most difficult jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season from comments online. You’re completing the jump before Aaron even realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program with a reserved awe and intrigue. Top-quality athletes recognize greatness, and he now understands everything the team has been trying to tell him for months — he just had to see it to believe it.

When the music stops and you float back to reality from wherever it is you go in the moment to take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else — the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances of him being here to make another snide comment are hight, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that doesn't have glass so you can hear him over the sound of other people’s blades scraping the ice.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water.

Aaron’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but does his best to recover quickly. After all, he’s more than deserving of it. “I wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t very, uh, professional of me. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles, reminding you he’s human and trying to figure out life the same way you are. “And you’re really talented.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, not quite ready to drop the frosty tone your voice holds, “But it’s fine. I had just been kicked off the ice for a week when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Aaron!” he responds. “Aaron Hotchner.”

⭑

A sort of truce befalls the two of you. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest because preparing for nationals is the only thing that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Aaron is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. It’s becoming clear that the lives you lead are more similar than he ever could have imagined.

Despite there being no reason to do so, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Reid and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after their practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Aaron swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, no one believes him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Derek certainly tries on numerous occasions. It’s Aaron’s steely resolve and deadpan expressions that normally save him from public ridicule, but when the guys aren’t looking he sneaks you a small smile to signal he isn’t upset with anything you’ve done. What he doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. The official NHL app now sits on your homescreen, nestled between various social media platforms.

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program.

“It’s really nothing, Hotch is just curious about the sport and I’m the most available one for him to latch onto,” you sigh, hoping she doesn’t question you further. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on singles and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself when climbing up the ranks, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their performance. After a few more failed attempts you cut your losses and head off the ice, more than exhausted.

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the locker room door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Aaron, and he’s holding an ice pack.

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you.

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before he speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. “Didn’t realize a hot shot like you would actually pay attention to what I do.”

Aaron smirks and shrugs with a nonchalance that seems a little too forced. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by his understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Aaron notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything.

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Aaron doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Aaron,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home.

⭑

Something shifts between you after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘Hotch’ and nothing else, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. You’re sure there have been times where he wanted to go home but stayed seated on the cold concrete bleachers to offer his support on a hard day. Once Aaron’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days.

Aaron doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. He understands, he really does, but sometimes he worries you don’t care enough about him to actually put work into the friendship. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside yours. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice.

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Aaron brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

He’s been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but Aaron’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs.

“You’re fucking joking. Aaron, you could be somewhere warm and enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Aaron snorts.

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Hotchner,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do your own. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Aaron yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Aaron’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly.

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you know that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off — you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Aaron to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight.

“What’s up?” Aaron’s tone is relaxed and casual, the complete opposite of how you currently feel. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and make a reply impossible to choke out. His tone changes instantly when he realizes your distress and all activity on the other line halts — the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. I don’t think I can do this. Why did I ever think I could do this?” Now across the parking lot and faced with the task of driving home, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat.

“Of course you can, you’re the only person I know that could do it,” he reassures, “I’ll meet you at your place,” The light jangle of keys lets you know Aaron isn’t going to take no for an answer. You don’t fight him, not having the energy to defend your normal pre-competition ritual of radio silence with the rest of the world, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment.

Aaron must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Aaron ignores them and hikes your bag higher on his shoulder. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize he stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Aaron slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

After unlocking your door and settling, both of you flop onto the couch, chopsticks in hand. There’s a blanket of silence over the room as you eat, but it’s far from awkward. Countless hours have been spent just like this, both of you caught up in your own heads and thinking about your futures in sport for there to be discomfort at the lack of conversation. Aaron’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let him pull you into his side and turn the television on to some basketball game.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the commercials switch on at the end of the first half.

Aaron sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “It’s what friends are for.”

Slowly you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Aaron listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he holds you tighter, making sure you’re comfortable and providing a space to let it all out . Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Aaron’s words make it easier to believe in yourself.

The two of you spend the night on the couch, end up falling asleep, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off in the morning. You can’t stay in the little bubble Aaron created for the two of you — the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over the fantasy you wish never had to dissipate. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking was the least of your worries, but the gesture is sweet and you aren’t quite ready to say goodbye yet. When you reach the airport entrance, Aaron pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since the meteoric rise to friendship

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Aaron jokes, handing you your suitcase.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Aaron a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you don’t want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting.

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble.

He wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously, with only the gleam in his eyes letting you know you aren’t getting scolded. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.”

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport, suitcase trailing behind you. Aaron stays parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Aaron’s classic rock playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole way.

⭑

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing — Aaron’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute — he watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just knowing Aaron’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed.

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Aaron. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to him frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to.

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Aaron asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home.

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate.

Aaron hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” He confirms you do in fact skate after 11:30, and conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Aaron recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year.

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before catching a taxi to the rink in an effort to not be late. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters.

The time between practice and your warmup is spent pacing the halls of the dressing and equipment rooms, doing your best to keep your mind off the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Some of the other girls send you odd looks as you pass, hair wild and running shoes untied, but you know you’re doing what you have to. After what feels like decades you finish getting ready and go to find Brenda and go over any last minute tweaks. You find her walking down the hall towards you, holding your phone that’s already lit up with an answered call.

“It’s Hotchner,” Brenda says as she tosses you the device.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Aaron laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask, slightly started.

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Aaron stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling that’s taken root in your bones. The television cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Aaron about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping.

⭑

Aaron tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat.

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Aaron is beyond excited to be in Salt Lake City. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches.

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and thick gloves on your hands. Aaron notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Aaron sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors, doing poorly to hide the nerves he has on your behalf.

⭑

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. No one is in the hall with you but it feels too small, as if the walls are in danger of closing in. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates.

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s show time.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score.

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, which won’t do you any favours with analytics people, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had anticipated. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.” She means well, but you aren’t convinced.

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small screen of your phone while you get undressed, too upset to continue being rinkside like some of the other competitors. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. The playlist Aaron made you blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be, and it’s working as a substitute for the fact he isn’t here with you. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy, there's a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended.

The door cracks open slightly, and the head of your best friend peeks out from around it. “Fancy seeing you here,” Aaron says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his open arms. Aaron’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him.

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated to see him, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah and not with the family and friends he doesn’t get to see during the season.

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” There’s a gleam in his eye that hints at something more but you’re just so happy to see him you don’t care about his intentions. Aaron’s smile matches yours as you shake your head.

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Aaron into answering all your questions about how he got here you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you, which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Aaron.

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Aaron, who lets you direct him out of the arena, leaving a gawking crowd behind, and into the cab he called while you were wrapping up.

It’s a silent ride, as Aaron knows you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. There’s no pressing you to talk during the elevator or as you struggle to unlock the door with the temperamental room key you were given. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair.

“Nowhere yet,” Aaron says, looking up from the article on his phone. “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Aaron smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos he bought and going down a conspiracy theory wormhole on YouTube. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You earnestly tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap like an idiot every time you landed a jump.

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright, so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Aaron pokes fun at your beanie and thick scarf, and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Aaron’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip.

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Aaron pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps in a playful manner that has a smile creep onto your face before you could help it.

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey.

⭑

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel as comfortable as possible for tomorrow given the circumstances. Aaron executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel, you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Aaron pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily for the both of you.

You wake before both your alarm and Aaron. It takes you a second to get your bearings and realize you’re pinned against his body, though it’s pleasant and you truly don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Aaron for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake.

“Hotch,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Aaron, come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

He listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with Aaron still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot he wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye.

“Will I see you after practice?” Aaron asks, voice still gruff with sleep.

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Aaron nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Aaron to keep you company, but you do the best you can to push the thoughts of him out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, asking polite questions about what the two of you got up to last night before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of skating to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Aaron.

Don’t want to disrupt your incredibly rigid pre-comp routine (I’m mostly joking), but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you.

Included is a link to a Spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing he regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before.

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice.

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Aaron thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves.

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates.

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited, and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet if things go poorly.

Aaron is standing at the edge of the boards open to spectators during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time in between your skate really getting into the zone. So much hinges on the four minutes of ice time you have left.

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you jog lightly in place to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your shaking hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd.

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel every beat of the music, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Aaron’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with him. The music fades from your consciousness slightly, but you’re still transporting the crowd to the fantasy world you created. As you strike your final pose the music fades out completely and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same dramatic manner you chirp Aaron for doing when he celebrates goals.

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your gear in the dressing room. You know Aaron is the one who threw the Gritty toy — no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team outside of the training facility. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey, Aaron replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features.

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly, heartbeat so pronounced in your ears you have to strain to hear. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda.

“Come on,” she laughs, “Aaron’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of his name you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Hotch!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point.

“Hey, golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Aaron’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching the final skater increases your anxiety tenfold — she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase.

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash on the small screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda evenletting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Aaron, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him.

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Aaron’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Aaron finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months.

“You’re a national champion,” Aaron mumbles, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received.

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper back, so much love in your voice it’s threatening to spill over.

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Aaron. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen — you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about.

⭑

“A, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Aaron’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home, but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list.

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left, Aaron!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy — just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Aaron’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for US Figure Skating to announce who they’re sending to the world championship.

“How’s practice been lately?” Aaron asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were immediately shuttled into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Aaron’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them.

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Derek told at practice that morning, and you giggle as it gets recounted with flailing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Aaron play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights.

Aaron stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a few bumps in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whatever it may be. Aaron’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop.

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Aaron corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with him into downtown.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.”

Aaron’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor have any announcements been made on social media. In response to the radio silence you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience and necessity to be early to imaginary deadlines he set himself..

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Aaron’s ridiculous Axl Rose impression. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated — most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Aaron included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time he won’t be around.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Aaron lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door about his proclivity for cheesy gestures.

Aaron greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles that the onlooking girls understand all too well.

There was no reason for you to be nervous — everyone is incredibly kind without their significant others around, just as Aaron promised. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon as you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you and Aaron got together. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years.

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and training your eyes to follow Aaron around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t heard anything about assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement until this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut.

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?”

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Aaron to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall.

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, keeping it relatively chaste in fear of getting chirped by his teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Aaron sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as if the two of you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?”

Having Aaron be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Aaron presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is.

“That’s my girl.”

⭑

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer to the rink know you’re a world class athlete.

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again, kiddo.”

You do try again — fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel is getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Aaron had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly.

“Hotchner!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Aaron smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your general direction.

“I’m wounded, babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I can call you whatever I want?” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it because investigating him never leads to anything good.

Aaron watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Aaron to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted, and since you’ve gotten together Aaron has become rather fond of them as well.

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March, and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Aaron. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much.

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal.

Aaron laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror.

It’s almost a week later when you see him again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team not wanting to push you too hard before taking off for Europe. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence — some of them no doubt want a comment from you about worlds and how you expect the competition to go. Aaron has no idea you’re even there until long after practice ends, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey there, all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger.

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Aaron obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates.

“Fuck off,” he yells at Morgan and Reid, the two of them hollering so loud people can probably hear them all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, “and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lay on the couch.

“The chariot awaits, m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city.

Aaron’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment — instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Aaron’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Aaron is playing you can’t help but smile.

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Aaron figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when he pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift.

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Aaron’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible.

“What was that, sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable.

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Aaron flawlessly — like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Aaron has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities.

For the first time in this final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off.

⭑

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition — off ice training, multiple practices a day, and press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Aaron, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Aaron could be by your side like he was at nationals.

The morning air is brisk as you exit the rental car US Figure Skating provided and head for the arena doors. It’s quiet while you get ready for the first of the day’s three practice sessions, but as soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is — your skates feel the way they should and you didn’t forget any gear at the hotel. It has to be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you’ve almost convinced yourself everything will be fine.

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you — all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep.

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off from a regular fall until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front.

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain, which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly.

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay.

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. A string of tears fall from your eyes as the stretcher you occupy is wheeled into the building, mostly for lost opportunities but also because your nerve receptors are beginning to recognize pain again. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep.

There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel once you’ve been cleared.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Aaron. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Hotchner. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset he looks. “I’ll be fine A, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aaron. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some medication before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring Aaron for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself.

Brenda holds you that night as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. People steer clear of an angry-looking girl in a wheelchair, and the two of you get through customs incredibly fast. Aaron’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot, and most likely will be for a while.

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down.

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Aaron drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Flyers management is allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can exist on your own for a few hours. Aaron’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower, and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so he keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Aaron’s help.

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Aaron sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Aaron’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there.

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Aaron reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater.

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Aaron smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

⭑

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Aaron keeps you going. He insists you do your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain.

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Aaron pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength.

“Ready to do this thing?” Aaron asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You nod enthusiastically and let him lead you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Aaron steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Aaron joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again.

“I do believe you promised me a few laps, lover boy,” you wink.

“Yes ma’am,” Aaron giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Aaron.

⭒⭑⭒

consider reblogging and giving feedback if you enjoyed! it helps a lot x

[bettsfic]

how i got an agent, or: my writing timeline

when i started writing, i had no idea how publishing worked and i had a lot of misconceptions about it. but i just signed my first literary agent so i thought i’d share what my experience has been getting to this point, in case it helps anyone else with their own publication goals. i’m also including financial details, like submission fees and income, because “i could never afford to pursue writing as a career” is something that kept me from taking the idea seriously.

for context, i write mostly literary fiction and i’m on the academic/scholarly writing path. this process looks a lot different for other genres. 

i didn’t write this in my pretty nonfiction narrative voice; it’s really just the bare-bones facts of how it went down, how long it took, how many words i wrote (both fanfiction and original fiction), and how much it all cost. 

background

2002 - 2005: read a fuckton of books, wrote some fiction, wanted to be a writer but knew it would never happen, journaled every moment of my life in intimate detail

2006: started working full-time (at a chinese restaurant) while still in high school, also started taking courses for college credit; no time to write, and forgot i had ever wanted to be a writer

2007: graduated high school, started college (psych major), still worked at the restaurant, moved out of my parents’ house into an apartment with my boyfriend; my dad got diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer

2008: continued college full-time, quit the restaurant and started part-time as a bank teller, broke up with bf and moved in with a friend at an apartment where the rent was obscenely high; had to pick up a second job altering bridal gowns

2009: continued college full-time, started dating someone else, moved in with him, had to support him, took a third job as an admin assistant 

2010: continued college full-time, still had 3 jobs; my dad’s cancer became terminal

2011: my dad passed away; i graduated college with a 3.9 and $31k of debt; quit 2 of 3 jobs; got promoted at the bank; my bf cheated on me and we broke up; moved back in with my mom

2012: a very dark time; also, bought a house (because where i’m from, it’s cheaper to buy than rent)

2013: discovered fandom

2014, age 24

this is the year i started writing and posting fanfic. prior to that i was a compulsive journaler but had no drive or desire to become a writer, despite how much i had written when i was a teenager. it seemed like a very childish dream. at this point i assumed writing was just a phase like all my other hobbies i’d picked up and set down. 

but fandom proved to be really healthy for me, and i made some good friends who encouraged my writing and made me want to be better at it. i was really not very good at writing. i don’t think i had any natural creative talent whatsoever, or even a particularly vivid imagination. the only thing i had going for me was the ability to put thoughts into words after a decade of obsessive journaling.

i started writing in spring, and by the end of the year my total word count was 311k. i was making a decent income at the bank, insofar as my bills were covered and i had health insurance. i still had a significant amount of credit card debt from college that i was trying to pay down, and which was eating up all my extra income. 

