#will trent 101

[thefirsthogokage]

I hate procedural shows, but I'm bored and I need a break from Criminal Minds. I know, not exactly much of a change, but here we go. And quite frankly, I want to watch Erika Christensen get work.

Will Trent: 1x01 - Pilot

-Will most likely include spoilers-

Oh look, Jennifer Morrison. Honestly I never liked her much (or at all really) on Once Upon a Time.

Oh? Her daughter's name is Emma? Well that was definitely on purpose. This is airing on ABC after all.

This house in unnecessarily large.

Oh interesting filming style, they manage to hide the stunt people pretty well. Poor her character finding her daughter like that.

I was surprised when it looked like it she was going to die. Having Jennifer Morrison come in just to die? Anywho, good job this scene, like I said, not typically a fan of her acting. At least not the last time or two I've seen her.

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What the hell is this voice/accent? I don't like it. Gonna be super annoying. It's not completely southern.

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Ew, don't like the visuals here with this opening. Bad CGI.

I know that actress. Who is that actress? What many things have I seen her in? Is her voice really that deep now?

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Is he trying to do a Georgian accent? It sounds a New Orleans at times, I think. Is he doing it over a Puerto Rican accent? Like, as long as the say the character is originally from Puerto Rico, loved there a long time, or parents were immigrants and picked it up a bit from them, I'd be fine with it. But if they say he's only lived in the US...then his accent isn't 100% spot on in a way that's frustrating. Honestly if he couldn't fully do the accent, they don't really need him to do it.

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Oh look, starting off on a case where our Extra Amazing Detective knows someone related to the victim? How original.

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Oh is this going to be a mixed up identity thing? Won't actually be their kid but her friend in there house. Cue their real daughter coming in in 3, 2,

Wait were they going to let him turn over the girl's body? That's not kosher at a crime scene, geezus.

Oh that's sad. The boy tried to help and she kind of helped him die a bit.

Is one of the parents going to be in on this?

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Erika Christensen! She's only 40? I feel like she should be older. Not that she looks it.

Wait I know her from Parenthood? I thought I'd seen her in stuff before that and from longer ago.

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His accent feels forced and artificial. I don't like it. It's, it's off and it bothers me.

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I kind of don't want to finish this. Actually I know I don't. I do t know why I try to watch standard procedurals. There are no unique procedural stories anymore. Watched too much Law & Order when I was younger, so there's nothing that can surprise me anymore. Nothing I don't spot before it happens. No, "What are they thinking?" Not being able to find out until someone says anything. I came, I saw Erika Christensen having a job that will last him a season, the rest is annoying.

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Well here's something different: too many plots/info going on half way in.

1) The main case.

2) Whatever drug-related thing Erika Christensen is dealing with.

3) The abused woman Erika Christensen is dealing with.

4) The cop that collapsed.

An overstimulating number of stories. Let's see if more happens.

Oh look:

5) This detective having issues with her kid.

6) That detective put away ended this other detective's mom's cop career.

I guess 7) half of these detectives hate Trent.

Way too much personal shit going on with too many characters going on in the first episode. Yes, you do have to introduce people in the first episode, but this feels like too much at once. Too many storylines. Let people be curious about shit going on between characters for a while before it comes out. Not make it feel like an info dump of many plot points.

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BAD transition to a later time. If you didn't catch it, it would look like he was walking down the hall into a thing it sounded like he planned it the sentence before. Just bad transition, bad edit, bad framing.

Oh look, a detective hitting a guy. I mean, it's a think they can get away with.

No, Jennifer Morrison's character, lying about living in an orphanage does not make someone a sociopath. It means they were ashamed of something and it sounds like he had good reason for not wanting to tell you based on your reaction. I mean, yeah, he cheated on you too, but that also doesn't mean he's a sociopath or that you could diagnose him as one.

Ffs can people stop throwing around the DIAGNOSTIC TERM "sociopath" when they have zero idea what it means and can't diagnose it!

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Oh look, back to the secondary case. Why are they doing that? They aren't doing the back and forth e between the cases well.

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I hate the Prodigal Detective trope. HATE it. Not original anymore.

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Ah, that's why they had that cop have a stroke, to get EC to transfer.

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So, Will Trent is a weird guy, but he's not really interesting. Maybe it's just all the Super Smart Detective stories I've seen that's a problem. Could they at least do this with a woman? I mean, there was Untouchable. Do something else too.

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So, no he and cop who's mother's career he fucked up are cool? I figured they'd resolve that quick. Lame. Boring. Predictable.

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Figured EC would be the love interest. Just didn't expect them to already be together. Oh, and another three storylines/plot points with this:

8) She had a thing with white guy

9) Her and Will Trent

10) Will's scars (which they make a deal of them being person with in a way just so we know they are personal. She's seen them before, he should be comfortable with it by now. It's a bad introduction to something. It's out of place. Reminds me of stuff they did on the Doogie Disney show. Stuff that you do when you try to introduce an element to a character, but you don't do it smoothly, so it comes off as forced.)

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Also they sepia'd this show. Probably because it's in the south 🙄. TV shows should not make the coloring just flat out not how things work in the real world. Too yellow/orange and it's just unwatchable.

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11) Will Trent is dyslexic.

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I guess one thing that's nice about this: the Main Character is already with someone, don't have to go through that whole thing.

End on a cliffhanger, ok.

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Final thoughts:

Will I be watching more? No. I don't even care that it ends on a cliffhanger. For the coloring alone, it's difficult on the eyes. But also from a writing standpoint it's not a good pilot. Too much info, too much stuff going on, too much background. It's over stuffed and it makes it over stimulating.

That's not how you write a pilot. That's not how you edit a pilot. Not just from the coloring stand point, but from the quick jumps they had in there.

They shoved too much in too fast and made it bad on the eyes. Not absolutely the worst I have ever seen (that goes to The Deputy), but still bad and visibly I just can't continue.

I've never been happier to stop watching a show at a cliffhanger.

[sarcasmcloud]

Will Trent + scars

[total-drama-shark]

I have a fic idea where after the Drama Brothers disbanded for good Trent ends up going to law school like his father wanted but he hates if there. And one inconspicuous day he bumps into Courtney, studying in the same College. They slowly build a friendship and one day while at Trent’s dorm they both start playing some music together,

Trent immediately reignites his passion for music and wants for him and Courtney to start a band together but she refuses, she’s passionate about law unlike Trent and cares for her studies, besides the fact the violin is a hobby for her and she worries monetizing it will suck all the joy out of it.

Trent attempts his pursue for music regardless, under a pseudonym and while studying accounting. With all the expected roadblocks and sleepless night while he tries to juggle music and school at the same time. Courtney finds herself occasionally helping but definitely only because she’s a good friend and not at all because she’s actually interested in Trent’s endeavors and wants to see him succeed.

And as his jig starts actually picking up storm Courtney sort of becomes his unofficial secretary and before they know it she’s wrapped into this mess too, both working on music, searching for record labels to publish their stuff, managing finances together, and expressing themselves through their art.

[sticostudios]

dog police: pay attention (gift)

While the crew were out to catch a criminal, chase was pin pointing the location of where the criminal was last seen. Clifford wanted a look but he should’ve payed attention to the road as he nearly collided with an oncoming truck.

comic made by an anonymous artist gifted toy by my friend ice

[ladies-of-fiction]

Characters Named Zoe(y)

Zoe (Sesame Street), Zoey (Total Drama Island)

Zoe Drake (Dinosaur King), Zoey Davis (Escape Room)

Zoe Barnes (House of Cards), Zoey Redbird (House of Night) 

Zoe Trent (Littlest Pet Shop), Zoey Brooks (Zoey 101)

Zoe (Kizuna no Allele), Zoey (Pokemon)

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Again, not an exhaustive list but for anyone else in the UK, these are where riots are expected today:

Aldershot - Immigration Advisors at 40 Victoria Road GU11 1TH, starting at 19:30.

