writinglittlemagics

[writinglittlemagics]

I hate the phrase "pregnant pause" but I love the phrase "aborted gesture." tells you everything you need to know about MY politics

[writinglittlemagics]

sometimes a theme recurs in your work without your permission. and sometimes it reaches a threshold where you're like. well now i think this is saying something about me against my will. don't know what though

[writinglittlemagics]

it’s time. tell me ur favorite book you read in 2024. also least favorite if you’ve got one!

[writinglittlemagics]

you ever accidentally create a recurring theme in your writing. you start putting together an outline for something you’ve never written before and get partway through planning, rearrange the pieces, and go “GODDAMMIT THIS IS ABOUT GRIEF AGAIN”? because let me tell you,

[writinglittlemagics]

I was wondering if you knew any tender poems about friendship? if not, that's totally cool!! :)

“[First full moon of a new and final decade]” by June Jordan

“Poem Read At Joan Mitchell’s” by Frank O’Hara

“Ode to Elliott Smith, Ending in the First Snowfall of 2003” by Hanif Abdurraqib (he once said that Frank O’Hara’s friendship poems/the way he casually mentioned his friends by name in his poems was something that meant a lot to him and I love how you can see in this poem that he did the same)

“The Orange” by Wendy Cope

“Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey” by Hayden Carruths

“acknowledgements” by Danez Smith

(if you’ve noticed that in all these poems there’s a deliberate use of their friends’ names and specific references it’s because it’s something I find very heartwarming. they’re not writing poems about something meant to be relatable they’re just writing because they love their friends and that makes me ! inside)

“To All My Friends” by May Yang

“For Tom Shaw S.S.J.E. (1945–2014)” by Mary Oliver

[writinglittlemagics]

There are only TWO POSSIBLE reasons "thanK you aIMee" says, "And so I changed your name and any real defining clues" despite very much obviously calling out Kim and capitalizing the letters in the title:

Taylor's team listened back to the track and was worried it would be too vague, so the title was changed as a last-minute clarification to avoid starting discourse around the wrong person.

(much funnier) Taylor just HAD to go back and spell it out as one last Fuck You. She was NOT going to let her get outta that one, North baby read it and listen

[writinglittlemagics]

I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m quite pleased by it.

I just found this quiz and it’s, phenomenal

[writinglittlemagics]

Personally? This is my dream as an author.

Me: I shouldn't disturb Neil Gaiman. I shouldn't send an ask unless I really have no way of getting the information otherwise. I'll check old interviews and all the articles that vaguely mention the subject. Of course it goes without saying that I'll read though the FAQ in its entirety. Only then, will I send an ask. However, I'd be very polite and praise his work, as anyone would. I'd also keep it short, because I don't want to waste his time. But I'd keep it very very respectful. I'd be sending a message to a very talented, amazing author that deals with god knows how many like me. Or I'd just stay in the dark and not send him an ask. Yeah, I'll do that.

My Dash:

[writinglittlemagics]

Creative Nonfiction Assignment!

It was Charlotte W’s birthday party, and everyone who was anyone was in attendance. I was invited because we had bonded over American Girl Dolls, so even though none of her friends liked me, there I was. We, twenty punchdrunk and sugar-high nine-year-olds, were running around poor Mrs. W’s house, like bats out of hell. I think she thought handing out party poppers would inspire us to go outside, but all she did was arm us. Now, I’m hesitant to call any third grader dumb, but we weren’t very smart. These party poppers had safety labels on them, and Mrs. W was very clear about how careful we had to be. Of course, the logical conclusion is that these were violently dangerous. We were convinced that the force required to make a popper explode would be enough to blow our fingers off.

I was wandering alone through the kitchen, hoping to find my mom somewhere in Charlotte W’s labyrinth ranch house, when Emma R. crept in behind me. Emma R. was the coolest, most popular, meanest girl in class. I used to doodle her bright red hair curling into devil horns. I don’t know why she hated me, but she did. My things went missing from my desk, she told the other girls not to play with me, and she was overall kind of a twat. I didn’t notice her and kept searching for my mom. I finally found her and called out, but when she turned to me, she pointed and yelled. Emma had snuck behind me with one purple party popper poised like a rifle at an unsuspecting doe. She was holding it up to the small of my back, with her hands already on the string. I lept towards my mom, and Emma ran off crying as my mom scolded her. Looking back, there was no real danger, but Emma R. definitely thought she was going to hurt me, and that’s almost just as scary.

[writinglittlemagics]

"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."

Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]

[writinglittlemagics]

Tell Me You Love Me

Tell me you love me

Leave your shoes by the door

Dance with me to radio music

Dance with me to no music

Read my stories

Teach me yours

Paint my nails

Paint your nails

Paint our walls

Scrawl on my skin

Wheeze in my bed

Steal my clothes

Make them ours

Explain your art

Bare your soul

Show me you love me

I’ll love you too

-Dylan Phillips

[writinglittlemagics]

I dunno if this will post, I’m in a large wooden box right now!

For You

My heart is on my sleeve

My skin is clingwrap

My guts are stained glass

My palms are open

My soul is bared

Which song did you say reminded you of me?

-Dylan Phillips

[writinglittlemagics]

Check my pinned post for a general account update, but here is a little creative writing piece! This was published as a part of the Canon Future Authors program in 2022, and I haven’t done anything with it since. It’s just a fun time with two kiddos making mischief :]

The Covert Cookie Caper

“Valerie, what are you doing?” Finley, my best friend, looks over to where I’m sitting on the floor, twisting a wire hanger into a hook.

“Nothing,” I mutter, tongue peeking out from the gap where my front tooth used to be.

“Val, that looks like a weapon. Why are you messing with a hanger? Can’t we just go get cereal or something?” Finley rolls from where she's lying on the air mattress to join me on the carpet, letting out a soft ‘eep’ when she lands. She casts a suspicious look, one that is unwarranted. Playing with a hanger is totally a normal activity for 9:00 in the morning.

“Do you smell that?”

“What, the juice you spilled last night? No.”

“No dummy, forget the juice. Zio Matteo just started the first batch of brownies. That means marzipan cookies will be done soon.” The aroma of chocolate has been faintly drifting in for about twenty minutes, but now the brownies are almost done. The smell is irresistible. My room is directly above the bakery, and my uncles are down there now, preparing for the day. Every sniff is like heaven.

“So what Valerie? Did you forget that we’re banned from the bakery? Your uncle was very clear that we are not to even go near the kitchen because of your last idea.” She should know by now that a stupid ban isn't going to stop me. I’m a master of stealth; a champion of trickery! Zio Benicio knows that; he’s just trying to cut me off. And he knows Zio Matteo will feed me anyways.

“So we can’t walk downstairs. Big deal! We can crawl down instead! The vents are connected all the way down, and the covers are just on magnets. I hide stuff in there all the time.” I lift up my wire hook thingy. “I just need to pull the cover off in the hallway and then push it off in the kitchen, easy as cake.” I think this is one of my best plans yet.

“Are you insane? That’s a terrible idea!! The vents are all dusty and gross, there are probably rats! And all that dust will make me wheezy, you know that.” Finley immediately enters panic mode. This is just part of the routine: I come up with a great idea, Fin freaks out, I convince her, we do it, everything works! Sometimes.

“It’ll be fine! There aren’t any rats, it’s not that dusty, and you have your inhaler in your bag. It’s just a short crawl and we’ll get all the bakery rejects! Come on. Don’t you want a cookie?”

“Not if it means I have to go through a creepy tunnel!”

“Please Fin?” I grab her hands and shake her arms for a second before she concedes. “Fine. But you go first.”

“Yes! This will be great.” Once I get the cover off, I turn to Finley, who’s making a face like that one time I dared her to try a lemon warhead. “Off we go! It’ll be fine. Finley, trust me!”

“Why do I even listen to you? This is creepy! I swear, if I see a single rat or spider, you're dead to me. Instant friendship K.O.”

“Oh get over it, Fin! Besides, if you keep yelling at me, you won't notice the spiders crawling in your ears and laying eggs.” The darkness of the tunnel masks the grin spreading across my face, not that Fin, who is straggling behind me could see it. Then, I hear a shriek, a bang, and an “oww.” In that order.

“Valerie, you are the worst. Can we just get out of this stupid vent already? I told you this was dumb! Your uncles are going to kill us. I swear, I’m never listening to you ever again.” Finley moans.

Just so we’re clear, it’s definitely going to happen again. She says this at least twice a week, basically anytime I rope her into one of my ideas. She likes to pretend she hates them, but I know she’s having fun. Besides, I have great ideas. Incredible ideas, even. Things just happen to get in the way.

“I told you. This is the easiest way to get down to the bakery without Uncle Benny noticing. I know for a fact that you want a fresh pastry just as bad as I do. Even if it is one of your gross ‘allergen-free’ ones. Also, if I don't stuff my face with chocolate within the next hour, I might punch someone.” A beat. “And it’ll probably be you so we should hurry.” I snicker while Finley groans.