2015, age 25

i continued writing through 2015 and went to visit @aeriallon, whom i’d met in fandom and who told me i should consider applying to MFAs. i was miserable at the bank and knew i wanted to go back to school, but i didn’t think there was a chance in hell a grad program would accept me, since my writing wasn’t very good and i hadn’t so much as taken a single english class in undergrad. she told me to just look around and do a few google searches to see what i found. 

when i started searching, i assumed i would probably be more compelled toward an MEd or MSW programs and go the therapy route, which is what the plan had been in undergrad before my dad died and my life got derailed. i never wanted to be a banker, but i’d got a promotion into commercial finance that paid decently, so i took it and told myself i’d work for a year before going back to school. but then i kept getting promoted and one year became many.

i ended up being more drawn to creative writing MFA programs because they seemed to want people with weird backgrounds like mine. also the classes sounded fun and the programs were funded. i didn’t know how i would be able to afford my mortgage payment or sell my house on a fraction of the income i was making at the bank, but i figured i’d apply and see what happened.

it took 6 months to get a writing sample ready to apply to MFAs. it was the only ofic story i’d written as an adult, and in retrospect i had no idea what i was doing because at that point i didn’t read literary short fiction. but i got the sample as good as i could get it and completed my applications. i applied to 6 schools and got accepted into 1. 

in 2015 i wrote 250k. i can’t find my application spreadsheet from that year, but i probably spent between $300 and $400 on application fees. early in the year, i had finally managed to pay off my credit card debt and save a little bit of money.

2016, age 26

the school i got into was within driving distance of my house, so i didn’t bother moving. i tried to quit the bank but my boss convinced me to stay on 2 days a week working from home. i agreed to it, because my grad stipend wasn’t enough to cover my bills, and i was counting on what little savings i had accrued to get me through the program. i still had no drive or interest to publish. i mostly just wanted to go back to school so i could learn how to be better at this thing i really enjoyed doing.

in the MFA, as you might imagine, i had to read a lot of stuff and write a lot of stuff, and was encouraged to begin submitting some of the short stories i wrote for workshop. i was not particularly into the idea, considering it seemed like a lot of work for little reward, and also i didn’t think my stories were very good.

i also started teaching english comp. i hated it and decided that after the MFA, i never wanted to do it again. haha. hahahahahaha

in 2016 i wrote 343k. i didn’t apply/submit in 2016 so i didn’t pay any fees, but my grad stipend was $14k for the academic year, plus the income i was making at the bank.

2017, age 27

i did a complete 180 and decided i loved teaching more than anything else in the entire world, and i was willing to do whatever it took to become a teacher. i realized that to become a teacher, i needed to publish. begrudgingly i started submitting to literary journals. i also applied to summer workshops and got into tin house, which i highly recommend if that’s something you’re interested in. at tin house i met my dream agent, who seemed really interested in my work and encouraged me to query her as soon as i had a book done. 

a lot of personal drama happened that year. i was still working at the bank in addition to teaching a 2/2 and taking a full course load. in summer i had a long overdue mental breakdown. 

2017 was a rough year. i wrote 149k. this is the year i started keeping a dedicated expenses spreadsheet. i spent $174 in submission fees. tin house tuition with room and board was a little over $1500 + travel. i thought it was worth it because i met the agent i thought i would later sign, but that didn’t pan out. (i made some great friends though!!) tin house was definitely an unwise financial decision; i paid for it out of what little i managed to save in 2015.

2018, age 28

early in 2018, i went from teaching comp/rhet to creative writing, which only cemented my desire to teach writing as a career. i realized i was far better at teaching writing than writing, but i knew i had to keep writing to keep teaching (shocked pikachu.jpg), so i kept submitting to journals. i got my first story accepted. i didn’t receive any payment for that publication. i quit the bank early in the year (finally! after 10 years!) and was terrified about money, in part because my student loan payments were coming out of deferment and i was still paying off my hospital bills from my breakdown. 

in spring semester, i won a few departmental awards (totaling $500ish) and got a second story accepted (again, no payment). i also got accepted to another workshop which i will not name because i hated it. i graduated in may and defended my thesis in july. the thesis would later become my short story collection, zucchini.

in fall, i stayed on at my school as an adjunct, and started writing training wheels which would later become an original novel called baby. 

i wrote 450k in 2018. i paid $373 in submission fees. i was also nominated for an award for one of my publications but didn’t win. the workshop i went to was like $4000 with room and board (it was a month-long workshop). i got 75% of it covered with scholarships and i paid for the rest of it out of my savings, and even though i’d intended to drive there, my mom ended up buying me a plane ticket. again, i met a lot of big-wig writers i thought for sure would help me get an agent. i told myself i was networking, and that publication was all about Who You Knew. but that turned out not to be true for me.

as an adjunct i made $3200 per course, and i taught 3 classes in fall. in winter, i got my shit together and started applying for creative writing PhDs, mostly to convince my family i was doing something with my life, with no expectation that i would get in. in winter i applied to 2 schools. with application fees and the GRE, i ended up paying well over $500.

2019, age 29

in spring semester, i taught 2 classes while i revised training wheels into baby. when i had a completed manuscript, i finally pulled the plug and used all my networking contacts to get my dream agent i’d met at tin house. i queried her, and a very popular and well-regarded author i’d met at the other workshop emailed her on my behalf to tell her good things about me. i thought for sure i had it in the bag. this author also touched base with a few other agents whom he thought would like my work.

i didn’t hear back from any of them. not even a “no thanks.” i set down querying for a while. 

i got a third story picked up and published around this time, and i was paid $25 for it. they also nominated me for an award, and i don’t think i won? but i can’t find out who did win so idk.

my grandpa passed away and i decided to sell my house and move in with my grandma so she wouldn’t be alone. i got rejected from both PhD programs i applied to and decided to get a “real job” instead, and began applying for random positions that offered health insurance, because i knew i was drastically undermedicated and it was becoming a Problem.

near the end of spring semester, i moved out of my house, put it on the market, and was interviewing for a community development manager position for a nonprofit. at the same time, i found out about another university that was taking late-season applications, and i applied. five days later, i got accepted. one day after that, i got a job offer for the nonprofit. since i had no idea how long it would take for my house to sell, and being unable to afford both rent in a new city and my mortgage payment, i deferred my PhD acceptance for a year and decided to work at the nonprofit for a while. the risk was that i could only defer my admission, not my funding, so there was a chance that the following year i wouldn’t get the same funding package.

i lasted one month at the “real job” before i had another breakdown and ended up quitting. 

my house sold for well under the asking price and i received only $4000 in equity once it was all said and done. that’s a lot of money to me, but considering that i’d been paying on the house for 7 years, i was expecting a lot more.

i had a year to kill until the PhD so i decided to take a break from teaching and apply to artist residencies instead. i applied to 8 residencies and got accepted into 4, but only ended up attending 3, because the 4th was outrageously priced and there was no indication of the cost when i had applied.

in winter i picked up querying agents again. i queried 10 agents every other week. i also got a ghostwriting gig writing children’s books that paid $800 a month.

in 2019 i wrote 417k. i spent $441 in submission fees (to residencies and contests, not agent queries. never pay money to query an agent!!). i ended up teaching 3 classes fall semester.

2020, age 30

i started out the year driving across the country going to residencies. the first cost $100 (no food), the second cost $250 (A LOT OF VERY GOOD FOOD), and the third paid me $500. i was at the third when the pandemic hit.

the query rejections started rolling in. i gave up in february after 60 queries. of those 60, i received 7 manuscript requests for baby, but the consensus was that it was too long and plotless (you got me there.jpg). at the second residency completed and revised zucchini and decided to begin querying with that instead. i could only find a few agents who accepted collections so i only queried 16. i got one request for the manuscript but then didn’t hear back. i gave up in april shortly after the pandemic hit. 

when i figured the collection, like the novel, just wasn’t publishable, i started submitting to contests which is the more standard route for the genre. i submitted to 12 in total and was a finalist in 1. i was rejected or withdrew from the rest.

the PhD program reached out to ask if i was still interested in starting in fall, and i said i was, so they put me in the running for funding again and i was accepted. the stipend was $17k per academic year.

like most of us, i got totally derailed in spring and stopped doing basically everything. the ghostwriting gig started paying $1500 a month and i also started my creative coaching business, which slowly but surely began to supplement my income. i also received the $1200 stimulus. 

when school started, i quit the ghostwriting gig. i had no intention to continue querying either book, but i saw a twitter pitch event called DVpit (diverse voices) and decided to participate. for those who don’t know, a twitter pitch event is where you tweet the pitch for your book and use the hashtag, and agents scroll through the tag and like tweets. if an agent likes your tweet, you query them. 

i got one like, so i followed up with the query. the agent asked for the full MS and a couple weeks later followed up with the offer for representation. we talked on the phone, she sent me the contract, i asked for a couple changes, and then signed! 

so far this year i’ve written 375k and paid $518 in submission fees. i’ll give more details when i do my end of year roundup next month. oh, and i finally paid off my student loans.

totals

word count: 2.3 million

agent queries: 77

agent MS requests: 9

agent rejections: 28

agent no responses: 44

short story submissions: 86

short story acceptances: 3

short story income: $25

total submission/application fees: $1472

my (final) query letter

honestly this query letter probably isn’t very good which is why i got such a minimal response, but it got the job done eventually.

Thank you for expressing interest in ZUCCHINI through this year's DVpit event.

ZUCCHINI is a collection that views sex through an asexual lens. It poses inquiries into constructs like gender, sexuality, and love to dissect the patriarchal/puritanical foundations from which our social perspectives often derive. Being a collection about asexuality, each story portrays a relationship that develops from forms of attraction other than physical.

In one story, a grieving widow purchases her first sex toy; in another, a woman uses sex to cope with the death of her abusive father, and later in the collection faces the long road to recovery; an administrative assistant seeks out a codependent relationship with her boss; a masochist hires a professional sadist to lead him toward self-actualization; a woman begins to recover from her sexual assault by staging a reenactment on her own terms; and lastly, two lifelong friends in a queerplatonic relationship decide to get married. Asexuality is an under-acknowledged identity within the LGBTQIA community and is often misunderstood. In seven stories, ZUCCHINI dissects the notion of attraction, explores the intersections of sexual identity and trauma recovery, and conveys the experience of intimacy without physical desire.

Three stories in the collection have been published in literary magazines. “Lien” appeared in volume 24 of Quarter After Eight and was nominated for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. “An Informed Purchase” appeared in the summer 2018 issue of Midwestern Gothic and won the Jordan-Goodman Prize in Fiction. “The Ashtray” appeared in issue 16 of Rivet Journal and has been nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize.

Complete at 53,000 words, ZUCCHINI is a collection in conversation with Carmen Maria Machado’s HER BODY AND OTHER PARTIES, Lauren Groff’s FLORIDA, and Samantha Hunt’s THE DARK DARK.

If ZUCCHINI is of interest to you, I would be happy to send you the manuscript. Per your guidelines, I've appended the first twenty pages below, which is the entirety of the first story.

what comes next

i’m going to spend january revising the collection per my agent’s feedback. when i send it back to her, she’ll shoot it out to the first round of publishers. my understanding is that the goal is to get multiple offers on it so that it has to go to auction. if there are no offers, she’ll do another round of submissions, and so on, until we’ve exhausted our options. if that happens, we’ll reassess, but by then hopefully i’ll have another novel finished.

meanwhile, i’ll be continuing the PhD which entails teaching a 2/2, workshop, and 2 lit seminars per semester. i’m also still doing my creative coaching, writing fanfic, and working on my original projects. in summer, i’ll finally be moving to hopefully start going to school in person next fall. 

the PhD is a 3 year program with an optional fourth year. i don’t see myself finishing in 3 years so i do plan to take the extra year unless something comes up. after the PhD, i’m not sure what i’ll do. a lot will probably change by then so i’m trying not to commit to one idea. i might apply to post-doc fellowships and tenure track positions, or i might leave the country and teach overseas, or i might move to LA and try to get in a writer’s room somewhere. i’ve got a lot of options.

overall thoughts/stuff i learned

first of all, you don’t have to go through all of this to publish a book. you could feasibly just write a book and query agents. the only reason it took me this long is because my PTSD brain was sabotaging me every step of the way and i didn’t start taking anything seriously until i found something i was willing to fight for (teaching). i went the MFA/literary route but other, faster routes are just as good. maybe better. probably better. actually if there’s any chance you can go a different route, you should take it.

reflecting on all of this, very little of it has anything to do with talent or being a good writer. nor does it have to do with being at the right place at the right time. i’ve only made it this far because i took very small steps over and over again, and during that walk met people who could help me -- the authors who have mentored me, the editors who accepted my stories, the agent who signed me. and as i got further along my path, i started being able to help other writers in the way i was helped. 

i don’t believe i’ll ever be a great writer. the best thing i can say about my writing is that it’s competent and accessible. everything i write sets out to do something and most of the time it gets the job done. i don’t imagine i’ll ever be able to financially support myself with publishing, and i’ll certainly never be famous or well-known, but i’m good enough to keep making progress. i’ll probably continue to find opportunities that are adjacent to writing and that will keep me afloat, pending my health and provided the country doesn’t devolve into civil war. 

probably the most important thing i learned in all this is that having a wide appeal isn’t the goal. you don’t write to be lauded or liked. you have to stay as true to yourself and your interests as you possibly can, so that the people who come across your path can see you and help you. you’ll need those people; no one gets anywhere alone. if you pander, if you’re too concerned with praise and success or being adored, you won’t make it very far. the rejection will eventually kill you. 

with all that said, my advice to you is this: never stop writing. the ability to share our stories is the single most precious thing we have. you can’t let anything stop you from telling your stories the way you need them to be told.