Bedford - Immigration INN (Inn?) on Ford End Road MK40 4JT, at 20:00.

Birmingham - Refugee and Migrant Centre on Frederick Street B1 3HN, beginning at 20:00.

Bishop Auckland - outside the Town Hall on Market Place DL14 7NP.

Blackburn - Rafiq Immigration Services on Whalley Road BB5 1AA, at 20:00.

Blackpool - Immigration Solicitors at the Enterprise Centre on Lytham Road FY1 1EW, starting at 20:00.

Bolton - Deane & Bolton Immigration Lawyers on Chorley New Road BL1 4QR, at 20:00.

Brentford - UK Immigration Help in The Mile on 1000 Great West Road TW8 9DW, starting around 19:00.

Brighton - Raj Rayan Immigration in Queensberry House at 106 Queens Road BN1 3XF, starting either at 19:30 or 20:00.

Bristol - Gya Williams Immigration on West Street BS2 OBL, at 20:00.

Burnley - at Thompson Park on 111 Ormerod Rioad BB11 3QWat, starting at 13:00.

Canterbury - UK Immigration Clinic in the Canterbury Innovation Centre CT2 7FG, at 20:00.

Chatham - Immigration Status UK on Maidstone Road ME5 9FD, at 20:00.

Cheadle - Intime Immigration Services on Brooks Drive SK8 3TD, at 20:00.

Chelmsford - UK Immigration Information Centre on Violet Close CM1 6XG, at 20:00.

Derby - Immigration Advisory Service, Normanton Road DE23 6US, at 20:00.

Dover - Kent Immigration and Visa Advice at 5A Castle Hill Road CT16 1QG, reportedly around 20:00.

Durham - in Crook at Market Place, at 18:00. (Unsure as to whether this is the same one as in Bishop Auckland as I know Crook is near there?)

Finchley - Immigration and Nationality Services within Foundation House at 4 Percy Road N128BU, around 19:00.

Harrow - Yes UK Immigration and North Harrow Community Library within the Business Centre at 429-433 Pinner Road HA1 4HN, in North Harrow, at 19:00.

Hastings - Black Rock Immigration at 37 Cambridge Gardens TN34 1EN, at 20:00.

Hull - Conroy Baker Immigration Lawyer in Norwich House, 1 Savile Street HU1 3ES, at 20:00.

Lewisham - the Clock Tower, SE13 5JH, 19:00.

Lincoln - Immigration Lawyer Services on Carlton Mews LN2 4FJ, at 20:00.

Liverpool - Merseyside Refugee Centre in St Anne's Centre on 7 Overbury Street L7 3HJ, at 20:00.

Liverpool - Sandpiper Hotel (might be on Ormskirk Old Road? if any scousers can clarify where that is, that'd be great) at 13:00.

Middlesbrough - Immigration Advice Centre which is the Co-Operative Buildings at 251 Linthorpe Road TS1 4AT, at 20:00.

Newcastle - United Immigration Services in Artisan Unit 3, The Beacon on Westgate Road NE4 9PQ, at 20:00.

Northampton - Zenith Immigration Lawyers at 2 Talbot Road NN1 4JB, starting at 20:00.

Nottingham - East Midlands Immigration Services at 15 Stonesbury Vale NG2 7UR, at 20:00.

Oldham - somewhere on Ellen Street 0L9 6QR, at 20:00

Oxford - Asylum Welcome in Unit 7 in Newtec Place on Magdelen Road OX4 1RE, around 19:00. [Updated as of 15:53]

Peterborough - Smart Immigration Services in Laxton House at 191 Lincoln Road PE1 2PN, at 20:00.

Plymouth - in a Morrisons car park, I don't know which but I saw Victory Parade associated with it? If anyone from Plymouth can clarify, please do. Not sure on time.

Portsmouth - UK Border Agency at Kettering Terrace PO2 8QN, at 20:00

Preston - Adriana Immigration Services at 109 Church Street PR1 3BS, at 19:00 or 20:00.

Rotherham - Parker Rhodes Hickmotts, The Point S60 1BP, at 20:00.

Sheffield - City Hall on Barker's Pool S1 2JA, at 13:00.

Sheffield - White Rose Visas at 101 Wilkinson Street S10 2GJ, at 20:00.

Southampton - Y-Axis Immigration Consultants, Cumberland Place on Grosvenor Square SO15 2BG, at 20:00.

Southend - MNS Immigration Solicitors on Ditton Court Road SS0 7HG, at 20:00.

Stoke-On-Trent - ZR Visas on Metcalfe Road ST6 7AZ, in Tunstall, at 20:00.

Sunderland - North of England Refugee Service which is in Suite 12 in the Eagle Building at 201 High Street East SR1 2AX, at 20:00.

Swindon - I have no details for this, just seen that something might be kicking off there.

Tamworth - Lawrencia & Co Immigration Solicitors within the Amber Business Village on Amber Close B77 4RP, no details on time unfortunately.

Walthamstow - Waltham Forest Immigration Bureau at 187 Hoe Street E17 3AP, at 20:00.

Wigan - Support for Wigan Arrivals Project, Penson Street WN1 2LP, at 20:00.

York - only detail I've got it is York Stay City Hotel.

[dustinslovehandles]

I’ve been trying to find some Chuckie T makes but both YouTube and Daily Motion’s search algorithm sucks.

If you are able and do not mind doing so, do you have any links or even search suggestions for your favorite matches of his. Indy or AEW.

Ooooooh, SO excited to get an ask about this! Buckle in your seatbelts because I'm about to talk your ear off with match recommendations! <3

If you like his more light-hearted/silly stuff:

Chuck vs Orange for PWG: Honestly my comfort match with some really great wrestling too

Chuck vs Su Yung for FEST Wrestling: Intergender shenanigans for an indie title

Chuck and Orange vs Princess Kimberly/Jervis Cottonbelly: Intergender tag match with referee Bryce getting involved

Chuck and Jock Samson vs The Jollyville Jeepers for Olde Wrestling: I feel like any Olde Wrestling match counts as hilarious

Chuck vs ZSJ falls count anywhere: Zack and Chuck have a fight in a pub. Need I say more?

Honestly, pretty much any of the Chuck/Orange tag matches on youtube work, so if you like that sort of thing then I definitely recommend looking up "Chuck Taylor Orange Cassidy".

If you want more serious stuff though, Chuck has a lot of realy cool matches. His title run in PWG in (I think?) 2017 had a lot of great stuff, especially between him and Zack, and him and Ricochet. In chronological order:

Chuck vs Zack at Only Kings Understand Each Other

Chuck vs Zack at Pushin Forward Back

Chuck vs Ricochet at All Star Weekend

Chuck vs Ricochet at Mystery Vortex V (highlights only with music over; best I could find, sorry!)

Chuck vs Trent at Neon Knights (highlights with music again, but hey, it's the lads having a scrap!

There's a lot of cool stuff from when Chuck was younger and in his shitty baby heel era, and some stuff from AEW. I only really have access to youtube at the moment so here are some general recommendations from there that didn't fit into the above:

Chuck vs Fire Ant for Chikara: Shitty baby heel Chuck showing he had great chemistry with this guy from the start!