“Why couldn’t I have a normal friend? Why did I get stuck with the one who would rather crawl in dark tunnels than sleep in?”

I just roll my eyes.

“What did I do to deserve this silver death trap?!” All of a sudden, Finley stops behind me. I swivel my head, searching for the problem, but the space doesn’t allow it. Then I hear it.

“Valerie, what was that noise? Val... Val...Val! What is that?” Finley’s breathing stutters behind me. I have no clue what it is. It doesn’t sound like any rodent. It’s more like a dull thumping on the metal beneath my knees. The pounding on the tunnel increases in time with my heart rate.

“I have no idea! Just... just crawl forward!” I start to quicken my pace as I follow the shaft forward.

“Forward?? Why would we go forward? We should go back!” Finley stays stuck to the spot, shallow breaths echoing through the tunnel.

“That’ll take forever, just crawl faster!!” I try to hide my panic, but my voice jumps an octave. We start crawling as fast as we can and all of a sudden, light fills the dark tunnel. The front of the vent pops off from the outside. We both freeze as Uncle Benicio peers in at us disapprovingly, tapping his broomstick lightly against the shaft. I give him a guilty grin and attempt to shrug my shoulders in the tight space.

“Your cookies smell great, Zio Benny.” Finley groans behind me before it tapers into a wheeze. She always refuses to show how much my plans amuse her. I suppose it makes sense, someone has to at least pretend to be a good influence in this friendship.

“Nipotes that scare away my customers with their escapades get no cookies,” Uncle Benicio huffs. “And neither do best friends who should have stopped them.”

I wince at that. I hate when Finley gets blamed for my plans. Plus, she’s always been sensitive. While I spend most of my school days laughing at my own jokes in the ‘naughty corner’, Finley is always the first to apologize to the teacher with her big watery eyes downcast. I almost wish she wasn’t so quick to go along with me, but it wouldn’t be fun without her.

“Zio Benny, super sorry, hate to ask really, but can you let us out? Fin might need her inhaler pretty soon.”

“Oh yes, yes come on girls,” Zio Benicio says while he hurries to help us out. “Honestly Valerie, you are nearly eleven, you should know better. What was this, a bank heist?”

I scamper out of the tunnel and rush to help Finley down the ladder. Once she is out of the musty vent shaft, she seems much more comfortable. I give her a look, trying to see if she’s going to collapse or something, but she won’t meet my eye, choosing to instead stare at the ground and shuffle her feet.

“Oh, come on, Zio, at least give Finley one. She tried to stop me, but you know how much of a mulo I am.” I know that whining isn’t the best approach, but I really do feel bad. “I’m sorry I scared away your customers.” I probably should have started with that. Finley sneezes, a stuffy, squeaky kind of noise, and I’m struck again by my guilt.

“You should’ve known better, Piccola. Not only was that stupid, but it was dangerous.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? You cut us off! A girl has to get her sugar fix somehow,” I retort while giving Finley a once over. “You wouldn’t even let us help in the kitchen with Zio Matteo, even though he said we were great helpers-”

“I scraped bombolone off of the ceiling.” Zio Benicio deadpans. Finley does a kind of half-snort half-wheeze noise behind me.

He stares down disapprovingly and I tip my head up to meet his eyes. He raises a thick eyebrow and I cross my arms. I have to stand my ground if I want a cookie. I got this. I can out stare him anyday. I can do this.

I can’t do it.

“So does this mean we can go get the reject cookies? We’re starving, Zio,” I plead with whimpering eyes, finally giving up my glare.

“Only after you sweep the store.” Zio Benicio thrusts the broom towards me. I throw my head back and groan, taking the broom and trudging away to deal with my chore. Finley turns to the supply closet to grab the dustpan.

“Fin, you don’t have to-” I start but she waves off my attempt with a hand before pointing me towards the tables.

I hate sweeping, and Finley’s still a little sniffly, but with cookies on the line? Totally worth it.

[writinglittlemagics]

This semester, I’m taking an absolutely wacky mix of General Education Program classes (Spanish and Political Science) and Creative Writing classes (two of them!), so I do not expect to be writing a lot of literature analyses unfortunately. However! You will be seeing plenty of drabble-y creative writing assignments and poetry, and most like some other fun stuff!