[likeshipsonthesea]

the summer before senior year nursey works at a library close to his grandma’s house on long island. half the summer he does an internship with a publishing house, but it’s a short program, so for the rest of july and beginning of august, he sleeps on his grandma’s pullout couch and walks to work with a lunch bag packed by his nan clutched in one hand

the library is small, but neat, and staffed by a selection of middle-aged women who love books more than their husbands and argue over genres and authors and sequels all day -- when they’re not running the library, of course

nursey is mostly there for physical work, carrying boxes, reshelving books, cleaning up the landscaping (with heavy direction). one day he’s cleaning up the children’s section when a little girl comes up with him with a picture book.

“read,” she says, both her size and her tone reminding nursey heavily of ford. nursey looks around for a parent, but all the adults in the room are congregated in front of the train set, talking, and they look -- well, they look as tired as a group of parents in the summer time can look. nursey takes the picture book and sits down and begins to read.

the girl seems pleased by his efforts and immediately turns back to the front of the same book and then resumes her listening position. nursey himself is a little tired with the story, but he reads again nonetheless, this time changing up his voices for the different characters.

it’s actually quite fun, he finds, pretending to be a shakespearean actor for the owl, a gravelly voiced old man for the turtle, and so on. when he finishes the book a second time-- with a dramatic monologue from the bunny-- he looks up to find he has an audience. 

two twin boys who he’d previously seen sticking gum to each others’ ears are sitting rapt criss-cross-applesauce in front of him and an older girl who’d been reading on her own hadn’t turned a page in a while. even some of the parents had looked up from their own conversation to watch

from that day on nursey runs story time 

nancy, who ran it before, is pleased for the reprieve, as she’d always found it more difficult to entertain the kids in the summer time. kids bring in their favorite books and, when they run out of those, nursey peruses the shelves and finds old ones that he remembers from his childhood. he revisits characters he used to adore and finds affection for them still alive within his chest, shows the kids the things he loves about them, makes them love the characters, too.

the little girl who’d initially asked him to read is named olivia. she’s five (a whole hand full!) and she likes bears very much. she knows a lot of facts about bears-- all kinds of bears!-- except koala bears, she says, because they’re not actually bears, but she doesn’t hold that against them. she comes to the libraries on tuesdays and thursdays (and sometimes sundays, if she’s really good) when her mom gets off work and she always finds nursey when she’s there, even if he’s reshelving in the adult mystery section or clearing out debris in the yard.

olivia likes questions almost as much as she likes bears and on days when she doesn’t have nursey read to her she asks him all about his life. “where is your mommy?” “new york city” “why aren’t you with her?” “if i was with her, I couldn’t be here with you” “hmm. do you see her still?” “when i go home from school i do” “where do you go to school?” “massachussetts” “massachoo?” “mass-a-chu-sets” “oh”

olivia is very intrigued by the idea of college. “you can learn anything there?” “anything you want” “even about bears?” “even about bears.” olivia goes back to her mom that day and tells her she wants to go to school in massachoosits and nursey has to explain that it’s not school like her school, she has to be older. olivia finds this to be horrible discrimination.

at the end of the summer-- well, at the start of august-- nursey has to pack up his things and go back to samwell. it’s strange, because he’s never been sad when returning to samwell -- he’s missed his parents of course, and it’s never fun to leave them, but he knows he can call them, and he knows he’ll see them again over break, and he’s always usually too excited to see his friends again to be too sad about going back-- but this time, he finds himself wishing that the season didn’t start so damn early.

they have a little party at the library for his last day, just among the staff, but some of the kids are more observant than others and at the end of story time when he asks if the kids had any questions or things to say about the book they read, one of the twin boys raises his hand and asks if mr. derek is leaving.

there are some tears-- nursey feels horrible, but the parents tell him it’s a part of working with kids-- and more questions, but once snack time is over and the majority of the kids have left, olivia comes up to nursey and gives him a drawing she made. it’s of a bear-- a black bear, she says, which is her favorite kind of bear-- and she says, “mommy said to say thank you for reading to me all summer.”

“it was my pleasure,” nursey tells her earnestly.

olivia smiles and then hugs him very haphazardly.

back at school, nursey hangs up the bear picture above his desk. he looks at it sometimes, in between work or after a long practice or a hard game, and it makes him smile. once, after one of the longest papers of his life has been submitted, he sits back in his desk chair and looks at the bear and thinks about how many times olivia would make him read the same story over again, and he begins to write.

the story is about a bear, of course, and this bear has a very eventful day, mostly because each day looks very different. nursey consults lardo to make sure what he wants to do is plausible-- she gets a very serious look on her face and then says, “i’ll make it plausible”-- and by winter break, nursey has a concrete story and an idea for a picture book.

he publishes it in the spring. it’s a choose-your-own-adventure style story with pop-ups and pull-tabs and a bear that changes his mind on every page. nursey loves it, even as chowder and dex chirp him a little (but chowder buys it for his little cousin and dex reads to to his extended younger family come the holidays) and he sends a copy back to the library he worked at, just because, and on a day a week or two before graduation, he gets a call from his nan.

“you’ll never guess what nancy at the library told me,” she tells nursey, laughing. “apparently all the kids want her to read anymore is your little bear book. she has one girl who reads it every time she comes to the library. it’s a hit!”

nursey never knows for sure, if that one girl is olivia or not, but as he packs up his room and carefully tucks his bear drawing between the pages of a book for safe keeping, he likes to think that it is.

[bonaintan]

A Journey to KGSP/GKS: Study Plan

After a very long while, I finally managed to post this! This, I guess is my final post on A Journey to KGSP/GKS Series. I’m still considering whether or not to make a post about the interview. I’m not sure I can cover this topic well since my experience is limited to the interview session in the Korean Embassy. Even I heard that each Embassy has its own way of conducting the interview, including the questions given. Anyways, on this post, I’ll be sharing on my experience in writing a study plan (or statement of purpose for the Graduate degrees) for the GKS Application. If you just started preparing the GKS Application, you may want to check my previous posts on the guideline to the application forms and personal statement essay or read my experience in applying for the 2016 KGSP/GKS-G.

So, as we’ve known, a study plan is another important stage to showcase the applicant’s ability in planning his study in Korea. One needs to explain his/her plans before coming to Korea when doing the study in Korea, and after graduating from the Korean university.

Study Plan template (2021 GKS-Undergraduate Application)

Statement of Purpose template (2021 GKS-Graduate Application)

 When preparing for the application back in 2016, I tried to find as many resources as possible. I joined the KGSP Global Applicant Facebook group, searched awardees from Indonesia and other countries online through Facebook and Instagram, and contacted them to discuss their experience and ask for some advice. I then found Mas Nasikun’s blog, a KGSP awardee from Indonesia who did his Master’s degree program at Seoul National University. I was especially very grateful for his posts on how to write a study plan. His posts on KGSP Application are still there and anyone interested in applying for this scholarship will surely find it very useful.

Here I’m making a kind of brief guideline in writing a study plan. I divide them into plans before, during, and after studying in Korea.

Plans before going to Korea. Here, you need to write down things you have been doing and will be doing before going to Korea. This mostly covers Korean language preparation. I believe that ‘taking Korean language courses’ shouldn’t be necessarily on the list. There’s a bunch of fun ways to learn a language, especially the Korean language. What is better than watching Korean TV shows and being whipped by the actors and actresses? (Not watching one?) Okay, if you still doubt whether you should start learning the language by now, I urge you to do so unless you just apply for fun and ‘luckily’ see yourself get a seat at the end. Especially for those who never got anything related to Korea, get yourself used to how Korean language sounds is an important first step that will take you further lightheartedly. I met people who hardly heard the Korean language until they reach the country, and they struggled within one-year language training which I believe could have been less tormenting and fun instead. One year is short if not to say insufficient, trust me.

I was far from fluent when applying for this scholarship program (well, I still am), but I wasn’t unfamiliar with the language either. If there was only one effort in learning the language that I invested the most, it was listening to Korean songs. I wasn’t into K-dramas before coming to Korea, and I could barely make any time to go to a language center. I started learning Hangeul (Korean alphabet) while preparing for the application but just started self-teaching on basic grammars around 2 months before my departure in August. I wasn’t confident in mastering the language in one year, plus my over-anxiety told me to do something to lessen my stress in the future. Still, I knew I should’ve started earlier.

So, you need to explain that any plans during this time are to prepare you for life in Korea and of course the degree program. Here, you also need to mention your goals during the language training program. You may divide it into two semesters; what things you will do and the level of Korean proficiency you aim in the first and second half. There are many programs you can participate in during language training, such as the Buddy program, voluntary work at Korean schools, cultural festivals, etc. You may do your research and mention what you’re mostly expecting to do to improve your Korean skills.

Plans during your study in Korea. This section is a little bit different for GKS-U and GKS-G applicants AND applicants via Embassy and University Track. GKS-U applicants are provided a separate section for this part whereas, for GKS-G applicants, this part is combined with the plan before coming to Korea. Regardless, the best way to deliver this part is by setting a timeline for your plan, either per semester or per academic year.

For GKS-U applicants, I personally think that you can simply mention the number of credits in total to graduate and the average number of credits every semester. As for the course, you can mention some courses you’re particularly interested in and the reason (for example, those courses are in line with the topic interest of your final project/thesis, or they will be beneficial for your future career). These are basic information, so make sure you check the curriculum and graduation requirements! Other things to include are plans on taking short-term courses during summer/winter break and organizations/clubs/other student activities you will want to join (check on the university/department website for reference). Don’t forget to elaborate on why you need these activities (project it to your future goal).

For GKS-G applicants, I recommend writing down your study plan per semester since dividing into two academic years may limit the details. Depending on the major, you may set different goals each semester. Generally, I believe, the first semester would be the time to strengthen your fundamental knowledge regarding your field of study while adapting to the Korean education system. Some may have chances to start consulting with their academic advisor/professor even working in a lab. In the second semester, you may need to start working on your research plans. Here, you may briefly explain the thesis research you want to do. Most Master’s degree programs in Korea require a thesis for graduation so make sure you prepare one. Unless you’re applying for the Research Program, no need to go very detail on this. Three important points to include when explaining your research plan: what the research topic is, why you want to work on it, and why Korea and/or your university choice is the best place to carry out this research. In the third semester, you will probably need to sit for a comprehensive exam and start conducting your research. For social science and humanity students, you should prepare the ethical clearance application by the end of this semester or during the semester break so that you can start conducting your research, especially, collecting the research data, as the new semester begins. Finally, you may wrap up your final semester by completing the thesis and publishing or submitting a research article to a journal (some departments have it as part of graduation requirements).

For Embassy track applicants, I don’t think you need to elaborate on your 3 university and major choices and the reasons behind every choice. You likely apply for similar if not the same major. Despite different names, the focus study should be the same and that’s what you need to elaborate on. What I did back then is briefing the reason I applied for that major (I already mention it in the Personal Statement so I just briefly explain it here) and what topic of study I will focus on my thesis research. For university track applicants, you may explain the reasons for applying to the major and the university of your choice and your study plan followed by the plan each semester.

Plans after graduating from a Korean university. The keyword for this part, I believe, is future career. And the best way to show the reviewer your enthusiasm and your visionary side (regardless of how vague the future life is yet), is to name your future goal. I think telling what kind of job you aspire and some motivations behind it would work. Another important point to include is whether you will return to your home country or stay in Korea after graduation, accompanied by things you will do afterward. Again, this part may seem vague for some, especially for GKS-U applicants. Still, you need to make it as detail as possible, regardless of whether you’ll change it someday in the future or whether it seems unattainable for now. Dream big! If you plan on going directly to a graduate school, briefly explain what motivates you to continue your study and what field of study you’re going for. For GKS-G applicants, I guess their work for this part shouldn’t be too difficult as some are likely to already have a job and/or know where they’ll go after receiving the degree.

----

I hope you find this post helpful and may as well be a reference for writing your study plan. Best of luck with your GKS application and your study in Korea.

[csykora]

[A candid photo of Igor kissing his very grumpy toddler’s forehead goodnight]

The Greens could feel they were getting older, and Coach’s rookies just stayed the same. Two had joined CSKA that year. One of them was another Sergei, who we’ll call Seryozha. He had grown up skating eagerly every day, just outside their training camp in the city of Arkhangel. He thought Igor “was one of the smartest people I've talked to on this earth," and is pretty sure his idol didn’t know he existed. (Having read Igor’s book, I can now confirm). The other was Sasha, and had been born on the other side of the world, in Siberia, before he was taken early for CSKA’s system. 

Sasha did not like any of this any better than the Greens had before him. Picking up the tension between the team’s leaders and Coach Tikhonov, Sasha had no problem talking back when Tikhonov turned on him. After his first season, the same trick that had made Igor an officer was used on him, making him a real Russian soldier who could be shot for treason. Igor hadn’t fought it, but the whole team heard Sasha yelling down in Tikhonov’s office.

Quiet settled for a while when Sasha was privately promised a better position to soften the blow--the top right wing, at Igor's side. 30 was creeping up on Sergei. He, Igor, and Vova privately celebrated and mourned the upcoming '88 Olympics as the last time they might play together on the world stage before Sergei's clock ran out. Pretty soon Tikhonov would be ready to retire him, just like Kharlamov.

But there were still signs that replacing Sergei wouldn't be easy, on either side. One day in practice, Sasha was injured and the team doctor told him to just watch from the stands that night. Igor saw him leaving the locker room just as Coach came in. Coach demanded that he get his sweater on immediately. Sasha repeated what the doctor said, and Tikhonov repeated what he had said, but louder.

“‘I thought I had explained it clearly enough,’’” Igor remembers little Sasha saying. “‘I will not play. That is all!’” And he walked away. Igor had to cough and cover laughter as Coach stood speechless.

“Only his wife and his dog like [Tikhonov],” Sasha once said. “And I don’t understand how they do.”

In December of ‘87, Igor thought that with a little help, maybe he could score another point on Tikhonov. He reached out to the author of that article about the hockey program that he had read to the point of memorizing two years before. Their conversation turned into an interview. He admitted he wasn’t ready to share the deepest details, but even scratching the surface of the Soviet image was enough to attract attention. Igor decided he liked to think of himself as a bit of an author. All the papers were calling for more quotes, until Lena got fed up and unplugged their phone.