Best Friends vs Starboy Charlie and Olumide for AEW: I had to include this match. Fast flippy boys and Chuck getting his tits out.

Chuck vs Ricochet highlights: Not a specific matc, but highlights to music of a very baby Chuck and Ricochet doing cool stuff

Chuck vs Orange at Champions of the Galaxy live event: Chuck and Orange go cosplaying as wrestling trading cards

Chuck vs Lee Johnson for AEW: AEW Dark match from the lockdown era with some of the cripsest camera work, featuring Chuck's pretty green eyes

I'm sure there's a 101 matches I could have put and have missed but hopefully this helps! So happy to put something like this together for you!

[jake-marshall]

FINALLY

Year 5, Spring 21 (and 98/101 sprites) I finally got the doc to red heart and proposed. lol the amount of times i was shafted by festivals falling on a Wednesday let me tell you BUT I'm very satisfied. This is the longest I've ever played in game to marry someone (Elise I married Spring of Year 4 in SoS1, but that's because I aimed for a reverse proposal which took me longer.)

This is feeding the hungry Trent/Jill brainworms too and I couldn't be happier. I needed this right now, I can say that much.

[laiqualaurelote]

for the wip ask meme: cover story!

Thank you for this ask (from this WIP game)! a couple of folks have asked about this one. It's the Ted/Trent spy-AU-in-a-Notting-Hill-bookshop-AU, which stalled because the premise got too unwieldy and the literary references got out of hand. (It did have a playlist I was quite fond of, with a number of Kinks songs including, presciently, A Well Respected Man). Because I am unlikely to ever finish it, I thought I'd just fic amnesty the whole thing here, so:

Cover Story

Trent is about to wind up stocktaking when the door to the bookshop bangs open. “We’re closed,” he calls irritably, and then he turns and sees who it is.

“I got something of a reading emergency,” says Ted Lasso.

Trent takes him in: breathing hard, collar askew, perspiration plastering a lick of hair against his forehead. In his hand is a gun. Trent recognises it as a Heckler & Koch P30L.

Trent ought to be going for his own weapon right about now. Instead he says: “So it is you.”

“Yep,” says Ted.

“I knew it,” hisses Trent. “I fucking knew it.”

“Boy, you sure do like to be right about stuff.” Ted pauses, then staggers. Trent sees that he is favouring his left side, and that the shirt beneath the puffer jacket is darkening with blood.

“Ted,” he begins, “wh – ”

“Like I said,” Ted grits out, “emergency.” And then he collapses in the middle of Trent’s bookshop.

Five weeks earlier

“You wouldn’t happen to have the latest John le Carré, would you?”

Trent has to climb a little ways down the ladder to see the man speaking to him. It’s one of the American tourists who wandered in after lunch. There are always Americans underfoot these days, trawling the aisles of the bookshop as if in hope of a meet-cute out of Notting Hill. Trent, as a rule, finds Americans tedious and does his level best to avoid them in all his lines of work; he achieves this in the bookshop by hiding in the stacks and leaving them to the tender mercies of his assistant. Unfortunately, this appears to be a particularly persistent specimen. Trent descends a few more rungs and braces himself.

“Is that the one with Brexit?”

“The one with the bookshop.” The American has a very distracting moustache. He looks almost exactly like a slide Trent once saw in Disguises 101: How Not To Overdo It. He is also wearing multiple layers beneath his puffer jacket, like some sort of Midwestern matryoshka, even though the shop’s heating is working perfectly well. Trent is automatically suspicious of customers with many layers, lest they are shoplifters. But a shoplifter would not go to such lengths to gain his attention.

“If you mean the posthumously published one, it’s not yet in stock. Shipping delays, I’m afraid.”

“Ain’t that a pity,” says the American. “I was sold on the premise. A bookshop that’s secretly a base for spy shenanigans? Tell me you don’t want to see how that turns out.”

Trent removes his glasses, keeping his expression bland. “You could put in an order, but if you’re not in town for long then I daresay there isn’t much point.”

“Oh, we’ll be here for a while. Long vacation. Thought we’d take it easy, like the Eagles would say. Though this ain’t Winslow, Arizona.”

“You can place an order with Miss Bowen at the counter,” says Trent, after he has cast about for a response to that string of gibberish and come up empty.

“You bet I will. If I could just – ” The American reaches out, and Trent almost breaks his wrist on instinct, but he simply brushes past Trent’s sleeve and pulls a secondhand copy of Call For The Dead off the shelf. “Maybe we ain’t see the last of le Carré, but at least it’s a first.”

“Ah, ha,” says Trent, to mask his surprise that they even have a copy of Call For The Dead in stock. It’s probably languished in here for years, unsold. “Good eye.”

“Well, I thank you for the consultation, Mr…”

“Crimm. Trent Crimm, The Independent.”

“Well, Trent, I appreciate you. Keep fighting the good fight.”

Trent blinks. “Against…?”

“Amazon,” says the American brightly. “Which, as an American, I apologise for.”

“Er, quite,” says Trent. “Sorry about Brexit, and all that.”

The American’s name on the order form is Ted Lasso, which makes him sound like a fictional character. He collects his bearded friend from the philosophy section and they depart, engaged in a discussion so animated that Lasso walks into the shop door, rebounds with no perceptible damage and continues his argument without missing a beat. Trent and Miss Bowen watch them go, mildly perplexed.

“Is he a subscriber? I don’t recognise either of them.”

“Just an ordinary customer, from the looks of it. He wanted to talk about books.”

“I suppose it must happen from time to time, in a bookshop,” says Miss Bowen dryly.

Trent crosses to her side of the counter, which is built in such a way that a customer, standing in line, would not be able to see what her hands might be doing. He leans down casually to check the automatic shotgun mounted under the countertop. 

“He was talking about the new le Carré. It’s about spies in a bookshop, apparently.”

“Oh,” says Miss Bowen, eyebrow raised. “Is it now?”

“Yes,” says Trent. “We ought to get hold of it quite quickly, I think. In case there’s been a breach.”

“Come now.” She turns to him sharply. “Le Carré couldn’t have written a novel about us. I mean, he’d never been in the shop. We’d know, wouldn’t we?”

“I daresay we would, Miss Bowen. But put in the order anyway.”

“Certainly, Mr Crimm. And did you want new grenades on top of that?”

“I did, yes, thank you for reminding me.”

“Of course.” A pause. “We are quite sure that man wasn’t a subscriber, are we?”

Trent scoffs. “What, that guy? Come on.”

*

Trent’s childhood dream was to own a bookshop. He thought of bookshops as places where you could read all day and avoid people, which seemed like paradise. However, his family being who they were, his skills being what they were, the job market for English degree-holders being what it was – he spent a year at odd ends, haphazardly weighing the pursuit of postgraduate studies against attempting to break into the publishing industry, until finally he gave up and took the path he knew had always been there, lying in wait for him. He became a spy.

It was another fifteen years before he revisited the idea of the bookshop, in the wake of his abrupt and unceremonious retirement from the Circus. Cleis was one and a half years old by then, and he knew he must find something, for her sake – he had promised –  even though he could not stomach the thought of going out in the cold again. He was mulling over his various options – heaven forfend he wind up in something horrible, like insurance – when his mother dropped by for tea and said peremptorily: “Mae is retiring, don’t you know?”