Also, if you enjoyed my song analysis, and want me to do more, please send me albums! I enjoy it a lot and it helps me get my work seen by lots of different people. My asks are open, so request away!

[writinglittlemagics]

Another Will Wood analysis while I edit a load of personal pieces and try to find an internship! I have a few ideas for this account >:]

The Impact of Masculinism on “Willard!”

“Willard!” is a unique song on an already wildly diverse album. This song, the only one that draws inspiration from a separate piece of media, tells the story of Willard Stiles, a lonely man who befriends rats to cope. The song offers an introspective view of Stiles’s view of humanity and how distanced he views himself. Stiles is affected by the masculinist people around him, which causes him to regard his sensitivities as something that makes him “other.” In the movie, Willard’s boss, Martin, constantly cites his masculinity as his reason for tormenting Stiles. In the song, Willard uses traditional male expectations self-deprecatingly.

Stiles opens the song like an admission of guilt, “You know I couldn’t hurt a fly, my friend / I’m not the type to step on ants” (Line 1). Being insecure about being non-violent is a common trait among men who are in highly masculine environments. Typical gender norms insist that men are to be the aggressors or unafraid of bloodshed. This machismo bloodlust is the foundation of masculinist ideals. A “good” man should strive for dominance over everything: the workplace, the home, and public spaces. Willard is not a man who strives for anything. He knows he can not fit in with the aggressive men at his office, stating, “I've failed to fit in into those nests that scrape the sky / Is there room for me in your cage?” (Line 6) He is also embarrassed about his emotional displays, namely, “I've nearly cried for moths that die at porchlight lamps,” and “Just seem haunted by my stupid urge to protect” (Lines 3 and 22). His sympathetic nature is a target for most of the people in Stiles’s life: his mother, who insists he kills his rats; his coworkers, who mock him; and his boss, who disparages him.

Like most men who struggle to fit into the masculine mold, Stiles feels an undue amount of shame. Feminism is for Everybody explains this reaction. It states, “These men identified themselves as victims of sexism, working to liberate men. They identified rigid sex roles as the primary source of their victimization…” (Hooks). As the song continues, Stiles starts to reject his role as a masculine man before extracting himself from humanity altogether. He ostracizes himself, hiding in closets with his rats and becoming a recluse. He states, “They'll call me crazy, but their words all seem made up to me / Maybe they just need more friendship like yours” (Line 24) and then regresses further into, “You might seem behind bars, but friend, this cage is inside out” (Line 35). The song concludes with a nod to the source material, quoting the climactic scene in which Willard uses his rats to murder Martin. This final scene solidifies the impact masculinity has had on Willard. He devolves from a man too timid to step on an ant to a man capable of premeditated murder. Willard is unfulfilled by his revenge and driven to madness, as Hooks predicts, claiming, “Many men are anguished because they do not engage the liberating critiques that could enable them to face that these promises were rooted in injustice and domination and even when fulfilled have never led men to glory” (Hooks).

(537 words)

Works Cited

hooks, bell. “FEMINIST MASCULINITY.” Feminism Is for Everybody: Passionate Politics, South End Press, Cambridge, MA, 2000, pp. 67–71.

“Will Wood – Willard!” Genius, 29 July 2022, genius.com/Will-wood-willard-lyrics.

Willard. Directed by Daniel Mann, Performances by Bruce Davison, Elsa Lanchester, and Ernest Borgnine, Bing Crosby Productions, 1971

Wood, Will. “Willard!” “In Case I Make It”, Will Wood, 2022, track 15. Spotify, https://open.spotify.com/track/1eZQFmVxyAeE3SHppgMxce?si=517f42b8c2e04c80

[writinglittlemagics]

The trouble with the rise of the YouTube Video Essayist™ is that everybody wants to be the next Defunctland or Hbomberguy, but all the wannabes know is how to be an influencer, so the resulting video essays are always really about themselves. You'll get a forty-five-minute video with maybe fifteen minutes of actual, topical information padded out with half an hour of tedious theatrics about how hard it was to do research for the video and how nobody wanted to talk to them, and I'm just sitting here like "yeah, dude, it was hard because you don't know how to perform research, and nobody wanted to talk to you because your behaviour toward your prospective sources amounted to borderline harassment, and that's how it looks in your own version of events which has clearly been spun for optics – I can't even imagine how badly you must have gone about this in reality".

[writinglittlemagics]

I cant sleep, here’s a Haiku

I want you in my

skin heart soul spirit hands thoughts

You’ll be safer there

-Dylan Phillips