At practice after it was published, Coach Tikhonov screamed, “‘Comrades, I always thought that I was working with hockey players. But here, do you understand, it has become clear I was not right. Among us are writers! Larionov, for example, is a Boris Pasternak!’

I think we could safely say he was not pleased.”

Two months later, the national team headed to Calgary for the Olympics. Before the Games the senior players had asked as always--if we win, wouldn’t it be possible to train less this summer, to rest, to see our families during the coming year? Coach Tikhonov said they’d talk about it if they got him gold.

Journalists invited Igor to a press conference. They forgot a Russian translator, though, so when they asked the first question and he understood it, he decided not to bother pretending he didn’t speak English. They asked how his new literary career was looking (and whether he’d had any flare-ups of that tonsillitis). He told them what he thought was the truth, colder than it had been when he was 20.

“I do not hope for some kind of large and speedy change for the better….But, I am not losing hope. We shall see what we shall see.”

They still had the rest of the Olympics to play. Between periods in the first round, Coach Tikhonov took Sasha out to the hallway and began to lay into him for mistakes he may or may not have made yet. Sasha told him no again, so Coach Tikhonov punched him in the gut. 

Slava was the only one who saw, but he told the others. If thinking the team didn’t need him had snapped some key piece of Igor’s heart, the winter of ‘87 and ‘88 broke Vova’s massive one. They had won gold, again--and Vova had heard Tikhonov say that he wished he could coach the Canadians instead. Vova had swept more scoring titles, been named the best winger in the world, again--and Tikhonov had given a public speech about how Vova was proof that he, Viktor Tikhonov, and his physical training methods could make anyone a star. Igor was furious for his friend, and Vova was realizing nothing they did would ever be enough for Coach Tikhonov to stop hurting them. 

They had nothing to do at Arkhangel, after eight years of doing the same nothing. One night in the spring Vova and Igor climbed out their bedroom window and hiked through the woods to a bar in the city. They sat beside a Canadian journalist and gave a short interview, Igor translating for them both.  

By the summer of ‘88, Slava was done, too. He wanted permission to play in the NHL during the regular season, and he told everyone so. Officials told him no problem. And then they got out the red tape. 

“You would not wish it on an enemy. Especially not on Slava, who is my friend. It was painful to look at him, irritated, disappointed by the word that had been given to him, grown tired from going from office to office, lost.” 

When he complained, the Party told him if he wasn’t happy in Arkhangel he could always play in a Siberian labor camp instead.

But Igor was also busy, or trying to be, at home. He and Lena had their first baby, a daughter, Alyonka. Like her father, she was frighteningly small. If officials had thought becoming a husband and father would scare Igor into shutting up, like it had Lyosha, they were super wrong. The boredom, indignity, and constant inconvenience of Soviet life was bitterer now that he had to see it happening to someone else. When his daughter was sick, he couldn’t go home to hold her. When she was hungry, he might spend his whole day off wandering around the city, waiting in different lines to be told that there was nothing worth waiting for left. During parts of the season he could visit their apartment in Moscow in the afternoons, but couldn’t help cook or eat with Lena or stay to clean up and put Alyonka to bed. 

Just like Tretiak had, he asked Tikhonov for time off next August--no days off, just nights, to be able to stay for dinner and drive back for training. 

No.

“In August it was a life and death necessity for me to spend the night at the base? Well, the World Championship was not far off. Only eight months!”

Igor thought about it. He told the Greens that he was thinking about publishing another article. They were excited to read it, asking what this one would be about. He still wasn’t quite ready to say it, but he wanted them to know the moment was coming, so he just made them promise to read it.

Then he quit. In September he handed Tikhonov a letter explaining that he would play his last season with CSKA. They could let him go to the NHL during the regular season, or home to Khimik, or wherever he was wanted, as long as it wasn’t here. He went to the newspaper that promised him it could print fastest, and published it.

In his resignation letter, addressed to Tikhonov and now to the whole Soviet Union, he told everyone about the schedule (it was shocking, he said, that he and Lena managed to have a baby, when Tikhonov didn’t let him sleep beside his own wife); about how Tikhonov had made that schedule more important than Kharlamov, then Tretiak, and now Igor too; about Tikhonov punching Sasha; about the steroid injections he’d kept secret for Tikhonov for six years.

Those last two pieces were the wedge that any officials looking to shift the system needed. The papers published more pieces arguing one way and the other, which only made sure everyone heard about it. Fans and former players, now officers, stopped to pat Igor’s shoulder. Igor was informed that the legendary Tarasov, in his country retirement, had quite liked it.

Coach Tikhonov didn’t like Igor’s poetic inclinations any better this time. He was getting calls from all kinds of important people, and they weren’t going well. For the first time in years he was quiet, speechless. And then it became clear that was his response: he wouldn’t acknowledge Igor’s existence. He couldn’t take him off the roster now, but he could pretend he wasn’t there. No criticism in practice, no direction, nothing. 

That was the difference between them, Igor wrote, both of their fatal flaw: Igor wanted to talk to everyone in the whole world, and Tikhonov had never learned how to talk to people.

The veteran players on CSKA’s second line found quiet moments to come up to Igor, and let him know they were on his side. Slava, still fighting for his own right to leave the team, came to Igor as soon as he’d read it, and took his hand. He told him Igor had done the right thing. Sergei and Vova embraced him and agreed.

Lyosha wasn’t sure it was right to share what had been said in the room, or to undercut Coach, who had kept him when he was at his lowest, and he was afraid of being sent to Siberia. 

He told Igor, “You and I are not going the same path.” 

And they did.

CSKA went on the road in October. In Sergei’s hometown Chelyabinsk fans hung over the rails and heckled Tikhonov, asking if he’d come to steal more children. His brothers Nikolai and Yuri were an institution in the city, and locals had consoled themselves over losing out on the full set by imagining that Sergei was doing well for himself and making a name for their city. Tikhonov turned away from the ice to try to shout at a fan like he did his players, and was swamped. Igor burst out laughing. 

The next game, Tikhonov told the assistant coaches to tell Igor that Tikhonov still wasn’t talking to him but he could take a shift now, or whatever, not that Tikhonov cared. Igor caught the puck and carried it along the boards, expecting Sergei and Vova to chase him. Instead he hit a patch of bad ice, and then two of the other team landed on top of him on the way down. His right foot went the wrong way.

Now Tikhonov had a cast iron-excuse. Igor went home, and held his daughter, and waited and worried to hear what would happen if he didn’t heal in time for the next national team tournament--the Super Series, which would be the last warm-up before the ‘88 Olympics. It was out of his control, and he couldn’t bear that.

Igor has an explanation for what he did next that I’m sure felt sensible at the time. We, now, can gently set that aside. Igor had all the symptoms of a serious eating disorder, so for three weeks, he only drank water and honey.

Because, and I just can’t stress this enough, Igor, your bones heal in their own time anyway, he was back on the ice a month or so after that. Once again able to skate himself sick with CSKA’s reserve team, he started eating fruit and the occasional vegetable again. 

The team doctor, who I guess had been hired on the basis of being able to say, “All good, Coach!” over an injured player faster than anybody else, cleared him to play. (Like a stopped clock, Igor maintains that the doctor--who Igor had seen point a concussed Vova in the general direction of the goal, roll players over the boards, and offered Igor mystery drugs--got it right this one time. Again, gently, we can question Igor’s medical fucking expertise here.) 

It didn’t matter anyway. Tikhonov stood with arms crossed the whole time watching Igor skate, and said he was out of condition. He sent him home.

Igor was helpless again. His family wouldn’t get the pay from wins with CSKA, and now they were missing tournaments. Those could earn him $300, five months ordinary pay. He could train as much as he wanted alone--it wasn’t the same as playing with the Greens, and anyway now Tikhonov could always have a handy excuse to say he wasn’t back to his old self. All he had were his friends, who seemed sympathetic, but still hadn’t done anything.

Winter was coming on by now. He drove from Moscow to the training camp and walked across the grounds in the first drifting snow. Everything was quiet, cold, and clear, and he might as well have been twenty again, but this time he wouldn’t cross through the barracks door. Sergei, Vova, and Slava saw and came running down to meet him in the snow. They were glad to see him, worried for him, but they knew that Tikhonov was having his way.

I drove home along the Leningrad highway. I felt like shouting. ‘Where are your friends in a time of trouble? WHERE??? Can I expect sympathy from you, and nothing more?’...

Only my wife understood my despair.”

Main

Next>>

[pnwriter]

Endemic Pandemic

Part 1:  Seattle as the Epicenter

How did it all start?  First, it was STEP A, everyone from China, talking about it and one student bemoaning the fact that some people in Wuhan, China will eat anything.  It seems eating a diseased bat started it, as contact with a monkey started AIDS.  That group made it back and we had a fun time.  The next two-week class was canceled because travel from China had been suspended.  I skipped the next group to go to Mexico with Rene and Anne, and started the fourth group with a reduced group.  After only one week, the UW decided to cancel in-person classes and that program ended.  Now, there is the worry that I may not even have enough work to retire as I had planned.  I started job hunting as soon as we heard the program will probably close the end of summer.  Now, it's the start of spring quarter, and we only have 20 new students (as opposed to a healthy 80).  Moreover, these classes may have to be on-line, so I'll have to learn a program called Zoom.  All the signs are pointing to me getting out of this career and Rene is talking about getting out of the country.  China and Iran took the biggest initial hits, then Italy closed down.  Just today, 3/11/2020, Dumptr canceled all flights to and from Europe, except for England, who Brexited earlier this year.  Also, today, the public schools followed the university's precedent, and closed down, as did the Burke Museum.  The governor has banned any meetings over 250 people.  Any meetings over 13 are discouraged and on my way back from the gym, which is still open, the train was mostly empty, with the buses being just a little fuller.   You see people in masks, bus drivers, students until the classes were cancelled, doctors and nurses, shoppers, passers by.  It's all disconcerting.  People are over reacting, in my opinion...the North Dakotan whose bus driver always made it through when all the others cancelled.  

Facebook and Instagram are double edged swords.  First, it is and always has been a community of contact at a time when face to face contact has decreased steadily over the years.  (Ironically, it's been decreasing directly because of the technology that gave us Facebook in the first place!)  I send a photo of a candle burning for all our brothers and sisters across the world to my Greek pagan witch friend Vas.   I am at home after going to our favorite neighborhood coffee shop this morning with the dog (hoping to see its friend Pinky there), only to find out that they are closing, due to the uncertainty.  There are those who say that what is happening now in Italy will happen here, too.  It's only a matter of time.  

Speaking of FB, I'm chatting on line now with Alban, my brother-from-another-life teacher friend in France, where everything is still normal.  We talked about how people are getting into being the characters in an epidemic horror film and acting accordingly.  We both acknowledge the advantages of learning in the flesh, but also know people are lazy and always take the easy way out.  Even as we communicated, President Macron issued the edict to close all schools and universities starting Monday.  I look outside to the sunny March day and think similar days greeted the Spanish Flu and the Black Death.  At least this one is not smelly.

Here's the resume I have sent:

CAREER SUMMARY

My international experience began after undergraduate school with the Peace Corps in Morocco.  My strengths of responsibility, patience and adaptability gained from being raised on a farm contributed to a successful and rewarding overseas experience. The professional aspect of my international experience began with teaching and studying in the Teaching English as a Second Language Program at CSU.  As the Graduate Student Representative, in addition to teaching, being the liaison between the faculty and the students honed my leadership, organizational and diplomatic skills.  From my first teaching job at Saint Martin’s College to my extensive career at the University of Washington, these skills developed greatly over the years.  

                Writing and editing, International relations, counseling, public relations, intercultural communication,  

EMPLOYMENT

      English Language Instructor, UW Campus and downtown ELP, material development, listening and speaking and grammar specialties 3/16/2005 to present

      Compliance Specialist, (change to Professional Staff status from Extension Lecturer) effective March 2004

     Admissions and Immigration Director, University of Washington International Outreach Programs, Seattle WA.  Admissions and Immigration for all UW Educational Outreach International Programs.  Primary Designated Student Official in the Immigration and Customs Enforcement SEVIS program. 1/2004 to present.

    Director of Student Services, University of Washington Educational Outreach, Seattle, WA.  Directing all international student services in the English Language program including acceptance, immigration advising, orientation (initial and on-going), information dissemination (weekly newsletter), sponsors, housing, language exchange and extracurricular activities.   Teaching an English Language class is part of the administration positions.   9/2000 to 1/2004.

   Acting Director, Downtown ESL Program, Directing ESL program with 80 students and nine faculty and staff.  Payroll and expenditure authorization, supervising office staff and providing support for teachers and students.  June 12-August 18, 2000.

    International Student Advisor, ESL Programs, University of Washington Educational Outreach (UWEO), Seattle, WA.  Immigration, academic and personal advising.  Activities supervisor, conversation exchange program coordinator, extended orientation class development and instruction, weekly newsletter publisher.  Taught extended orientation class in ESL Program, speaking and listening focus.  Liaison with UWEO Business Office, sponsoring agencies and embassies, UW housing office, and home stay agencies. 3/87 to 9/2000.

PROFESSIONAL ORGANIZATIONS AND SERVICES

Peace Corps Volunteer, Taza, Morocco.  High school instructor of English at Lycee Sidi Azzouz in Taza.  Outreach to disabled children in a special summer project at a special school in Martil, Morocco.  From 6/78-6/80.  

Member NAFSA: Association of International Educators and the Association of Washington International Student Affairs (AWISA).  Received Outstanding Service Award.  Reached out especially to the LGBT international community by producing a video and presenting workshops and sessions yearly at national and regional TESOL and NAFSA conferences.    

EDUCATION AND PROFESSIONAL TRAINING

Cetlalic Language Program, Cuernavaca, Mexico, Intensive Spanish study January 3-16, 2004.

International House, Madrid, Spain, Intensive Spanish Study and Study Abroad experience 99-00

NAFSA Professional Development Training May 1998

M.A.  TESL/Linguistics, Colorado State University 1982

B.S. Psychology, Minor in French, University of North Dakota, 1977

a week, we had done some bonding and I was remembering the difference between the two girls with similar, to me, names.

Like the 1918 Spanish Flu, which took my grandmother Voeller and Catherine Thomas' husband, starting the huge Voeller clan, the last dying before this next-100-year epidemic took hold.  It centered in a nursing home in Kirkland, and has taken mostly the elderly.  Some say it is cleaning out the dark, negative energy.  