Mae – the only name anyone ever knew her by – was a veritable battleaxe who ran the Crown and Anchor, a pub that doubled up as the London station for agents of every stripe working in or passing through the city. The stations, by the unspoken rules that governed their universe, were neutral ground; they served every agency and freelancer without question and in turn brooked no conflict within their confines. To move against a station was to move against the combined powers of the rest of the agencies. Nobody had tried it in Trent’s lifetime.

“Oh?” said Trent. He was only partially listening to his mother; most of his attention was focused on trying to get Cleis to keep her yoghurt in her mouth. “Who’s taking over, then?”

His mother fixed him with the glare she had honed on some of the finest intelligencers this side of the Atlantic, as well as his teenage self. “I rather thought you might throw your hat in the ring, dear.”

Cleis mawed at her in surprise and dribbled watery yoghurt down her bib. Trent sighed. “I’ll talk to Mae.”

Mae thought it was a ridiculous notion to run a station as a bookshop. “You wouldn’t catch half that lot dead in a bookshop,” was her take on it. “Who has time for reading these days? And you’ll have to get in books! Actual books!”

“That’s rather the idea, yes,” said Trent. “It can’t be harder than maintaining a liquor licence.”

“Well, it’s not like I was going to hand the tender over to anyone else,” admits Mae. “What will you call it, love?”

Trent considered. “The Independent. Because that’s what it is.”

Even Mae had to admit, a few years in, that it was working out quite well. He’d even managed to sell some books.

*

“How’s the le Carré?” Miss Bowen asks, amid her reshelving. “Are we in trouble?”

“I don’t think so.” Trent is perusing Silverview at the counter, book in one hand, the other on the rifle. “The bookshop’s in East Anglia, and the protagonist hasn’t the first idea how to run it.”

“Oh, well then,” says Miss Bowen. “It will put nobody in mind of us at all. Is it any good? I’m always wary of these late discovery manuscripts. I don’t think I ever got over the disappointment of Go Set A Watchman.”

“It’s unevenly weighted. Makes you miss him at his best.” Trent turns a page. “Still, I’m glad he didn’t go gentle into that good night.”

He tenses as the shop bell rings, then sees that it is Keeley Jones, resplendent in a fluffy yellow coat. “What can we do for you, Miss Jones?”

“Trading in,” sings Keeley. “On Jamie’s behalf.”

Trent takes off his glasses and gives her a forbidding look. “What, has he gone and lost the lot again?”

Keeley winces. “Only some of it.”

Trent sighs. “Let’s get it processed in the back.”

Jamie Tartt is one of the stars of the agency known as the Dogtrack. He’s also aggravatingly cocky and spectacularly laissez-faire with his equipment; Keeley’s always in here, making apologies for him having thrown his Glock into a volcano, or something. Trent has no patience for the likes of Jamie Tartt. One already has so many people trying to kill one in this line of work, but there he is, giving even more people reasons to want him dead.

The back room is behind a reinforced steel door that can only be opened using either Trent’s or Miss Bowen’s fingerprints and a passcode that changes every day. The passcode is in fact a rolling alphanumerical series that progresses through the entirety of Hamlet, and if anyone ever cracks it, Trent will be very impressed by their grasp of Shakespeare. In the back room, Trent lays out the remnants of Jamie Tartt’s mission kit and purses his lips.

“To lose one dart gun, Miss Jones, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness.”

“Oh, you needn’t have a go at me, I’m proper mad at him myself. You know what he did last week? Tried to murder Roy Kent. Roy Kent!”

“What, for work?”

“Not even that! Some kind of fucking…pissing contest.” Keeley makes a noise of exasperation. “Some days it’s like we gave a bunch of five-year-olds guns and let them loose on a jungle gym. You know what I mean?”

“I’ll just put it on his tab,” says Trent. “Which is astronomical, by the way.”

“I’ll chivvy the folks at the Dogtrack to send you a cover. Only they’re rushed off their feet this week – you must have heard.”

Trent has heard, but it always serves one in intelligence gathering to pretend to know less than one really does. “What’s happening over there?”

“The Mannions are going to war,” says Keeley, her voice lush with the juice of gossip - another reason why Trent likes having her in the shop. “The whole Dogtrack’s splitting up. Christ, but it’s a mess down there.”

“Who’s Jamie backing?”

“Hasn’t decided. Rupert’s putting it about that the whole agency’s going with him, but word on the street is that Rebecca Welton’s brought in someone from abroad to take him out. They’re saying it’s an American.” She sucks in an excited breath. 

“Why would you bring in an American for that?” demands Trent. 

“Beats me. It’s going to keep us all on our toes for a bit, to be sure. I reckon it’s some Tom Cruise type, all Mission Impossible Jack Reacher like. But nobody knows for certain.” 

“Surely not,” says Trent. “You at least must have some idea, Miss Jones.”

Keeley flutters her eyelashes at him. “Who, me? I’m just a humble secretary.”

“Of course you are,” says Trent. “And I’m just a poor bookseller.”

Keeley slants a sly look at him. “You haven’t seen any Americans around, have you?”

“We get Americans in the store all the time. Just this morning we had a Mrs Glenda Johnson from South Carolina complaining that we don’t have a café in the store.”

“Yeah,” says Keeley, “fairly sure it’s not Mrs Glenda Johnson. Isn’t there a Costa two doors down?”

“Precisely,” says Trent. “Americans.”

They return to the front of the store, the afternoon light streaming across the polished wood floors and touching the book covers. “It really is awful pretty, when the light’s good,” says Keeley, running a hand across a row of Sally Rooneys. “You know what you ought to do? You should do #BookTok.”

“That,” says Trent, “is the single worst suggestion I’ve ever heard.”

Keeley laughs. “Give me a pot of money and some Madeline Miller and I’ll do it for you. I’ll make you so famous, you’ll be beating influencers off with a stick.”

“Just tell the Dogtrack to pay for your boyfriend’s damage.”

Keeley sticks her tongue out as she swings out of the shop. “If you see the American, you’ll tell me first. Won’t you?”

*

“Tell me a story,” says Cleis. They’re curled up in her bed, her tiny frame pillowed against his side. 

“You’ve had two already.”

“But I want another.” Cleis looks up at him, her eyes clear and green as the sea. “Tell me about Maman.”

Trent stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that speckle her bedroom ceiling. Tell me about a complicated woman, he hears Coralie say in his head. She sounds slightly amused. This is an anachronism, of course. Coralie never lived to see the Emily Wilson translation of The Odyssey. She would have loved it.

“Where do I start with your mother?”

“Was she very beautiful?”

“Yes. She knew exactly how beautiful she was and what to do with it.”

“Do I look like her?”

“The spitting image.” Even at four, Cleis looks so much like her mother that Trent will sometimes look over at her, in the middle of something mundane like making dinner or brushing her hair, and the resemblance will strike him like a punch to the gut.

Cleis is pleased by this. “What else?”

“Well. She loved old poems, and she was a lot stronger than she looked, and she wasn’t scared of a thing. Never listened to anyone either.”

“Not even you?”

“I like to think she listened to me a bit more than most other people,” allows Trent, “but even that wasn’t very much.”

Cleis kneads her quilt between her small hands. “Why didn’t she come back?”

Trent swallows. “She couldn’t. She had to save everyone.” Including me, he doesn’t add. Instead he says: “She loved you more than anything in the world.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me so. It was the last thing she said, before – ” Trent stops. Cleis is silent.

“Go to sleep now, chouette.”

It’s another hour before she drifts off to sleep proper. He sits in the dark, her hand tucked in his, until she does.

*

“So that’s your subscriber number, which you should quote in all correspondence with us and over the phone when placing orders. Orders placed within less than twenty-four hours of pick-up will be subject to last-minute fee increments. Is that understood, Mr Rojas?”

