Also, I realized that the company was the same one from that post going around with the picture of a truck with the regular logo and then a smaller, pink, “Princess Packers” truck. Apparently the “Princess Packers” are college aged women who come and pack up your house for you and the company donates $1 for every box they pack towards the Cinderella Fund (which enables them to continue moving those escaping domestic violence for free)
I seriously wish this would have existed when I was thrown out by my abusive husband last year. Share to save a life.
It’s about this dude Henry who’s an artist living in New York,
and he has to go back to his hometown in Montana to take care of his grandfather who just recently had a stroke and is wheelchair-bound.
Things are all fine and dandy until Henry finds out that his old best friend from high school, as well as object of his unrequited affections that he’s never really been able to let go of is also back in town. His name is Dean. He’s there with his two sons to recoup from a recent divorce from his wife.
Henry is extremely frazzled by seeing his long-time crush after so many years, but they spend a lot of time together over the passing weeks and seem to fall into their old friendship very easily. Perhaps a little too easily….??? hmmm???
And with everything with Dean happening, Henry can’t be blamed that he’s entirely oblivious to Pike, the man who runs the local general goods store.
It’s obvious to us (and the whole damn town) that Pike’s been head over heels for Henry since high school, but is painfully shy. He can barely talk to Henry at all and it’s the cuTEST GODDAMN THING oh lord help me from this movie.
Throughout the movie, Pike can’t seem to help himself from wanting nothing more than to make Henry happy from afar. He’s supposed to be delivering food cooked by one of the older ladies in town to Henry and his grandfather’s house to eat every night, but Pike cooks his own, exceptionally better meals, and delivers those instead and tells no one.
Now, Henry does notice Pike, and something about him catches his attention. Even if he doesn’t understand why yet. He tries to invite him to stay for dinner almost every night in an attempt to get him to open up, but Pike only becomes more closed off when he notices what’s going on between Henry and Dean.
I’ll stop there, as I don’t want to give the whole thing away, but I can’t leave this without talking about the town’s residents in this movie. This place is 100% one of those little towns where everyone knows each other as well as their business, you have nosy little old ladies, dudes who do nothing all day but sit on the porch of the corner store and smoke a pipe, and they all go to church on Sundays.
AND YET, not only is this movie void of any homophobia from any character, basically the whole freaking town is all up in this whole love triangle. They support Pike so much that there’s even scenes where they all play matchmaker with him and Henry. They root for them in the goofiest, most loveable way.
SO BASICALLY, this is a silly romantic comedy, except gay. It’s all super lighthearted comedy with tiny bits of drama thrown in. No one dies!!!! No one is killed or commits suicide and has a 100% happy ending!!! The three main guys are just normal guys!!! There’s not a stereotype to be found here!! anD ONE OF THEM IS NATIVE AMERICAN. No seriously guys it hurts me that not everybody knows about this movie. I discovered it when I was in middle school in our video store’s tiny little LGBTQ section, and must have rented it 20 times throughout the years before I finally bought it. I know this movie almost frame by frame I’ve watched it so many times because it’s just so disgustingly cute and always makes me happy. NOW, this movie isn’t perfect. It’s got some clunky acting, weird.. I guess artsy moments that don’t make sense, and crosses into the line of cheesy quite a few times, BUT, that’s really not important. This is treated exactly as if it were a het romantic comedy. Their being gay has nothing to do with the overall story, and is never brought up save for a small plotline where Henry is guilty with himself for never coming out to his grandfather. But overall, more LGBTQ movies need to be like this, it’s just way too rare.
GO WATCH IT YOU’LL BE GLAD YOU DID. Sadly, the only way I know to get ahold of it is to just buy the DVD. But it’s fairly cheap on Amazon! And even cheaper if you buy it used on there, but either way I promise it’s worth it to own. Like I said, I think I kept our video store in business from my renting it so many times.
Oh, and I hope you enjoy country music to some extent because this has the countriest soundtrack of all time.
“The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups.
All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality.
His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: 50 pounds of pots rated an “A”, 40 pounds a “B”, and so on.
Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”.
Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity.
It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work-and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.”—
Art and Fear- David Bayles and Ted Orland (via qweety)
Perfection is intimidating. I think most artists blocks come from the fear of creating something imperfect.
putting it even more simply: just make shit. eventually it’ll be good shit. maybe most of it will just be shit! but you can’t make good shit if you’re not making a lot of shit.