Part 2:  Two Months in

It's now been over two months since people were sent to their rooms to thinking long and hard about what they have done...to the

Mother, to Gaia.  Yesterday was Mother's Day and I posted photos both of my mother and Gaia in celebration of the day.  I have picked up a variety pack of online friends...Roial Co (Philippine Reiki Master (I attuned him from 2 to 3 over the phone in an hour-long ceremony last weekend.  He could be part of the soul family...other members being Kim, Aric, Bob, Bachir, Robert, Vivian, Paki, Roy, Cynthia, Alban for sure), Mahamed, Eryk (also for sure), Samuel and the latest...Randy.  There could be up to 90 scattered across the planet at this time...like shatters of glass (Roi).  I'm almost to the point where I can start writing in my books again.

The state was supposed to go into what is called "Stage 2" on June 1, five days from now, but people are still dying (up to 100,000 in the states, 300,000 worldwide) so now it's mid-month.  More monetary help is on the way.  The veil is thinning.  Strange events are starting to become common.  I am meeting good people around the world on social media.  We send money to Samuel after vetting him, but Kelvin Moore turns out to be a Yemeni hack.  Oh well.  My gardens, on the other hand, are glorious and giving me much pleasure.  I have fresh flowers here at my little at home desk and downstairs on the kitchen counter.  The ones at my office desk are from the top deck and the ones on the counter are from the east English garden.  I am trying to attract elves and fairies to both gardens and have started playing my harp out there, with melodies that come to me from the plants' exhalations.  I installed a lady bug house at the base of the climbing vines and will sit out there when the weather gets better and it's supposed to reach record heat this summer.  Yikes.  Along with world pandemic, murder hornets, ravaging storms and the 17 year cadydid cycle falling on 2020, a record heat wave and resulting fires are just par for the course.  

Going out in public these days, at least here in the city, you would see that nearly everyone has a mask on.  It's a bit disconcerting looking at eyes above various colors of masks, the new item of outer wear.  The cute barista wore a black one, the owner a bandanna, his wife, the chef, a more medical-looking surgical mask, the lady in front of me, a homemade jobby.  Out in the boonies, there is a culture war between those who believe we need to wear masks to protect both ourselves and others and those who believe that it's all a hoax and it's a way for the government to muzzle us, limit our freedom.  Both sides see the other as sheeple.  

Part 3:  Month 6

It's now 70 days until November 3 and as Antonio from Spain said, "At the end of the day, it's up to a few Floridians, a bunch of Ohioans and a handful of Michiganians to decide the future of mankind..."  The DNC went better than anyone had expected, with great speeches from both Michelle and Barack Obama, the AOC, Kamala Harris and culminating with one by Biden, himself.  This week, the shit show in a burning dumpster called teh RNC has started with hysterical screaming and drug-induced ramblings laying all blame the the Dems and predicting a daily reality of lawlessness, rioting and burning cities if Biden gets elected.  Only 70 days until we decide whether to stay in this country, or like our ancestors, try our luck in a new one:  Mexico, Spain or Portugal are the top runners right now.  We plan to go south to check out Flagstaff and Sedona, Arizona this Christmas.  Last Christmas, it was El Paso, Alpine and Marfa, Texas and Los Crucas, New Mexico.  

I am on the break between summer and fall...noteably the longest one of the year, often five weeks.  I usually go back to North Dakota during this time, but that's not happening this year, probably never again.  The last time I was there, I was suffering from depression and I had a feeling I would not be seeing it again.  Best to leave it to my memories of happier days there when the people I grew up with were still alive.

This divide in the country, instigated by Russian bots and carried out by Puppet Dumpster, has been the last straw, the one to have broken the camel's back that was my family connection.  Foreseen by my late sister Lori, when she said (in response to whether it was now my job to keep the family together), "We are all adults now.  If anyone decides to never see the others again, then that's up to them, not you."  First, it was LaVonne who stopped texting or answering my texts.  Then, Dennis stopped answering my phone calls and stopped calling as well.  Rosie and Jamie are still cyber-stalking me on Facebook and Instagram (Rosie made an Instagram account as soon as I said I was leaving FB in disgust.  She has never posted anything and has no photos in her folder...she just checks to see what I'm up to.)  I stopped posting political craziness last week as it was becoming too much work to research what was fear-inducing truth and what was fear-inducing fiction.  The tainted GOP is all about striking fear into the hearts of anyone who will listen to their rabid rantings.

Another week, another innocent black man shot by racist white police.  Then, to add insult to injury, a trumped up 17 year old from Illinois goes across the border to shoot two protesters, walking by police to go home and then turn himself in the next day.  (It comes out later that he shot the first victim in the back, and that his mom drove him to the protest, as if it were a soccer practice!) I had to break my political silence on FB, which I have just decided I will have to leave.  I don't know if I can deal with Liker, the current alternative, either.  It's the brainchild of some guy who saw where FB was going in 2012 and decided people needed an option.  They need an option, all right.  The option to opt out of social media, the new Dolls of the 2010s and now 20s.  

I wake up early on 8/27/2020 and disable my Facebook account.  I can't quite go cold turkey and get rid of Messenger along with it, because there are some people on there I still want to support.  This is the second time I have tried to do this.  After 13 years (is that all?  It seems half my life!), it's a main social outlet that I am moving away from.  Especially now, in the time of pandemics, it will be more isolating, but the vitriol and Hate being spewed forth is out of balance with what's really out there...I hope.  There were those who had to spew the venom that the skateboarder that was killed, a gentle, long-haired hippy soul, deserved to die.  I can not relate nor be exposed to such unadulterated hate.  Their minds have been poisoned by no other than the POTUS, (and the institutionalized racism/hate behind him) as well as hate speech on line.  My family has succumbed to the Fear of the Other as well.  So be it.  It may mean leaving the country if this upcoming election is stolen like the last one was.  I refuse to believe that a majority of people in this country have drunk the Kool-aid.  

Reading "The Witches are Coming" by Lindy West is giving me more insight, a chance to laugh and even some hope.  

"Our propensity for always, always, always choosing what is comfortable over what is right helped pave the road to this low and surreal moment in US history."

Part 4:  Month 7

From September 8 to 18, Seattle was socked in under a cloud of ash from the fires down south.  I could feel the ashes of the bodies the those who died, as well as the chemicals of the burnt human structures.  Breitenbush Hot Springs lay in ashes with only the main buildings saved.  I could feel the heaviness in my lungs.  Mishka could sense it and acted out by peeing outside the box.  On the 14th, it finally rained some and we still have more days to endure.  I got up from epic dreams of lost family (my mom, That Bitch Denis, DJ, my nieces who my mom prepared us for so they could come in and check us out sleeping) and went out into the acid rain to witness it.  The craziness coming from the POTUS and media intensifies as it's now 50 days till the election.  

Then, when it seems to be darkest before the dawn, the triple threat of the GOPruients, COVID-19 and the death-ash from the west coast fires, we find on the evening of 9/18/20 that the Notorious RBG, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, justice of the SCOTUS, died at 87, after having fought numerous ailments, including cancer.  That bitch, Moscow Mitch immediately states the Senate will vote on a replacement even before the body is cold, even though in 2016 he said that the people of the US should have a say in the next SCOTUS, therefore, the appointment should wait until the election of the new president...blocking Obama in this last year, from appointing one.  This will enable the Dumpster in his last weeks to appoint another conservative, anti-abortionist.

It becomes harder to grasp what is actually going on..these times are so unprecedented in our life times, though to those of us for whom AIDS was an epidemic, this is our second time around fearing for our lives.  We know it's a long haul with many casualties before we come out on the other side, but whatever was normal no longer will be.  

We go out for healthy burgers at Little Big Burger, where you can get a lettuce wrap in the place of a bun.  We are both on edge and irritable and go to our separate corners after we eat in silence to grieve in our own way.  Me typing here with all my altar lights on and a candle burning by the RBG candle, as the first fall rains sound outside, clearing the air for the first time in 10 days.  The temptation to sell the house and leave the country is strong.  The need to stay and fight on will probably prevail, but may not take the re-election of the anti-Christ, the embodiment of the Seven Deadly sins:  pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth,

[nekoannie-chan]

Movies

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word count: 625 words.

Summary: You and Steve started working together until you were in a relationship with him, now you two share your hobbies

Warnings: None, is fluff.                                                                                      

A/N: This is my entry to the @avengerscompound ‘s Kate’s 1000 Words Challenge with the word prompt #14:

“Limerence”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.  

Limerence: The state of being infatuated with another person.

The Summer S.H.I.E.L.D. program for the new recruits started, Fury asked you to be one of the responsible for the program along with Steve.

Steve always was too gentle and nice with you, you feel in love with him since the first mission together, he always asked you to show him about this era, you love to spend time with him.

 You couldn't stop thinking about him, you had fallen in love, what you didn't know was that he corresponded to you.

 Your fame in the Agency was pretty similar to the Calvary, fierce, calculating, it seemed like you were never afraid, good strategist, but that was obviously because she was your tutor. Actually, she was soft with you, like a mother, when you two were alone, she always called you "daughter" and she was treating you like that.

 “So what you think about the recruits?” he asked you

 “They are a disaster, I don’t know who trained before, but they don’t follow the orders, we have a lot of work,” you answered.

 Steve and you started to figure a plan to the program will be successful, next week you two put it into action with positive results and even your group turned out to be the best at the end of the course compared to the other groups.

 “So are you free tonight?” Steve asked you.

 “Yeah I think so”

 “Do you want to take a walk with me or something?” he invited you.

 “Or something?”

 “Yeah, ell if you don’t want to do it then we don’t have to do it”

 “It’s fine, I wanna go”, you accepted.

 You walked around the park, Steve was telling you some stories of his childhood

 Some guys were playing music in the park, you two started to dance, you didn’t care if people were watching you, and then you kissed Steve.

 After that night you started a relationship, for you, it was like a dream, like in the fairytales or the love movies.

 Rumors started on the Agency corridors, but you don’t care, they did not know what was really happening in your relationship, probably many were jealous, you had seen how they tried in the past to get Steve's attention.

He was the perfect boyfriend, to him you were the only one so you had nothing to worry about.

 When you told Melinda you worried at first, sometimes she seemed to be the type of mother who was not going to allow any boy to approach her daughter, but she took it very well, she was even happy that you had found someone, although almost You were sure she had threatened Steve with harm if he ever broke your heart.

 On the weekends they used to go to one of the two and watch movies, you found that they loved it regardless of gender.

He appreciated each of the films differently, not only the story but also the settings, dialogues and even the clothes that the characters had, it was very entertaining and fun to watch movies with him.

“Do you wanna watch this?” you asked him at the same, you showed him the movie.

“Limerence”, he read the movie title.

He thought for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Well sounds good, let’s gonna watch it”, he accepted.

“I don’t understand the movie”, he said after the movie finished.

“She is a painter, so when she goes to Venice she falls in love with the gallery guy but she becomes obsessed with him, so I guess that’s the reason for the movie’s name”, you explained to him.

“Well I don’t really like it”, he commented.

“So…do you wanna watch another?”

“What’s the next on the list?”

“A horror movie”, you answered.

“Bring it on”.

[yellowhippo]

𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂 1 : 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙳𝚘

It was just one Sunday when we met. You were sitting there, staring out the window as the buildings pass us by. It was so serene. It was as if you were at peace. I had my own smile then as I stood in front of you. I couldn't hide my fondness of how you looked. So calm. I wish I was too. For moment, at least, I was. Thanks to you.

"Have a seat, miss." Your deep and husky tone brought me out of my trance. I stared at you, paling as I realized i must've looked dumb with a smile on. 

"Oh! Uhm. Thanks." I stuttered back as I sat in your place, my head down, eyes on your shoes. 

I couldn't raise my head up, still shy and stunned. Also because my anxiety started to creep back in as people stared when I sat. It was too much. Why is sitting down such a big deal? Should it be? What's wrong with me? But then I hear you again and everything just melts inside me. Your laugh was so cute. It made the smile creep back up my face. 

My eyes still trained on your feet, I noticed how they kept on moving. You might be having a hard time balancing? The train ride is not a smooth one especially now that the trail kept making zigzags. 

"Have a seat, mister." I patted the now empty space beside me, hoping that you would take the seat beside mine. You smiled down at me as you occupied the seat. Your smile is so blinding. It leaves me breathless. How can one train ride make you smile? Is it the view? Is it the fact that it's a Sunday, families buzzing on the ride as they make small talk of their one-day vacation? 

How I wish I could smile genuinely like you.

It was so embarrassing how I kept missing my balance. Her eyes were always on my feet. I feel like I'm being judged. Is it too obvious that this was my first train ride ever? I must look so pathetic.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked me after some moments of silence between us. I laughed awkwardly, my sweaty palms hidden behind my neck.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Obvious?" Her eyes, my favorite shade of green that I can't put a name on, stare at me. Question marks all over her face.

"Yeah. Obvious that this was my first train ride?" My voice so low, not wanting anyone else to hear me.

"Oh, it is?" She covers her mouth as she giggles quietly. "Don't worry. It's our secret then."

She smiles so sweetly. No judgement in her voice and eyes. Why couldn't I have met her sooner? Why now when everything is-

"Hey? Don't think too much about it. Everyone has their own first experience on train rides. I did too."

Warm. So warm. The sun from the window feels so warm as she talks about her first train ride when she was in high school. She was fun to talk to. No awkward silence once she remembers another story in the middle of her current one.

"So, where's your stop?" She takes a breath as she finishes her story.

"No where. I mean-" I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped me. Her face when was priceless. And she even dare ask if I was homeless or if I ran away. She was willing to take me in, a total stranger, in her home.

Why did I have to meet her? Why just now? The year has what? More than 300 days and I had to meet her at the most unconventional time of my life.

I told her how I just wanted a look at the city from a different view since my hotel window, although better than any paintings in my hotel room, was getting too repetitive for me. Always the same view of the same city. I told her how suffocated I felt even if I was free to leave anytime. I told her how I wanted to have my windows change views every time I wake up.

"I hate routines." The train arrived at it's next stop. People come and go. "So, your stop?" I added quietly, my eyes passing by her own green ones before coming back to the train windows.

"I get down at the last station. That's where my school is. Just a few minutes of walking after this long ride."

"Last station it is, then."

"Last station it is, then."

A joyrider. Must have all the time in the world. Nothing but views to think of.

"A photographer?" I asked the man as I spot his camera bag.

"Hmm. You could say so, yeah, I guess?" Again, I am met with a serene smile.

A click and a flash caught me off guard. My eyes see green spots for a moment as I try to blink away the blurriness.

"Sorry about that." He chuckles as he puts his camera away.