The lush-haired young man beams at Trent across the counter. “Si, entiendo.”

“Book club notices are posted on the board to the right,” Trent goes on. “Those are for freelancers, I don’t vet them personally and you attend book club at your own risk. This is for your first assignment.” He hands over a copy of Roberto Bolaño’s 2666. Dani Rojas makes to open it; Trent slams it shut. “Don’t open your books in the store.”

“Okay,” says Dani, wide-eyed. He hefts the book experimentally in his hand. “It is very heavy. Does it have a happy ending?”

Trent snorts. “It’s a Bolaño, what do you think?”

Dani nods cheerfully. “I thank you for this, señor. Literature is life.”

“I mean, it actually isn’t,” says Trent, “which is sort of the whole point – but never mind. All the best, Mr Rojas.”

Dani leaves, whistling. He passes Roy Kent on his way in. “He’s not the American, is he?” says Roy, not quite sotto voce to Trent.

“I rather think he’s Mexican,” says Trent. “Are you all still going on about that? I’d have thought you’d have worked it out by now.”

“Nah,” says Roy. “No idea who it is. Mrs Mannion – that is to say, Ms Welton – is keeping her cards close to her chest. Old Rupert’s foaming at the mouth. They say he’s got hold of some kind of leverage, but fucked if we know what.” He studies the noticeboard. “Anything good at book club?”

“What, are you freelancing now?”

“Reckon I might as well, since it’s all going to shit at the Dogtrack.” Roy frowns at A Moveable Feast, Wednesday 8pm; A Gentleman In Moscow, Thursday 7pm; and Vengeance Is Mine, All Others Pay Cash, Thursday 9pm. He points at the last. “Where’s that one again?”

“East Java. I hear Indonesia’s nice this time of year.”

“Right, let’s give it a go then.”

Trent scribbles down a number on a Post-It and hands it to Roy. “Call it and burn it. You know the drill.”

“Cheers.” Roy regards Trent, brows thickly furrowed. “You’ve seen the American, haven’t you?”

“No comment.” 

Roy grunts. “Bet you have. You’re just being a prick about it, as usual.”

“Whoever it is, they’re probably out in the community already,” says Trent. “Bravely or stupidly.”

“Stupidly,” decides Roy, stalking off.

*

The problem with The Independent is that, despite Trent’s best efforts and the imminently prophesied demise of brick-and-mortar bookselling, it still continues to be a fairly popular bookshop. Trent has no idea why this is. He puts zero effort into the window displays. He shelves the books in no discernible order, so it is virtually impossible for a customer to locate anything. Sometimes he even leaves terrible TripAdvisor reviews for himself, to discourage casual browsers and tourists. And yet the shop continues to see customers – not subscribers, actual book-loving civilians. People keep popping in to have opinions on how Trent should run his bookshop, to complain that he doesn’t sell stationery or upbraid him for not carrying the latest Stephenie Meyer or insinuate that he should hold poetry readings (of their poems) in the store. It’s a marvel that Trent has gone all these years without shooting anyone in the face.

Still, the shop has regulars somehow. There are the subscribers, and then there are normal people who just show up and spend ages browsing, even though Trent has made sure there is nowhere comfortable for them to sit. There is the elderly gent who pops in nearly every morning to thumb through books and point out printing errors to anyone unfortunate enough to be in proximity. There is the teenage girl who spends afternoons seated cross-legged in an aisle, reading The Sandman in instalments. And then there’s Ted Lasso.

“Why’d you call it The Independent?” Ted wants to know. He’s come back to pick up his copy of Silverview, and despite having achieved this with little incident, has nevertheless once more sought out Trent where he is dusting the shelves.

“Because it is an independent bookstore,” says Trent, who is in fact sweeping for bugs. He finds one planted atop a birding guide and surreptitiously crushes and pockets it. “Can I help you with anything else, Mr Lasso?”

“I was wondering where I might find your Graham Greene.”

“I believe we have The Quiet American somewhere in the shop, if you can bear to wait while I excavate it. Though,” adds Trent, “you are a distinctly unquiet American.”

“You can say that again,” says Ted cheerfully. “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of The Third Man, would you?”

Most people haven’t even seen The Third Man, let alone are aware that it was based on a Graham Greene novella. “You know your spy fiction, Mr Lasso.”

“Call me Ted, won’t you?”

Trent drags the ladder around the corner and retrieves The Third Man from a high shelf near where the ceiling dips. He looks down, head tilted, at the man beaming up at him from the foot of the ladder. You’ve seen the American, haven’t you? Ted Lasso does not look like the kind of American called in to bring down the head of an agency. He looks like a caricature of an American. He has worn the same pair of khakis every time he has set foot in this shop and it is likely he does so without irony. Yet Trent has the feeling that something is off, the way that shots in The Third Man are framed at a slight angle so that the city looks like a painting knocked askew. 

Ted clears his throat. “Kinda staring there, Trent. Makes a fella wonder if he ain’t got toothpaste in his moustache.”

Trent hands over the book. “Why are you here, Ted? Really?”

“First thing I always do when I land in a new place is find a local bookstore,” says Ted brightly. “Tells you a lot about the town, your local bookstore.”

Trent takes off his glasses. “And what, pray, have you learnt from this one?”

“That nothing is where you think it’ll be,” says Ted. “But it sure helps if you ask for directions.” 

“Perhaps you should ask him if he wants to get coffee,” says Miss Bowen after Ted has left. “Isn’t that why you hired me? So you could have more of a social life?”

Trent pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hired you so that in the event of a terrorist attack on the shop, we wouldn’t be short-handed.”

“I’m glad you did. It was this or go back to teaching kindergarten.” She raises her voice sharply as a man in a denim jacket emerges from behind a shelf and shuffles towards the door. “Stop right there!”

“Uh,” says the man intelligently. “What’s this about?”

“We have CCTV in the shop, you know,” says Miss Bowen. “So we’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave the shop with Jonathan Franzen stuffed down your trousers.”

The man leers. “Like to come over and check on it yourself, love?”

Miss Bowen meditatively flicks open the boxcutter she was using to trim plastic wrap. “You know, I just might.”

The man hastily removes the Franzen. “All right, no need to get all shirty about it. I’ll just put it back then.”

“The fuck you will, we’re not touching that again,” says Miss Bowen. “You’re going to leave twenty quid on the counter – with your other hand, mind – and then you’re going to back out the door and never come back.”

“Can’t do that in kindergarten, can you,” remarks Trent after their errant customer has complied and made himself scarce.

“There’s something to be said about the job satisfaction in this place,” agrees Miss Bowen.

*

Trent arrives at his parents’ just in time to see his daughter stabbing his father in the front garden.

“Ah! Ah! Alas!” cries his father, sinking dramatically into the grass as Cleis bashes him joyously with a foam sword. “You’ve got me, dread pirate!”

“Did you kill grandpa, chouette?” says Trent as she greets him by thwacking him on the shins with her sword. 

“Three times,” says Cleis modestly as she is scooped up.

“She’s a bloodthirsty one.” His father is rising ponderously to his feet, brushing grass stains off his knees. He dotes on Cleis in a fashion that was distinctly lacking in Trent’s own childhood. Trent still cannot get over the incongruity of it – the legendary Chester Crimm, scourge of the Stasi Circle, playing pirates on the lawn with a four-year-old. He does have the eyepatch for it, Trent reflects.

His father turns his good eye towards Trent. “Sell a lot of books today, son?”

