You know, in a horror movie, everyone always responds with a flight response when they see the monster. But that’s not the only thing that happens when people get scared. I want to see someone choose the fight response. I want to see a character turn around to see the killer right there, scream in terror, and start punching them in the face repeatedly.
I want to be like that. I want to just reflexively destroy that what frightens me.
I love how the little kid braces himself before the run forward.
The world is full of evil, lies, pain, and death and you can’t hide from it. You can only face it. The question is when you do, how do you respond, who do you become? (insp)
Happy Birthday Kourtney @stiilesstilinski
i’ve been doing my homework on how to break into a writing career and honestly. there’s a Lot that i didn’t know about thats critical to a writing career in this day and age, and on the one hand, its understandable because we’re experiencing a massive cultural shift, but on the other hand, writers who do not have formal training in school or don’t have the connections to learn more via social osmosis end up extremely out of loop and working at a disadvantage.
like, i didnt know about twitter pitch parties!! i didnt know about literary agents and publishers tweeting their manuscript wishlist, in hopes that some poor soul out there has written the book they really want to read and publish!! this isnt some shit you learn about in school! you really need to know the ins and outs of the writing community to be successful!
for anyone interested, here’s what i’ve learned so far in my quest for more writing knowledge:
1. Writer’s Market 2019 is a great place to start– it gives you a list of magazines and journals that you can send your work to depending on the genre as well as lists a shit ton of literary agents that specify what genres they represent, how you can get in contact with them and how they accept query letters. this is a book that updates every year and tbh i only bought it this year so i dont know how critical it is to have an updated version
2. do your research. mostly on literary agents because if you listed on your site that you like to represent fluffy YA novels and some asshole sends you a 80k manuscript about like…gritty viking culture, you will be severely pissed off. always go in finding someone who you know will actually like your work because they’re the ones who will try to advocate for you in getting published.
3. learn how to write a query letter. there are slightly varying formulas to how you can write an effective query letter. you’re also going to want to get feedback on your query letter because its the first thing the literary agent will read and based on how well you do it, it could be the difference between them rejecting you outright and giving your manuscript a quick read
4. unfortunately, you’re gonna want to get a twitter. Twitter is where a lot of literary agents are nowadays, and they host things like twitter pitch parties, where you pitch your manuscript in a few sentences and hashtag it with #Pitmad #Pitdark, some version of pit. a lot of literary agents and publishers will ALSO post their manuscript wishlists, which is just the kind of books they’d like to represent/publish, and they hashtag this with #MSWL (it is NOT for writers to use, only for agents/publishers)
5. connect with other writers, literary agents, publishers at book events. you will absolutely need the connections if you want to get ahead as a writer. thats just kind of the state of the world.
yall my world was just turned upside down i just found out the mongols used colors for directions and west was white and thats the best proposed theory for why belarus is called belarus ie white [west] russia
I keep seeing this picture and people being oh so impressed by it acting like Dubai’s Sheikhs are miracle workers or some shit. And all that skyline does is make me want to throw up. Do you understand how all of this was built?
…and then there is the foreign underclass who built the city, and are trapped here. They are hidden in plain view. You see them everywhere, in dirt-caked blue uniforms, being shouted at by their superiors, like a chain gang – but you are trained not to look. It is like a mantra: the Sheikh built the city. The Sheikh built the city. Workers? What workers?
Sahinal Monir, a slim 24-year-old from the deltas of Bangladesh. “To get you here, they tell you Dubai is heaven. Then you get here and realise it is hell,” he says. Four years ago, an employment agent arrived in Sahinal’s village in Southern Bangladesh. He told the men of the village that there was a place where they could earn 40,000 takka a month (£400) just for working nine-to-five on construction projects. It was a place where they would be given great accommodation, great food, and treated well. All they had to do was pay an up-front fee of 220,000 takka (£2,300) for the work visa – a fee they’d pay off in the first six months, easy. So Sahinal sold his family land, and took out a loan from the local lender, to head to this paradise.
As soon as he arrived at Dubai airport, his passport was taken from him by his construction company. He has not seen it since. He was told brusquely that from now on he would be working 14-hour days in the desert heat – where western tourists are advised not to stay outside for even five minutes in summer, when it hits 55 degrees – for 500 dirhams a month (£90), less than a quarter of the wage he was promised. If you don’t like it, the company told him, go home. “But how can I go home? You have my passport, and I have no money for the ticket,” he said. “Well, then you’d better get to work,” they replied.
He shows me his room. It is a tiny, poky, concrete cell with triple-decker bunk-beds, where he lives with 11 other men. All his belongings are piled onto his bunk: three shirts, a spare pair of trousers, and a cellphone. The room stinks, because the lavatories in the corner of the camp – holes in the ground – are backed up with excrement and clouds of black flies. There is no air conditioning or fans, so the heat is “unbearable. You cannot sleep. All you do is sweat and scratch all night.” At the height of summer, people sleep on the floor, on the roof, anywhere where they can pray for a moment of breeze.
“There’s a huge number of suicides in the camps and on the construction sites, but they’re not reported. They’re described as ‘accidents’.” Even then, their families aren’t free: they simply inherit the debts. A Human Rights Watch study found there is a “cover-up of the true extent” of deaths from heat exhaustion, overwork and suicide, but the Indian consulate registered 971 deaths of their nationals in 2005 alone. After this figure was leaked, the consulates were told to stop counting.
The enslavement of African and South Asian Migrants is still ongoing in Dubai.
In the UAE, Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, Saudi, etc. They all do it, and it’s just modern day slavery.
the thing about lotr that the movies don’t convey so fully is how the story is set in an age heavily overshadowed by all the ages before. they’re constantly traveling through ruins, discussing the glory of days gone by, the empires of men are much diminished, the elves (especially galadriel) are described as seeming incongruent, frozen in time….some of the imagery is even near-apocalyptic, like the ruins of moria and of course the landscape surrounding mordor
this is a strange thought to me, somehow: that the archetypal “high fantasy” story is set at the point where the…fantasy…used to be much higher? this is not the golden age; this is a remnant
we talk about the pain we feel about thorin oakenshield, but we don’t talk as much about as much how we’re sad about bilbo baggins.
nobody discusses how utterly lonely that must’ve been. bilbo didn’t adopt frodo until he was 90— can you imagine, the days going on and on and the only company being curious children and your gardener? how desolate that would be?
and the only company being ten dwarves (originally thirteen, but that number dwindles, oh it dwindles) who only visit every few years.
and thorin’s death. it’s one of the strongest displays of emotion throughout the whole book. he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. indeed it was long before he had the heart to make a joke again. he wept. he wept. he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse—
this hobbit, who mocked a dragon and told dwarves to be quiet when they complained about being put in barrels, who called thorin “very important“ (air quotes) “very haughty“. he weeps. he weeps. he weeps. and maybe it’s because of the whole quest, maybe it’s because for the first time he realises he’s going home, back to loneliness, but it doesn’t matter why. because we all know what he returns to. a home sacked, his family who have taken all of his possessions. what does he come back to? desolation. of a dragon of a whole different kind.
because even thorin oakenshield had people to turn to. but bilbo? who did he have in the shire, at home, if it can be called that? hamfast gamgee? frodo? samwise? and only they came along years later.
and imagine. how utterly lonely bilbo baggins life was, how utterly isolating.