"You shouldn't have done that. Nothing worth to see here." I gesture over my face, my palms sweating as I try to laugh my anxiety away. Not here Not now. Not even after the people has moved on from the quick flash of light from our seat. Not ever, please.

"Hey. Are you ok, miss? I'm really sorry. I just wanted a candid shot of you because-"

"Yes, I'm ok. Just not used with cameras and all. Those things hate me that they almost always break after having me as their target."

"How come? Well, I think my camera likes you. Not broken at all. See?" He takes out his camera and offers it to me.

He shows me the photo he took of me, as well as his hotel room window view. He showed me a picture of him with his dog. A picture of him and his older brothers. Pictures of other places he's been to. Beautiful. Everything he took a picture of was beautiful. Even the one he took of me. I looked normal. I looked surprised, but happy. Like I had no worries aside from the butt sore I would get from sitting down from this long train ride.

He took his camera back. He stared down at it on his lap, his serene smile never leaving his lips as my candid shot reflects on the screen. I can't help but smile as well. I laughed lightly. At least someone appreciates me even in an unconventional way.

Another stop up ahead and we fell in the most comfortable silence I have ever felt. My eyes shift to the books on her lap and some paper peaking in the middle pages of the book. Interesting. Mythology?

"Which program are you in?" I pointed towards her stack of books on her lap as I asked her.

"Literature student. And film. I'm actually taking two majors-" A sigh and a content smile on her face. "-got in both programs for being a scholar since I was younger."

"Whoa. You must be smart then. Congrats!" I offered her my hand and can't help but chuckle at how tiny her hands are. Tiny and soft. So fragile.

"What's so funny?" Her nose is scrunched up as she hits my shoulders lightly.

"Ah nothing. Your hands. They're just so small. So delicate like some kind of petal. If you squeeze too much, it might break."

She opens her hands and stretches her fingers, massaging them, a small pout on her lips.

"They'll grow longer you'll see."

"Wanna bet?" I asked, smirking her way. "Once you've written a book or published any kind of film, I should be one of the first few to see the finished product. Call?"

Her face falls and takes a deep breath.

"That might not happen anytime, mister. I might die of old age even before doing anything out of my dreams." She looks down her shoes and I noticed a tear drop on her book.

Looking at her slumped shoulders, I could not help myself from rubbing circles on her, hoping it could somehow calm her down. But her shoulders shiver even more now, hiccups irregularly escaping her every breath.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry about this. God what's gotten into me. Must be because I only got a few hours of sleep. So many papers due this month. Professors bombarding us with papers before letting us actually breathe for the summer."

I offer her my handkerchief as she starts rubbing her at her eyes angrily.

"Eyeliner-" She points at her lids. "I might get this dirty."

"Nah. You might need it for later as well. Like you said. Summer. We can't have you sweating. I need my subject all fresh and pretty." I put the handkerchief just on top of her books and look down at our shoes instead, humming quietly as she wipes her tears away.

"This is nothing. I am nothing. I won't be able to agree with the bet even if I wanted to."

"Hey. It's ok. You're ok. It might be a long train ride-" I chuckle as her eyes crinkle from giggling. "-but you'll be something. You are already something. No. Someone. A someone worth the wait at the end of the ride. You'll make it something. I trust that. At least have my trust when you feel like nothing, alright?" I point at my handkerchief as I pat her head.

'You are already being something by not running away from your dreams. You already are making something. A progress that I crave for myself.'

The train chugs on as we roll back to another silence.

I kept my stare down, afraid of the judging eyes all around me - beside me - if I look back up. I look like a panda. Or worse, a clown. Great. I just ruined my make up. I have no time to retouch since I have reporting on my first class. What a reporter. A clown. An ugly clown who has nothing on her once the 'train ride' ends. It was always nothing.

Fighting for what I want has always been useless. I just made myself into the nothing that I am and will always be. Why did I even bother accepting the scholarship program? I won't be the writer that I want to be nor the film director that I always dream of being. I'll crash in an office job after graduation just to earn for a living. Who am I kidding. My dreams can't feed my family. I'm so selfish for wanting this when I won't be anything by then.

I can't bring myself to look up. He's something at least. He's traveling everywhere and taking the places he's visited with him.

"You're the something between us, mister." My head still down, but I saw him turn away from the window and towards me. A hum. But why does it sound so hopeless? So lost? My eyes veer away from my shoes to his. Black leather shoes. So shiny. Reminds me of his eyes.

"Something. Huh." He stands as I feel someone else take his place beside. Did I scare him Off? Only then did I look up and see him standing in front of me, he smiles down at the old lady now in his place. I smile at the lady as well as she nods and smiles towards us both.

"I might be something to someone, but I'm nothing to myself." He sighs, his smile turning melancholy as I stare up. I was about to contradict him but he surprises me as he suddenly kneels from where he stands. I avoid his eyes by looking behind me. A slight rain has made the window all blurry to see outside. I feel a sudden tug on my shoes and I look down at him.

"I'm running away from everything and making myself fall into nothing. But you? You're running into something. You might feel like it's nothing, but the fact that you're running towards something. Well. That's something. Something from the nothing like me who runs away from everything." He whispers low, only for my ears to hear.

He stands back up as I stare down at my shoes, knots tied perfectly in place, not knowing of what to make of what he just said.

It's been silent for the past stops now. Both of us stuck with our own thoughts. But it's not awkward nor uncomfortable. Just a little heavy on the heart because just one more stop and it's the end of the track. What more is there to talk about? She said so herself that there won't be any betting. Her dreams and mine all getting further away as the train chugs forward. At least she fought somehow. I just ran and hid for as long as I can. But this has to end. Every ride has to end.

"So." She cleared her throat as the final announcement for her stop is heard over the speakers. "This is my stop, mister?"

"Ace Wilson. And please, drop the 'mister'. I graduated just a few months ago. Not as old as you think." I chuckled as I held my hands towards her, offering help her with the books.

"Jade Myers. Or just Jade. Thanks." She smiled as she put a book on my waiting palms. "Are you sure I'm not messing your schedule?" She smiles up at me, her height reaching just above my shoulders. What a tiny thing and yet she is fighting a battle. Winner or not, it's the effort that counts, right?

"Schedule? What schedule? Like I said. I'm just running away from everything. Might as well take a break from all that before I run further. There's no rush for me."

She leads the way. The road, or rather the gravel path, making scrunching noises every stomp of our foot. It was enough noise to cover the silence we've wrapped our self into.

I look up at him, my eyes squinting close because of the sun, as we near my school gates.

Just a name and his little stories. That's all there is to him. Questions he will leave though. Questions that I will be facing after losing my fight.

Will he start his own battles when I end mine? Would his run bring him somewhere? Would I meet him again someday when I start running away, or 'if' I run away? Will I stop where he is if I do run? What then? Why stop?

I may know his name, but he will remain a stranger to me.

"Thanks again, Ace." I grab my book from him as I wave goodbye, entering the school gate. He stands there, his serene smile back from when I first saw him. Back from where we started.

Strangers, with only names.

I wish I rode a different train cart. Or maybe I should've never rode a train in the first place. I could've ridden a plane and flew back to where people were waiting for me. I could've stayed home and not get lost. I could've continued fighting even if I see myself losing. At least I fought and lost with no regrets. There is harm in trying, but there is also knowledge. Knowing that you fought though you knew your fate is a win in itself. You at least fought. Your fall would not be in vain.

Why did I have to meet Jade in the most inconvenient time. She left me with regrets. But also a new found determination to fight. I will keep running. But this time, I will run towards my dream. I'll fight if I have to.

The thought of just running away keeps climbing up my 'to-do list' once I graduate. Should I really just run from the reality my family wants to thrust upon me and go for what I want instead? Yes. Yes I do want to run. I want to be what I want to be. I want to continue being selfish. I want to keep fighting. Is the fight and the run worth all that I'll leave behind?

My heels clack on the corridor as I run to my first class. Looking like a clown for my smudged make up, but who the fuck cares? I've decided to fight. The smudge got nothing on the blood I will shed for my win. I can always wipe it all away.

A serene smile left my own lips as I dug his handkerchief out of my pocket. Yes, I can always wipe away the blood shed and run.

I want to feel the wind on my face and fingertips. I want the shiver of excitement. I want to feel. I want to be free.

And I will be, because I'm running away.

I open the door to the classroom and I know that my run has begun. No turning back. The whistle started the race.

I'm running away.

Strangers.

Having different tracks, but the ride would end at the same station. Not once but twice would their fates collide. But for now one train is moving onward and the other stops at a station. But they will again meet at the end of the track.

For now, they are simply Jade Myers and Ace Wilson.

[loubabykitten]

BEST FICS OF 2018

first of all… happy new year guys!!!

as promised, here are the best fics i read in 2018 (some of them were published before but i discovered them in 2018), there're not in order:

Chasing empty spaces (79k, chaptered) - 1930s au

by @domestic-harry

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Don't want shelter (76k, chaptered) - teacher!louis, businessman!harry

by @fullonlarrie

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

Save myself (219k, chaptered) - rich!louis, student!harry

by @make-thisfeellikehome

Louis Tomlinson is a train wreck. That is a way of putting it lightly. His whole world is a vast blur of darkness and bad decisions and it doesn't matter how many times he decides he's done, he always falls back in, because darkness is tricky like that for him. Louis wants for nothing—has everything he could ever ask for really, but it's all nothing. Maybe he needs to be rescued—maybe he can't be rescued. No one knows.

Or the one where Louis is a spoiled rich kid who is ignored by his entire family, who's friends only use him as a means for drugs and no one believes he's worth any more than just that. Harry Styles is a first year university student who's just moved to Doncaster for their theatre program who just happens to get the short straw when he's partnered with Louis for Bio Lab. What could go wrong?

Lightning strikes twice (104k, chaptered) - groupie!louis, famous!harry

by @catfishau

Louis slipped his hand onto Harry’s thigh, snaking his fingers up and inwards. “I’m a big fan. You’re so talented, and I have to admit that I actually fancy you a bit.”

“Yeah?” Harry reached up to push Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “Well, you know, I like to try and be accommodating to my fans.”

“You’re quite well known for that,” Louis whispered as he turned his head some more, their mouths an inch apart. “So I hear.”

---

Rock star Harry Styles was nineteen when he met Louis, a groupie with a huge heart that Harry couldn’t quite shake from his mind. Fate granted him a second chance at the age of sixty, his washed up and lonely existence being transformed by a widower with a bookshop.

Tell me how to feel about you (38k, chaptered) - college/university au

by @imlouisaf

Louis thought it would feel different once he got to LA. He knew it was best for him; a fresh start as far away as he could get. But when the plane touched down and he stepped out into the hot air around LAX, Louis felt exactly the same.

There's still a hole in his chest where his heart used to be; ripped away even after trying for so many years to keep it from happening. He knows it's not all his fault, not by a mile, but it doesn't stop him from blaming himself for it all going wrong.

If he'd just stayed strong, if he'd said no when he said yes, maybe everything would be different.

Or, Harry has been trying to convince Louis to date him for years, but Louis has always been wary of Harry’s fairly obvious commitment issues. Louis eventually gives him a chance, opening his heart up to the one thing he fears.

Have faith in me (183k, chaptered) - rich!harry, assistant!louis

As the son of Anne Styles, millionaire owner of one of the world's most luxurious fashion labels, Harry has spent his last seventeen years living in carefree extravagance. And now he's grown tired of it, along with the pressure from his mum to follow in her footsteps and the constant care given to him by her past assistants.

When his mum's newest assistant, Louis, moves into the guesthouse, Harry determines to be treated differently. To be treated like an adult. Except Louis is not at all what Harry was expecting...

This is a story about growing up, growing in love and having the faith to make it last.

Shake me down (208k chaptered) - college/university au, insecure!harry, protective!louis

by @agreatperhaps12

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

Red hands (132k, chaptered)

by @harrytum

“I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them.  

“But you’ve told someone,” Louis says firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.”

a dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

There are no atheists in foxholes (64k, one shot)

by @suspendrs

“Do you think we’ll ever see it again?” Harry asks after a minute. “London?”

Louis blinks, looking down. They very well could spend the rest of their lives on this island, and they’re both very aware of that. Everyone probably already thinks they’re dead, anyway. Their flats are going to be sold, and their families are going to have funerals, and life is going to go on without them. Even if they do get rescued, it’s already been days. The news of the shipwreck has definitely reached London by now. They don’t know if there’s been any effort to look for survivors, but they also don’t know how far away from the wreck they are, or how far people are going to go to look for them, or if anyone even knows that this island is here and, like, it’s very possible that they’ve already looked and stopped looking for survivors, and no one knows they’re out here-

“I don’t know,” Louis says, before he can start spiraling. “I hope so, but I don’t know.”

Or, the sea takes everything from Louis, but it gives him back more than he ever could’ve asked for.

Dance to the distortion (96k, chaptered)

by @domestic-harry

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

Lonely king (40k, chaptered) - broken!louis, indie!harry

When Louis' parents pass away in a car accident, he inherits a cottage in the woods of Scotland. He ends up spending the summer there; unraveling secrets, mending bonds and creating memories with his best friends.

For as long as i can remember (it's been december) (128k, chaptered) - lawyer!louis, chef!harry

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

The road less travelled by (98k, chaptered) - Lumberjack!louis, high school principal!harry

by @freetheankles

Louis was a lumberjack happy to be living his life alone in what could qualify as Middle Of Nowhere, Canada.

Every morning, he went out into the woods, cut his logs, then came home at dusk to a scalding hot shower and a good book by the fireplace. Rinse and Repeat. He had a good life, quiet and peaceful; simple. Not a secluded one as Niall annoyingly claimed.

Louis certainly didn't need some chatty trespasser dropping into his life, his forest, his home. Invading his space, his circle of friends, touching his stuff, asking questions about his husband. His late husband.

A trespasser who wasn’t supposed to crawl under his skin, occupy his thoughts, and steal his heart from where Louis had locked it safely away, only to put it right back on Louis’ sleeve — where it once laid.

No, Louis definitely didn’t need Harry.

Saving symphony hall (124k, chaptered) - symphony hall au, omega!louis, alpha!harry

by @helloamhere

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

Shelter as we go (75k, one shot)

by @fondleeds

Louis looks at him like his words might break him, glass about to splinter, one wrong footfall away from shattering into a million tiny pieces.

“Hey,” Harry breathes, and he knows, meeting Louis’ eyes, that his words could break him easy as anything. He almost wants Louis to bring his boot down.

-

AU. Nova Scotia, 1968.

Walk that mile (149k, chaptered) - road trip au

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

MY TOP 5:

5. I believe him when he tells of loving me (28k, chaptered)

louis doesn't remember harry. harry takes him home.