“Hilarious,” says Trent shortly. “Where’s mum?”

“Getting her hair done.” They head back into the house. “What’s this I’m hearing about an American at the Dogtrack?”

“Christ, I’m sick of hearing about the American. How’d that even get to you?”

“I was at poker night with the old guard. It’s all everyone’s talking about, the Mannion split.” His father pulls a beer from the fridge and hands it to Trent as Cleis makes for the living room television. “Never liked Mannion. Did you know he tried to get off with your mother, back in the day?”

“Ugh,” says Trent faintly.

“That was before he got mixed up with the Welton girl, of course,” says his father with the alacrity of the generation who can get away with calling Rebecca “the Welton girl”. “The agencies are such a shitshow these days. You know, back in my day – ”

“By all means,” says Trent mordantly, “reminisce about the Cold War, dad. What a splendid time that was.”

“You know what I mean,” his father grumbles. “People just got divorced and got on with things. Didn’t go about involving Americans. You’ve not seen the American, have you? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m just thinking of the rhyme,” says Trent. “From The Scarlet Pimpernel.” At his father’s blank look, he recites: “They seek him here, they seek him there, those people seek him everywhere! Is he in heaven or in hell? That damned elusive Pimpernel.”

“Damned!” exclaims Cleis from the doorway. “Damned, damned, damned!”

Trent stares at her, aghast. “Now look what you’ve done,” says his father.

*

Ted isn’t in the shop today, though his bearded friend has put in an appearance. He has only ever been referred to as Beard, and Trent is coming round to the idea that it might actually be the man’s Christian name, because who even knows with Americans? He’s browsing in the back, which is fine, and has been engaged for the past fifteen minutes in a conversation with Jane Payne, which is not so fine.

“Should we say something?” Miss Bowen wonders.

“We are The Independent,” says Trent. “We have a policy of non-interference.”

“I mean, she’s literally toxic. Did you see the photos from her Dubai job?”

“No. Jesus. Why are there even photos?”

Miss Bowen shrugs. “No idea. Everyone’s been sending them around in the group chats. Did not know you could get blood that colour.”

“Miss Payne can do what she likes, provided she does it outside the shop.” Trent pauses. “Though you could ask him if he wants to get coffee.”

“No thank you,” says Miss Bowen. “I have no wish to be stabbed in the pancreas by Jane Payne.”

They are distracted by the shop bell. Trent is surprised and slightly disconcerted to see none other than Rebecca Welton bearing down upon the counter in all her glory. The agency heads rarely visit the shop in person; Trent typically corresponds with Mr Higgins for the Dogtrack’s interests.

“Ms Welton. What can we do for you?”

“I’d like to see your Canterbury Tales special edition,” says Rebecca without preamble. 

Trent blinks. “Certainly. This way.”

In the back room, he opens the case where the Chaucer collection is stored. Rebecca begins looking it over critically. She hefts a rocket launcher experimentally, testing its weight. “Which one is this?”

“The Wife of Bath. Gives you five shots.”

“Hm,” says Rebecca approvingly. “I rather like the sound of that.” She inspects the double-barrelled shotgun dubbed the Man of Law and the poison darts of the Pardoner. “I’ll take the lot for the rest of the month.”

“That’s a lot of firepower,” says Trent bluntly. “You’re not trying to kill your husband, are you?”

“I don’t know why you’d say that, Mr Crimm. Though I suspect he might be trying to kill me.”

“Is it all for you? Or is any of it for the American?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Rebecca, expression immaculate. “Do invoice Mr Higgins.”

*

“Darling,” says Trent in long-suffering tones, “please get out of the tree.”

Cleis responds by clambering to a higher branch. She’ll be a while. Trent sighs and puts his hands on his hips, gazing out across the green. It’s a pleasant Sunday morning in the park, though it doesn’t stop him from tracking every jogger and picnicking couple in the vicinity, combing the milieu for hands in pockets and inside coats, calculating distances and trajectories. 

His gaze moves across and catches on a lone jogger making his way up the path in their direction. That’s Ted Lasso, he’s sure of it: head down, shoulders hunched against the bite of wind off the water, but there’s no mistaking that moustache. As Trent watches, he raises his head and their eyes meet. He does a very convincing double-take. He’s either genuinely surprised to see Trent here, or his acting skills are commendable. That Trent can’t tell says a lot. Then his face splits into a broad grin.

“Hey there, Trent Crimm, The Independent!”

“Hello, Ted Lasso from America.” Trent eyes Ted as he jogs over, beaming affably. He waves his hand awkwardly. “You…live around here?”

“Oh yeah, Beard and I have digs around here. Like to come out for a run on the weekends.”

“Your vacation is stretching on rather,” Trent informs him.

“Oh, we picked up some work,” says Ted evasively. “Thought we’d stick around, make hay while the sun shines. Though you ain’t got a whole lot of hay around these parts. Not like what I’m used to, at any rate.”

“What sort of work do you do, Ted?”

“Human resources,” says Ted blandly.

Trent removes his glasses and fixes Ted with a searching look. Ted meets his gaze, perfectly amiable. Trent narrows his eyes. Ted doesn’t blink. The whole effect is ruined when Cleis leaps out of the tree unannounced and tumbles onto him.

“Oh for f – ” Trent bites off invective as he staggers. “For the last time, my love, climb down.”

“But this is faster,” says Cleis innocently. She appears to notice Ted, and peers at him curiously as Trent sets her down.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” says Ted. “What’s your name?”

“Cleis.”

“Fais attention,” says Trent, more sharply than is his wont. Cleis stiffens and tucks herself behind his knee. She always takes her cues from him, and he realises too late his body language has been telescoping an ease with Ted that he should not have brooked. She has never introduced herself to a stranger before.

Ted must pick up on some of that, because he stops short of coming over, instead maintaining the distance between them and crouching down till he is at Cleis’s eye level. “That’s a real pretty name,” he tells her. “It’s from a poem, ain’t it?”

“Sappho.” Trent’s throat feels tight.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Ted. “Like a small golden flower. Did you name her?”

“No,” says Trent. “That was her mother. She's – she liked the classics.”

On Trent’s first mission to Morocco, he was paired with a young agent with a French accent and a Classics degree. The former was nearly imperceptible except when she was under pressure; the latter was of no use whatsoever on the mission, any more than Trent’s own English degree was.

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” she said after they had spent four minutes making out pointedly in an alcove to distract the security guards of the Casablanca mansion they were breaking into.

“I’m afraid so,” said Trent, picking a lock.

“That’s a relief. I was worried I was losing my touch.” The lock clicked open, and she whistled appreciatively. “Sing to me, Muse, of the man of twists and turns.” 

“The Odyssey? Really?” Trent was secretly delighted that he was no longer the only one pretentious enough to quote classics during a field op. Or Casablanca in Casablanca, even.

She winked at him. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Her name was Coralie Chénier, though they called her “the Owl”. Trent used to envy her this; everyone, despite his best efforts, referred to him as “Chester’s boy”. Then came the Cuba incident, which was such a bloodbath that it earned Trent the moniker “the Jackal”. After that he decided monikers were overrated. At least they matched: the Owl and the Jackal.

Coralie was an orphan – the service preferred either orphans, or those to the manor born, like Trent – and so for the ten years they spent in the field, he was the closest thing she had to next of kin. It was him she told first about Cleis.

“The father?”

She waved a hand dismissively – not in the picture, then. She did not say who it was. Trent knew it to be a crowded field.

“Are you keeping it?”

“I shouldn’t, should I? It’ll take me out of the field for a good stretch.” But he already knew, from the way she rested her hand over her still-flat stomach, that she would.

“I could marry you, if you liked,” he offered.

She laughed. “That’s the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me, darling. But I think I’ll be just fine.”

The last thing she said to him, before she pulled out her comm and charged back into a building rigged with explosives, was: “Promise me you’ll look after her.”

“There must be another way – ”

“I’ve got to do this, Trent,” she said, too gently. “Make sure she knows how much I loved her. All Croesus’ kingdom.”

“I promise – ” but by then she was already gone. 

“I’m sorry,” says Ted, bringing Trent back to the present. His hand tightens on the shoulder of Coralie’s daughter. 

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything better.

“Heck of a poem,” Ted adds. 

“Oh yes,” says Trent. I wouldn’t take all Croesus’ kingdom with love thrown in, for her.

[goquokka00]

WRITING 101 With Professor goquokka00 :)

-PARAGRAPHS-

Welcome class! And welcome to the first lesson!

Today, we'll be going over paragraphs. I know, I know, it's a small thing that EVERYONE learns how to do, but I still want to go over them. Paragraphs are some of the most important blocks for writing. And so, I think the best place to start with this is...what is a paragraph?

Well, its pretty self-explanatory. It's a grouping of sentences that all kind of share the same focus. A lot of the time, the ruling is that a paragraph will have at least 5 sentences minimum, and then you start a new one. Every time you start a paragraph, it should be indented. Something like this:

This is a paragraph according to what you are taught in school. My paragraph is going to include 5 sentences. If you notice at the top, there is a bunch of space to signify that it is a new paragraph from the one I have written previously. And if you'll notice, each one of my sentences swarm around the same idea. This has been my paragraph.

So that's what school teaches you. But is everyone going to follow that? BAHAHAHAHAHAHA no. I don't follow that, and I write quite a bit. So, I'm going to give you what I do, and how I would go about writing and controlling paragraphs.

Firstly, make sure that you don't have a bunch of random ideas thrown into paragraphs. If you're talking about one focus, don't switch to a completely different one in the same paragraph. This is what I mean by that:

And that's exactly what happened. Almost instantly, Lia pulled out her swords and pointed one of them directly at Trent's eye just enough she could stab his eye out. Both Connor and Sarah took that as an initiative to pull out their weapons as well, guarded and ready. If things couldn't get worse, she immediately went for his shoulder, swinging and cutting a large chunk off of Trent. Sarah cringed, the sight of Lia cutting her friend making her guts twist in ways that wouldn't seem possible. Connor noticed this and pulled Sarah close to him, shielding her eyes from the scene as Lia held her sword in front of her, blood covering the blade as she laughed in the most twisted way imaginable.

Notice how jumbled that is? There are so many ideas going on in that paragraph, it's like a jungle. A jungle that is easy to get lost in and is fairly overwhelming. Quite honestly, I can spot at least two or three paragraphs in that singular one, too.

And so, let's split up that paragraph a bit, make it look less like word vomit. We'll divide it into two, first. A little something like this:

And that's exactly what happened. Almost instantly, Lia pulled out her swords and pointed one of them directly at Trent's eye just enough she could stab his eye out. Both Connor and Sarah took that as an initiative to pull out their weapons as well, guarded and ready. If things couldn't get worse, she immediately went for his shoulder, swinging and cutting a large chunk off of Trent. Sarah cringed, the sight of Lia cutting her friend making her guts twist in ways that wouldn't seem possible. Connor noticed this and pulled Sarah close to him, shielding her eyes from the scene as Lia held her sword in front of her, blood covering the blade as she laughed in the most twisted way imaginable.

Not too shabby. But if I were going to write this the way I write most of my stories, I would divide it in a sense where I could get emphasis in that first sentence, and then re-word the last sentences a bit so it would flow a little bit better. Something like this:

And that's exactly what happened. Almost instantly, Lia pulled out her swords and pointed one of them directly at Trent's eye just enough she could stab his eye out. Both Connor and Sarah took that as an initiative to pull out their weapons as well, guarded and ready. If things couldn't get worse, she immediately went for his shoulder, swinging and cutting a large chunk off of Trent. Sarah cringed, the sight of Lia cutting her friend making her guts twist in ways that wouldn't seem possible. It just made her feel sick, the urge to gag getting stronger by the second. Connor caught Sarah's reaction within his peripheral, immediately puling her close to try and shield her eyes from the scene. And that was when Lia held her sword in front of her, blood covering the blade as she laughed in the most twisted way imaginable.

Ta-da! Now, everything is nice and organized into their own little categories. Each paragraph centers around a different focus that correlates to the scene. Something else I wanted to point out is that not every paragraph is 5 sentences. And that's totally okay!

So long as your paragraphs are a digestible size, it's totally okay if it's less than 5 sentences. I'm pretty sure that not all of mine in my blog are 5. But they are digestible and easy to read. And quite honestly, that's exactly what we're looking for.

✨ Digestability ✨

It's probably good for you to know that digestibility is going to be a MASSIVE topic in this class. I'd say that the typical rule is that if your write is digestible, it makes it that much better. If not, it can overwhelm, confuse, and sometimes chase off the reader.

And that isn't something we want.

But I'm getting off track. Back to the topic of today's class: Paragraphs.

Another thing to note when writing paragraphs is that you can create paragraphs that can run on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and--

AHEM. You can see what I mean by that. A lot of times, this can happen when someone is attempting to describe something, whether it be a room, a character, or an environment. So, here's a little something we don't want:

She was absolutely gorgeous. Her face looked so soft, her eyes the color of chocolate and doe shaped. She had freckles littering her cheeks and the bridge of and beautiful and full brown hair cascading down her back. Brown bear ears sat upon her head, fluffy cotton ball for a tail placed just above her tailbone. She wore a tan dress, paired with a burnt red vest buttoned and fastened rather tightly, showing her curves and a caramel-colored satchel was thrown across her body, holding any and all medical equipment she could ever need. People knew her as the healer. She could see any and all injury struck upon one being's body and could further heal it. What more, she had much more strength than any other girl the party had ever met; potentially a genetic inheritance due to being a Demi-Human. This Bear-Demi truly was something special. Everyone within the party could see that. And it would explain why each member wanted her to join their party oh, so desperately.

Long descriptions such as this can get boring. While descriptions are necessary, it's important to make sure we're not balling it up and chucking it at the reader's peepers like this. We want to make it, and let's say it together everyone...

Digestible.

Don't ever be scared to break up your descriptions! It gives the reader a small bit of time to process what they're reading and actually visualize the picture you're attempting to show your reader. Don't put too much information in the description, either. The reader doesn't have to know every little thing about your characters all at once.

So, let's take that example and say...this is the first time this party is meeting the Demi-Human. How would they know about her super strength? How would anyone know if they hadn't witnessed it yet? The same thing would go for her special abilities.

Let's take the example and edit it, and focus solely on the way this girl looks, while also making sure that the paragraphs are more manageable. Something like this:

She was absolutely gorgeous. Her face looked so soft, her eyes the color of chocolate and doe shaped. She had freckles littering her cheeks and the bridge of and beautiful and full brown hair cascading down her back. Brown bear ears sat upon her head, fluffy cotton ball for a tail placed just above her tailbone. She wore a tan dress, paired with a burnt red vest buttoned and fastened rather tightly, showing her curves and a caramel-colored satchel was thrown across her body. In other words, she was truly a sight for sore eyes. A true beauty. Everyone within the party could see that. And it would explain why each member wanted her to join their party oh, so desperately.