4. Wild love (130k, chaptered)

by @daisyharry

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

3. In sickness and in health (83k, chaptered) - american!harry, british!louis

by @rainbowsandlovehl

“Just make sure that you head down to the immigration office as soon as you can, alright?” James reminded them, making them look towards the man and nod in unison. “Remember Louis, you have only two weeks. So make it legal quickly so you don’t get deported.”   “I’ll be sure to remind my assistant to schedule our appointment,” Louis joked and laughed.

A loosely based The Proposal Au where Louis is to be deported in two weeks. Since he doesn't want to lose his job, he asks his assistant, Harry to marry him for a green card. If it makes them realise they're in love, oh well. There's also the fact that no one doubts their credibility.

2. Hush (41k, one shot) - high school au, quarterback!louis, feminine!harry

by @wankerville

“I don't like you like that, Harry.”

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

1. Light my morning sky (54k, one shot) - college/university au

The relatively cliché College AU in which Louis happens to be proficient in Philosophy, Ethics and keeping his distance, while Harry is in need of a tutor to salvage his grade, and never passes up on a challenge; Zayn and Liam like to gaze wantonly across at each other whilst pretending to read Austen; and Niall is the precarious bond that holds them all together.

(Expect some sappy self-indulgent scenes consisting of bed-sharing, 4 am almost-love declarations, drunk texting, and far too much time spent at the student bar for it to be an accurate depiction of uni life.)

[coronavirusremediationservices]

With no end to the pandemic in sight, coronavirus fatigue grips America

Gabe Rice began sheltering in his suburban Phoenix home with his wife and three youngest children in March. They worked remotely, learned remotely and put social events on hold to hunker down alongside much of the country.

It was challenging and frustrating, but, Rice initially assumed, temporary. It seemed like a plausible plan to help the nation get the pandemic under control within a couple of months.

But Arizona’s economic reopening in May, urged by Gov. Doug Ducey (R), was soon followed by a spike in coronavirus infections in June, which became a terrible surge in hospitalizations and deaths by July.

Then came August, and the devastating realization for many Americans that the pandemic, which has killed at least 159,000 people across the country and sickened more than five million, is far from over.

“It’s difficult when you think you have a light at the other end of the tunnel to look forward to, and then all of a sudden you realize it’s a train,” said Rice, 44, a program coordinator at Arizona State University.

An exhausted, exasperated nation is suffering from the effects of a pandemic that has upended society on a scale and duration without parallel in living memory.

The Rice family and millions of other Americans are wrestling with difficult questions about how to juggle school, pay their bills and look after their mental and physical health.

Parents lie awake, their minds racing with thoughts of how to balance work with their newfound role as home-schoolers. Frontline health workers are bone tired, their nerves frayed by endless shifts and constant encounters with the virus and its victims. Senior citizens have grown weary of isolation. Unemployed workers fret over jobs lost, benefits that are running out, rent payments that are overdue. Minority communities continue to shoulder the disproportionate burden of the contagion’s impact, which in recent weeks has killed an average of about 1,000 people a day.

Buck Horton reopened his club, Wo-de’s Chill Spot, in Harvey, La., only to be forced into a second closure —  by the fire marshal’s office, which cited violations of Louisiana’s coronavirus restrictions. Buck Horton reopened his club, Wo-de’s Chill Spot, in Harvey, La., only to be forced into a second closure — by the fire marshal’s office, which cited violations of Louisiana’s coronavirus restrictions. (Emily Kask for The Washington Post) The metaphor of a marathon doesn’t capture the wearisome, confounding, terrifying and yet somehow dull and drab nature of this ordeal for many Americans, who have watched leaders fumble the pandemic response from the start. Marathons have a defined conclusion, but 2020 feels like an endless slog — uphill, in mud.

Recent opinion polls hint at the deepening despair. A Gallup survey in mid-July showed 73 percent of adults viewed the pandemic as growing worse — the highest level of pessimism recorded since Gallup began tracking that assessment in early April. Another Gallup Poll, published Aug. 4, found only 13 percent of adults are satisfied with the way things are going overall in the country, the lowest in nine years.

A July Kaiser Family Foundation poll echoed that, finding that a majority of adults think the worst is yet to come. Fifty-three percent said the crisis has harmed their mental health.

In a podcast released Thursday, former first lady Michelle Obama directly addressed the mental toll, saying she has struggled with the quarantines, the government’s response to the pandemic and the persistent reminders of systemic racism that have led to nationwide protests.

“I know that I am dealing with some form of low-grade depression,” she said.

Historians say that not even the 1918 flu pandemic, which killed an estimated 675,000 people in the United States, had the same kind of all-encompassing economic, social and cultural impact.

“One of the biggest differences between this virus and [the 1918] influenza is the duration,” said John Barry, author of “The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History.”

With coronavirus, he said, the incubation period is longer, patients with symptoms tend to be sick longer, and many take longer to recover. Barry said leaders did not make sufficiently clear early on the simple epidemiological truth that this would be a painfully drawn-out event.

“Part of the frustration and disappointment and depression, frankly, is because of the expectation that we’d be through this by now,” he said.

President Trump repeatedly promised a quick resolution. He conjured the image of church pews packed by Easter. The White House recommended 15 days of restrictions. That was then extended by 30 days, to the end of April. On Thursday, Trump said a vaccine could be ready by Election Day, Nov. 3 — a date well in advance of what his administration’s own experts think is likely.

But the virus has repeatedly shown that it has its own timetable. The first wave of shutdowns helped reverse the frightening trend lines of March and early April but came nowhere close to crushing the opportunistic pathogen. And now the season of the pandemic is indisputably the year of the pandemic.

“This will be a long, long haul unless virtually everybody — or a very, very high percentage of the population, including the young people — take very seriously the kind of prevention principles that we’ve been talking about,” Anthony S. Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, said in an interview.

“It is within our power and within our will to really get it down to a level that’s low enough that we can do many of the things that would get our economy going again,” he added. “There will be a long slog if everybody doesn’t pitch in.”

Not everyone is experiencing the same level of stress, and everyone’s pandemic struggles differ. Any “essential” worker exposed to high-risk conditions day after day has more urgent concerns than someone merely stuck at home and missing out on summer barbecues.

In Cadiz, Ky., Stephanie Grant has endured one of the most trying years of her life. The 42-year-old lost her job at the end of April. For more than two months, as she waited for unemployment benefits to kick in, she fell behind on her car payment, utilities, insurance and rent for the apartment she shares with her two teenage daughters.

She drained most of her savings trying to remain afloat. She applied for jobs at gas stations and dollar stores. She pursued becoming a coronavirus contract tracer, but that also didn’t come through.

“I could not get a job anywhere,” she said. “I want to get back out there and work.”

As her stress and her bills mounted, Grant turned to a Kentucky nonprofit focused on housing and homelessness. The group helped her catch up on her rent, and the arrival of her unemployment payments in late July have allowed her to catch her breath. For now.

“Right now, I’m wary. It seems like we are falling apart. The stress, the tensions, everything that’s going on. … People are scared,” she said.

And many people are bored, eager to socialize. In Harvey, La., Marlon “Buck” Horton operates a popular bar, Wo-de’s Chill Spot. But Horton’s bar permit was suspended in late July after complaints about what the state fire marshal described as “a large, non-socially distanced crowd.”

Horton, 39, denied the fire marshal’s report that he served alcohol indoors. He said people simply eager to grab a beer crowded outside, and a passerby posted a video of the gathering on Facebook, leading to the crackdown.

“We’re stuck. We don’t have assistance, and we still have landlords,” Horton said last week. At a hearing soon after, the suspension was lifted when he agreed to pay a fine and abide by the state’s coronavirus rules.

Although some states battered by the virus have made progress against it in recent weeks, it has infiltrated small towns with little previous exposure.

In Mississippi, George County is among eight counties that have been told to delay school reopenings for grades seven to 12 until Aug. 17 because of high rates of virus transmission. Superintendent of Education Wade Whitney realized how serious the pandemic had become locally when a co-worker in an adjacent office became severely ill and was hospitalized for five days.

“When that person catches it, it kind of hits you right between the eyes,” Whitney said. “Small-town George County is not immune.”

That co-worker was Matt Caldwell, the director of operations for the school district and the former head football coach at the high school. Caldwell, a big man who played offensive line for the Mississippi State Bulldogs in the early 1990s, had assumed it would be no big deal if he was infected.

“Boy, was I wrong,” he said. “I definitely underestimated it. I tell everybody I talk to it’s a real thing. Those people who think its just a hoax and all that — I know this, I wouldn’t wish what I went through on anybody.”

Jennifer Nuzzo, an epidemiologist at Johns Hopkins University, has become an oft-quoted expert during the coronavirus pandemic. But she’s also a mother who is dismayed that her son Miles, 7, who should be entering second grade in a Maryland public school, will start the year with online-only instruction.

“I’m absolutely devastated. It’s not learning,” Nuzzo said.

The Washington Nationals host the New York Mets on Aug. 4 in an otherwise empty Nationals Park. The Washington Nationals host the New York Mets on Aug. 4 in an otherwise empty Nationals Park. (Jonathan Newton/The Washington Post) This is not just back-to-school season, it’s also the time when many counties and states hold their annual fairs. Those are being canceled right and left. Professional sports is now back on air, but in most cases without fans in the stadiums and arenas. Major League Baseball is trying to keep its revived season intact after several outbreaks of infection.

And there are the ordinary cancellations so many people have endured — birthdays not celebrated, weddings and funerals carried out over Zoom, trips not taken, loved ones not visited.

Joseph and Kelli Crawford of Gilbert, Ariz., had planned to travel to London in April for their 10th anniversary and for her sister’s 30th birthday. Everything was booked: Flights, lodging, tickets to concerts and plays.

They rescheduled for March 2021. But now they worry that even that might be optimistic.

“I’m crossing my fingers. But I’m also not going to be packing my bags,” said Kelli, 33.

A flight attendant, she also agreed to an 18-month voluntary separation from her work. She’ll keep her health insurance and part of her salary.

But she won’t be bored. All four of the Crawfords’ children, ages 4, 5, 10 and 13, are home. The three oldest have begun remote classes. Their 4-year-old daughter has been aching to start preschool since she saw her older brother do so last year. But there is no virtual preschool, so that plan is on hold.

“It’s one thing for the adults to be lonely,” Kelli said. “But these poor kids, I get so heartbroken about the loneliness they’re experiencing.”

There are glimmers of hope for those staggered by this dire moment: The vaccine development for the novel coronavirus appears to be moving at unprecedented speed. There are promising therapeutics that may lower the mortality rate of those who become severely ill.

The pandemic will someday come to an end, experts promise, because all pandemics have. And though SARS-CoV-2 is a slippery and unpredictable virus, it has not proved as deadly as the 1918 influenza virus that swept across much of the planet.

“In 1918, practically every city in the country ran out of coffins,” Barry said. Victims commonly died at home. “All these things led to much greater fear, which meant that people were also more willing to put up with anything that might help.”

Howard Markel, a medical historian at the University of Michigan, said that though similarities exist between today’s outbreak and the influenza pandemic a century ago, American society was different at that time.

Americans had experienced epidemics of cholera, diphtheria and other diseases in the not-so-distant past. They were accustomed to children dying of smallpox, whooping cough and other diseases.

Rep. T.S. McMillan, a Democrat from Charleston, S.C., with two flappers, dances the Charleston in Washington in the 1920s. Rep. T.S. McMillan, a Democrat from Charleston, S.C., with two flappers, dances the Charleston in Washington in the 1920s. (Library of Congress) Unlike today, most Americans also had little confidence that a magic bullet would end the suffering and exasperation. “Another expectation of our era is the expectation that science will come up with a fix quickly,” Markel said. “None of us have the patience for lengthy processes. We live in an instant society.”

Still, Markel said, despite the seemingly endless nature of the current situation, history offers reasons for optimism. When the pandemic of 1918-1919 was over, for instance, people rebounded quickly.

“They went out and started dancing the Charleston, buying raccoon coats and buying stocks and bonds,” he said. “It went from zero to 60 in no time flat.”

This crisis, too, will pass.

“No question, epidemic fatigue or pandemic fatigue is real. We are experiencing it,” Markel said. “But throughout human history, there have been terrible pandemics and contagious threats. Every civilization, every nation, has come through to the other side. And we will, too.”

[northernreads]

looking back at the decade is weird. like i am so damn old. the last time i hit a decade i wasn’t really old enough to fully i don’t know... comprehend it? if i had to summarize the 2010s in one word than maybe: university? though there was more than that i suppose. this is probably going to be stupid long but i don’t caaaaare cause the 2010s went on forever too

i graduated high school in 2010. i went back for a victory lap solely to avoid university for a year. i did mediocre in high school in just about every way (grades, friends, experiences). i can’t say that i enjoyed it at all so finishing up with hs was a great way to start the ‘10s even if i petrified to start uni

in 2011 i started uni. i was terrified. i didn’t want to go in the first place, high school had sucked why would I want to do more school? but i felt like i had no other choice. the first year was rough, i worked my ass off though and while I was warned to expect my usual grades to drop the first year, they actually soared. when i was late enrolling for courses for second year the dean of my faculty emailed me to see if everything was okay and if I needed help. by second year i was actually really enjoying uni. i majored in history and minored in english and i loved it. i really like writing essays it turns out.

i graduated cum laude in 2016. my original plan to go to teachers college but after already extending my undergrad by a year and getting yanked around by my uni in so many dumb ways, when I found out that I would have to push back my graduation again to make teachers college work I decided to switch gears instead. i found something else to make my liberal arts degree work: librarianship

in 2015/2016 i realized I had to very quickly make things work if I was going to get accepted into a masters program. everything I had been doing to make teachers college work wasn’t enough for this masters program. namely that being a teacher meant volunteering with kids a lot while getting my masters meant developing relationships with profs. something I was incredibly uncomfortable with, and hadn’t even had much opportunity to do as my undergrad uni had a massive population and most class sizes were large even at fourth year level. I went way, way outside my comfort zone and made it work though. i got my letters of recommendation and got my act together and got accepted into both masters programs i applied to.

in 2016 i began my masters program at a new uni. the program was much smaller than what I was used to, and while I missed my english classes especially, I loved the program. I did well. I made friends. I even joined a club. mostly this two year program was me dealing with a long commute. (5-6 hours per day, four days a week). i was exhausted all of the time. i got a paper published. i loved this too.

in 2018 i graduated with my masters of information, with a concentration in library and information science

in the 2010s i graduated three times. graduations suck and yeah that’s some extreme first world complaining, but god i hate them so much

i got my first real job in 2012. i had no experience and had a hell of a time finding a job. finally one day someone gave me a chance and i started my first job at a gas station. i worked there for five years. i went through four managers, i trained a lot of employees, i made some work friends, i read a lot of books for uni there, it helped me come out of my shell a bit too

in 2017 i quit my job at the gas station. I was on my fourth manager and after weathering all that change this one finally broke me. every week he changed how he wanted things done and acted like I was clueless for doing it any other way. I also knew that I needed to develop some more work experience.

my next job was at a shoe store. less than two months into the job i was a senior employee because everyone kept quitting. it was my first time in retail and also the first time i was really working with other people. i hated it at times, but i also grew to like it too. i picked everything up quickly and was made a key holder before long. i was there for less than a year. the company wasn’t doing well and my hours were cut to almost nothing. cue next job

by this point it was 2018 and i had just graduated my masters program and was looking for a job in my field. in the meantime i needed money. i got a job at costco. they thought i was still in uni even though my resume said ‘graduated’. so I got hired on for the summer as a student. it was an okay job. bigger than anywhere i had ever worked certainly. by the end of the summer i was so ready to be done with it though, the management was poor at times and they were relentless in pushing us to promote membership upgrades. I despise upselling products to people who clearly don’t want to talk about it. overall it really wasn’t terrible. i did like a lot of the people.

i got two interviews for jobs at libraries over that summer. i was applying for hours every single day in 2018. zilch.

so by fall 2018 i needed a new job again. enter the coffee shop. i got hired to be a baker at tim hortons and was never a baker, in fact less than 2 months into the job they moved me permanently to their satellite location at a gas station (oh how circular life is) which had no proper kitchen. i liked the gas station location better in the end. there was a small group of ridiculous teens and barely adults on the afternoon shift and they were kind of the best. i was at tims for 8 months, was almost made supervisor but luckily dodged that bullet

in 2019 i got a better paying job. completely different than anything i’ve ever done before and not in my field. but i’m not complaining

i started the 2010s having never even kissed someone before. and i’m ending it having found someone that actually makes me believe soulmates are a thing.

in 2013 (i think) i had my first boyfriend. he was shit. i don’t think it even lasted 6 months but honestly i don’t remember much and i try not to

in 2014 (i think?) i had begun to question my sexuality a bit and landed on bisexual. i also had my first girlfriend. she was also shit. i guess it was maybe almost a year long. again i try not to remember. 

there were other almosts and not quite relationships but mostly it was just the two. and they were bad. they messed with me in their own ways. after the gf (2015) i just stopped dating. i needed a break from it at first. but the more time I took the more I began to struggle with realizing that i was ace. something i did not want whatsoever. i was also just busy with my masters. i had no time to date even if i wanted to between school, commuting and work.

in 2018 i met someone on here. he has been nothing but perfect ever since and i am madly in love with him. he also doubles as my bestest friend ever so that’s awesome

i traveled a little bit too. i did four major roadtrips with my family. twice to the west coast of canada and twice to the east coast. i also took a plane for the first time ever and went to england

i went to a few concerts: marianas trench (twice), lorde, hayley kiyoko, and imagine dragons

i got my drivers license and first car

i had roomates in uni in the dorms and now have my first apartment (+ a roommate)

i cut my long hair super short and kept it that way for a few years and then grew it all back again

i got back into reading again and it saved my life

i lost a lot of pets. i used to have my own personal zoo at the start of the decade. In particular i lost my dog Sam, who was the most important being in my life for most of the decade. now I visit my family’s cats and dogs once a week. and I miss them a lot.

we saw the world go through a lot of changes but i’m sure there are a million articles on that already. we saw too many memes too. but i’m guessing a zillion articles on that subject.

I discovered so much about myself over the past decade. 2010 holly would not know who I am now and I am so grateful for that. she was kind of an idiot. I feel so much more like me than I ever have before. the 2010s were rough at times, and that’s putting it lightly. But i’m here. i made it. Things feel good. I have a lot more big things coming, and hopefully sooner than later. 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

SNAPSHOT: AIRBNB

Skyline the dominant trees are huge redwoods, and in particular, is a pruned version of a tree that in the era of physical media. A friend of mine cured herself of a clothes buying habit by asking herself before she bought anything Am I going to wear this all the time? You can measure this in your growth rate. You can be a professor, or make a lot of money, or prestige—or sheer inertia. The thing I probably repeat most is this recipe for a startup the initial release acts as a compass. You're an investor too. Even tenure is not real freedom. If I were you I'd look for the people who work there want to stay there, instead of going to work for you, as Google has, you have a spare hour, and days later you're still working on it. But does it do this out of frivolity? Not intelligence—determination. Make Web sites for people who didn't want them, we could just program in machine language. One thing you can do while you're still in school.

Not at all. What do those users want? Even in college you get little idea what various types of work are like. Gradually you realize that these two things are as tightly connected as only a market can make them. Fields that are intellectually unsure of themselves rely on a similar principle. He was hosting thousands of people's blogs. Always produce will discover your life's work the way water, with the aid of gravity, finds the hole in your roof. Viaweb, to make software for building online stores. For example, we seem to have a rigid, pre-ordained plan and then start spending a lot of people at Yahoo, so he was in a good position to compare the two companies. One is to try to do a good job at whatever you're doing, your servers keep crashing, you run up against a blank wall. And finally, if a good investor has committed to fund you if you build something popular is that you won't know your users.

Either businesses aren't supposed to be like charities, and we've proven by reductio ad absurdum that one or both of the principles we began with is false. Morale is another reason that it's hard to get paid for doing work you love. Finding work you love; it must be, if so few do. And the combination is not as hard as it seems, because some tasks like raising money and getting incorporated are an O 1 pain in the ass, whether you're big or small, and others like selling and promotion depend more on energy and imagination than any kind of special training. Surely that field, at least for a while at least, a thesis was a position one took and the dissertation was the argument by which one defended it. Every thing you own takes energy away from you. Sometimes jumping from one sort of work I'd prefer? The number one question people ask us at Y Combinator is in Boston.

Once publishing—giving people copies—becomes the most natural way of distributing your content, it probably isn't, it tended to pervade the atmosphere of early universities. I asked them about their trip. What can 25 year olds do that 32 year olds can't? Good hackers can always get some kind of zenlike detachment from material things. By compressing the dull but necessary task of making a living. But it doesn't matter much either way. The shielding of a reactor is not uniform; the reactor would be useless if it were, taking money from a few big hits, and those make a difference. Part of the problem is that big projects tend to grow out of small ones.

You'd think. I had a house. Data moves like smells now. Microsoft would be selling programming languages, which doesn't pay at all, because people like it so much they do it for you. Except the lions turned out not to have to work for you, as Google has, you have more freedom of choice. The big fish like Open Market rest their souls were just consulting companies pretending to be product companies, and the only reason you need them is to make it close. Some ideas are easy for people to relive experiences without any goal in mind, simply to learn from them again as one might when rereading a book. There are two things you have to spend all your time working. They won't kill you unless you let them. The organic route: as you become more eminent, gradually to increase the parts of your job that you like at the expense of those you don't publish. As Ben Franklin said, if you have a spare hour, and days later you're still working on it. Which is not to say that the novel or the chair is designed according to the most advanced theoretical principles.

It's the concluding remarks to the jury. But using the Internet. I said what they need, not what a piece of shit; those fools will love it. Well, they're not. Everyone knows you're supposed to. But this is probably not an option for most magazines. The industry term here is conversion. The books I bring on trips are often quite virtuous, the sort of essay I thought I was going to write about English literature. And if you're not certain, you should get summer jobs at places you'd like to work on. And yet it seems to be possible for several people to collaborate on a research project. No one proposes that there's some limit to the number of startups is that they're embarrassed to go back n paragraphs and start over.

That sounds cleverly skeptical, but I found the same problem, and that will kill you very rapidly. In fact, worse than worthless, because once you've accumulated a certain amount of stuff, it might be wise to spend at least a couple days considering different ideas, instead of letting it drag on through your whole life. One Canadian startup we funded spent about 6 months working on moving to the US. As it turns out you have to declare the type of x first. I've been repeating that since 1993, and I noticed a remarkable pattern in them. I thought was a huge fleet of toy cars, but they'd be dwarfed by the number of toys my nephews have. Another thing I find myself saying a lot is don't worry. Someone who's figured that out will automatically focus more on the user. And if the company merely breaks even on the deal, there's no test of how well you've read a book, and that's just information. This article is derived from a keynote talk at the 2006 Startup School.

You never know when this will strike. Once, when I was in the middle of the twentieth century. These are some of the most famous scientists seem to have been a junior professor at that age, and he was right. A startup has to sing for its supper. Someone who's figured that out will automatically focus more on the user. It should have been choosing all along. So the best you can do while you're still in school is rounding error compared to what they pick up on their own. The most overreaching employee agreement I've seen so far is Amazon's. In industrialized countries the same thing to them.

[siriusist]

QUESTIONTIME: 1. What are you watching in quarantine, 2. Do you have any goals in quarantine, 3. Beauty routine in quarantine. GO.

What are you watching in Quarantine: 

 I’m a CLOSET JOCK LEGASP (At least, on Tumblr), but I’ve been watching The Last Dance, the Netflix documentary about Michael Jordan and the ‘90s Chicago Bulls, which is absolutely FANTASTIC. Even if you’re not a sports fan (and I'm really not much of a basketball fan), the sheer athleticism on display is AMAZING, and the way the narrative is spun about the actual personalities on the team, it’s really as much a story about differing personalities as it is about sports. If you’ve watched any ESPN sports documentaries (My brother literally has a tin of the ‘30 for 30′ documentaries, and they’re also absolutely fantastic and highly recommended), it’s basically the same quality, just stretched out into a miniseries).

Do you have any goals in quarantine: 

I just got offered a chance for my law paper to be academically published, so I’m just setting that up as well as getting my articling qualifications set up for admissions into law in Canada. I also signed up for this really cool program called ‘The Conqueror’ Virtual Challenge, which is basically a U.K. based running program, where it tracks you running marathon routes around the world in the comfort of your own neighbourhood, and awards you a medal at the end of it. So for example, I signed up for ‘The Inca Trail,’ which is a pathway following the Inca Trail right up to Machu Picchu virtually and it tracks your progress every time you run on a map.

 I’m lucky because I’m in a country where you’re still allowed to go out for government-mandated exercise, so it’s basically forced me to become a runner. Even though I’m good at sports, I’m definitely not a runner, as I have shitty feet (plantar fasciitis since I was twelve/ more ankle sprains than I can count), plus athletically-induced asthma, so all my sports growing up were just sports where you could do bursts of energy and then chill for a while and catch your breath xD (I.E: Volleyball, beach volleyball, swimming, etc.). Consistent running has always been TERRIBLE for me, and I hated doing lines even in sports: I usually ended up coughing up blood and with terrible foot pain (Too much information, but there you go).

My whole point is, if I can do it, anyone can do it. You can set up to thirteen weeks to achieve your ‘marathon’ goal, so there’s no timed element where you feel like you’re going to kill yourself running, and I’ve been really careful in order not to roll my ankles and ruin my entire beach volleyball season if we’re able to come back in time (I.E: I got proper new trail running shoes, because trail running is easier on your feet than concrete, I tape my ankles and my feet before I go out, I literally drive to a park and stretch before jogging, that sort of thing). I just signed up this morning and I’m already around 5km in, so it’s something <3 (Plus there’s alternative routes like running the distance of the English Channel, the Great Ocean Road in Australia, the length of Hadrian’s Wall, etc. So just a fun way to motivate yourself for like, twenty quid xD)

Beauty Routine in Quarantine:

 Um, get up and go? XD To quote the Gilmore Girls, “Copper, BOOM!”? xD Really it’s washing face with Dermalogica Special Cleansing Gel (The only face wash that works for my super-sensitive, reactive skin, but which is also very cystic-acne prone), Mychelle Sunscreen SPF28 Coconut (Another natural sunscreen brand I get from the States which is super-mattifying and doesn’t melt when you do exercise or sweat, but also doesn’t break me out), and maybe some Laura Mercier Concealer in 1N (The neutral, pale person shade) and some Physicians Formula Bronzer or Blush if I’m feeling really out there. 

(For cheaper options for foundation/coverage, I go for NYX’s Bare With Me Tinted Skin Veil in 02 Vanilla Nude, or Covergirl Clean Fresh Skin Milk in 520 Fair. I actually like the skin milk so much I got a second ‘tan’ colour for summer which is 530 Fair/Light. I also use Maybelline New York’s Clear Mascara to move away stray hairs/sort my eyebrows, and also love Covergirls’ Clean Fresh Cream Blush in 330 Sweet Innocence). Top off with Lip Smacker, because I am a child of the 90s and will never get over good-tasting lip balm.)

I also spray in my hair Sun Bum’s 3 in 1 Leave-In Conditioner, which leaves my hair naturally conditioned and no need for straightening (which is what I usually have to do without it, because my hair is thick and literally like Book!Hermione’s). If I’m feeling fancy I add the Sun Bum lightening spray, which is helping to lighten my hair for summer from dark dark blonde (which looks almost ash mouse brown) with some highlights to a lighter shade of ash mouse brown. Brilliant. xD

And then for an evening routine, Benton’s Aloe Propolis Soothing Gel, Lush’s Enchanted Eye Cream (Again, if I’m feeling fancy), and if I’m feeling acne coming on, Dermalogica’s Overnight Clearing Gel. 

As you can see, I’m pretty much paired back to being a minimalist with my beauty routine and I’m really partial to non-overtly reactive ingredients that burn your face/hair off. I’m usually bad with fragrance, or overt alcohol that strips your skin, so if you’re really sensitive to that sort of thing, you might want to try some of the stuff I use. If it DOES have fragrance, it’s usually something natural, like Sun Bum’s 3 in 1 Conditioner having coconut oil. I’ve reached the point as an old crone in her mid-twenties that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. xD (Oh, and my Dad hates how many deodorant sticks I go through per year, but I’m obsessive about smelling good so I probably have three deodorant sticks on the go at any given time (One in my bag, one at home, one in my workout bag/the car so I’m not ever in the situation where I maybe applied less liberally than I would have wanted to. If I didn’t have deodorant I think I might actually die: I’m pretty sure I just have horror daydreams where I lift my arm and kill the population of a small town. I’ve been abused by other people’s horrible B.O. on trains/public transit and I refuse to subject anyone else to it. xD)