And there you have it! A beautiful description that doesn't leak too much information, leaving more to learn about these characters. Not only that, but it also gets the reader to grow more invested, wanting to learn more about the new character, wanting to watch them grow and get more comfortable with their newfound friends or foes.

With that, I think that's more than enough information (word vomit) about how to form paragraphs. In a simplified form...

MAKE YOUR PARAGRAPHS DIGESTIBLE!!!

Don't make them too long, or too short

Keep the same focus in the paragraph; if the focus shifts, make a new paragraph.

If you're giving descriptions, make sure that you don't overshare and break it into different paragraphs to allow the reader to process

Other than that, I think that pretty much covers everything for this lesson today! Thank you for attending, and I hope you have a lovely day! Class dismissed!

||

NEXT TIME: Point of View

[mostbelovednjpwtournament]

Most Beloved AEW Tournament Round 1 Statistics Dump

Thank you all for participating in the wonderful first two weeks of my silly lil poll

Followers: 130

Total Votes: 13,148

Times I accidentally forgot to include a wrestler: 1 (sorry ZSJ)

Beloved By Gender

So the original count of men, women and nonbinary wrestlers was 205/64/2, demonstrated in a pie chart as:

(The fact that this is the chart is a separate problem that won't be addressed here)

But after voting, the ratio looks like this:

Which means, from an overall standpoint, women and nonbinary wrestlers are more beloved than men

Voting trends

As the tournament got more popular, more votes started coming in, which is how some winners got so few votes. Over the last two weeks, the vote counts look like:

(Day 6 was the Great Riho VS Kip Sabian Battle of 2023 and also featured Ricky Starks and Nick Jackson in the voting with just shy of 600 votes just between the four of them. Day 11 was the Roderick Strong VS Trent Beretta debate and also Danhausen, garnering well over 600 votes between the three of them)

Teams and How They Fared

BCC: Bryan Danielson (31), Claudio Castagnoli (70), Jon Moxley (133) & Wheeler Yuta (186) all passed first round

Best Friends: Kris Statlander (51), Chuck Taylor (176), Orange Cassidy (186) & Danhausen (201) all made it to round two. Trent Beretta (207) lost to Roderick Strong.

The Elite: Matt Jackson (25), Adam Page (51), Kota Ibushi (58) & Nick Jackson (119) made it to round 2. Kenny Omega (160) lost to Willow Nightingale.

BCG: Jay White (76), Colten Gunn (97) &Juice Robinson (105) made it to round two. Austin Gunn (42) lost to Stokely Hathaway.

The Acclaimed: Max Caster (59), Billy Gunn (104) & Anthony Bowens (117) all passed first round.

House Of Black: Buddy Matthews (68), Brody King (102), Julia Hart (128) & Malakai Black (136) all passed first round.

Dark Order: Stu Grayson (25), Alex Reynolds (31), Evil Uno (36), John Silver (74) & Mr Brodie Lee (101) all made it to round two. Alan Angels (18) lost to Anna Jay.

The Outcasts: Ruby Soho (107) & Toni Storm (149) made it to round two. Saraya (55) lost to Brent Tate.

FTR: Dax Harwood (28) lost to Dalton Castle and Cash Wheeler (12) lost to Samoa Joe.

Jurassic Express: Luchasaurus (33) & Jack Perry (85) made it to round two (thanks to the voters deciding Jack should move on). Marko Stunt (52) lost to Komander.

Jericho Appreciation Society: Angelo Parker (33), Tay Melo (44), Jake Hager (50), Matt Menard (84) & Anna Jay (111) all made it to round two. Chris Jericho (23) lost to Rocky Romero and Sammy Guevara (10) lost to Tay Melo.

Death Triangle: Penta (41) & Rey Fenix (119) made it to round two. Pac (56) lost to Jay White.

The 100%ers

Out of the whole tournament, only 3 wrestlers got a perfect score with not a single vote against them

Powerhouse Hobbs (35)

Sting (50)

Rey Fenix (119)

Thank you to all who participated thus far and watch out for the round 2 voting starting tomorrow!

[gstringsurvivor]

tagged by @bonivers to post 5 songs i’ve been listening to a lot latelyyyy thank u love

tagging @brutalistarchitecture2 @stuckinapril @lottalove01 @legallybrunettedotcom @deadbeatson

[racefortheironthrone]

Are capitalism and socialism opposites or ideologies which can compliment each other?

This is a bit of a tricky question to answer, because saying "both" sounds wishy-washy, but it's also true.

I think the first place to start with is Marx's famous formulation that the capitalist mode of production is a progressive force in history. In Marx's view, and therefore as baked into the foundations of orthodox Marxist theory:

capitalism acts to sweep aside the old, backward system of feudalism, it brings about the advent of bourgeois democracy, and ultimately a lot of the things we think of as part of liberal modernity;

it creates massive economies of scale and improvements in productivity through mechanization and rationalization and so forth, allowing for a potentially historic transformation in living standards if the wealth engendered by capitalism was redistributed;

and (and this is central to what he meant by "progressive") it brings together the proletariat in ever larger numbers in circumstances where their very environment helps to bring about their organization into an active force that can ultimately overthrow the capitalism system and bring about the communist revolution.

This is why Marx and Marxists use the language of dialectics so often, despite it being impenetrable to most people who haven't taken Philosophy 101. In dialectics, your thesis and antithesis are opposites, but they're also complementing halves of a greater whole that goes on to become the synthesis.

At the same time, there is also the way that social democracy has related to capitalism. Historically, Bernstein and other revisionists have tended to take the perspective that capitalism wasn't going anywhere on its own, but that through gradual, incremental reforms, social democracy could eventually erode capitalism until it would eventually be replaced by socialism without the need for a revolution - like a magician pulling off the tablecloth trick.

The Great Depression and the aftermath of WWII had a profound effect on social democracy. With the advent of the concept of the mixed economy, a lot of social democrats moved away from the Bernsteinite position that capitalism would eventualy be democratically replaced to a position that capitalism could be regulated and, ultimately, contained and reduced to a tame engine of prosperity. Now, this position was not without its socialist aspirations - indeed, using Esping-Anderson's logic of decommodification, social democratic parties throughout Europe constructed historically expansive and robust systems of social protection and provision that pulled vital aspects of life (housing, health care, education, child care, income) out of the realm of the market and into the realm of rights.

Nevertheless, within the grand bargain between labor, capital, and government that underwrote the Trente Glorieuse, there were underlying limitations that bumped up against even the Bernsteinite position. To give an example, when the Swedish SAP in the 1970s attempted to introduce "wage earner funds" that would gradually and peacefully transfer ownership of corporations into the hands of unions (co-opertization rather than nationalization), it caused an immediate freakout, whereby the Swedish employers essentially pulled out of the grand bargain, began funding anti-fund protests and right-wing propaganda, all eventually leading to the SAP losing control of government for the first time since the 1930s.

So I think there's a hard limit to how far even social democrats can see socialism and capitalism as complementary, because at a certain point, capitalism will fight back rather than be euthanized.

(See Kalecki on this point.)

[sticostudios]

Dog Police: candle jack

the dog police were on the case against the specter named candle jack, for if you say his name he’ll take you away. It seems the crew has been caught in the clutches of the fiend, thankfully Rockruff and Snoopy come up with a plan to ambush the ghostly grabber, unfortunately the plan kinda backfires when Rockruff (who was supposed to distract him) accidentally says his name

(Art by anonymous artist)

[footballerimaginess]

Most popular imagines in 2022

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