So funny story. I hear people tell me that I’m excessively paranoid a lot of the time–mostly guys, but the reason I’m making this post is because of a conversation I recently had with a woman who’s been friends with my dad a long time. I love my dad a lot and he’s mostly pretty on top of his shit (he’s also going to therapy to get more on top of his shit, so PROPS for that, Dad), and this woman (we’ll call her Janie) is nice enough. She has a daughter who’s just starting high school and a son who’ll be in college next year. I was talking with her about my college experience and she asked if I went to parties and stuff. I don’t. At all. I told her as much and she asked me why, and I said because I’m busy, because I’m an introvert, because of any of a number of reasons, and I finished the list by admitting that I don’t trust a lot of the guys on my campus.
She asked why.
I hemmed and hawwed and said ‘uh’ a lot, and then I told her that my campus of four hundred people had five sexual assault cases last semester alone. My freshman year there were at least two people outright expelled for it.
Janie, mother of a teenaged boy about to go into college and a teenaged girl just going into high school and already growing up into a stunner, wrote it off by saying “well, most of them must have been misconceptions; you know, it’s easy to miscommunicate when romance is involved; I’m sure there were a lot of overreactions and morning-after regrets.” I stared at her for a moment and went “Actually, one of the reports last semester was mine, and I know two of the other people who filed them. It’s usually pretty obvious when someone’s trying to force the point.” I gave her a summary of what happened to me (look, it’s a long story, some dude came over to watch a movie with my roommate and me and the day ended with him pinning me to the floor while I jammed my thumb into his throat and my roommate helped pull him off) and she kept at it, talking about how I had probably just given him mixed signals, how people probably didn’t listen when I told them not to touch me because I go from zero to sixty real quick (if I say ‘stop touching me’ and you don’t, my next statement will be ‘stop touching me or I’ll break your finger,’ and I expect people to thereafter stop touching me).
And all I could think was “My god, you’re raising a daughter, I’m so scared for her right now.”
I’ve become aware of late that I’m a statistical outlier, whether it’s from poor luck or because I attract a certain kind of trouble or because I act a certain way. Most girls don’t have five (six depending on how you reckon it) assaults committed against them by their eighteenth birthday. I hope to God that Janie’s daughter is as lucky as Janie evidently has been, that she’ll never know how terrifying it is to know that the person holding your down is twice your size, or that if you scream for help no one will believe you (fun fact, no one except my parents believed me four times out of five). I hope that she never asks herself “do I grab my roommate’s switchblade and go outside and check on that freshman sitting outside in the dark, or do I go get an RD because that’s a very tall young man.” I hope she lives a safe enough life that she never finds herself sitting there in the aftermath of violence, whether it’s just an unwelcome hand groping her thigh or something much worse, and wonders to herself who the hell will believe me.
But most of all, I hope that, in the event she’s ever in the position I’ve been in, or worse, her mother doesn’t fucking tell her she’s overreacting and making shit up.
The
painting of old Nate had started out as a joke, but after he’d finished it,
Hardison found he couldn’t just stop there. He needed to have the whole set. So
he painted them all; stunning Sophie, powerful Parker, enigmatic Eliot, even
Hardison himself. Old Nate was blown up, but the other four portraits are still
kept safely in one of Hardison’s safehouses.
Sophie’s
portrait is the busiest, but your gaze is drawn immediately to her dark, smoldering
eyes. She holds your gaze there despite the many paintings that hang in the
background behind her, despite the expensive vases on delicate antique tables.
It takes more willpower than you can explain to avert your gaze and take in the
rest of the painting. She’s seated on a dark-red settee, twisted slightly to
show off the curve of her body, her hands on her knees. At first, you think the
glittering golden fabric covering her is a dress, but you notice her legs end
in a fish’s tail, and you realize they’re scales. The portrait is titled “Siren
Sophie”.
Parker’s
portrait is much starker, almost empty compared to Sophie’s. In a silver
rectangular frame, it’s background is completely black. Cutting through the
darkness are bright white lasers, spreading out from the centre in a web-like
pattern. At several places, a small origami fly is trapped in the web. Upon
looking closer, you see they’re folded from 100 dollar bills. In the
dead-centre of the painting is Parker, hanging comfortably from her rig. Her
legs are bent underneath her, one hand on a thigh, the other wrapped around the
dark chord above her to keep herself steady. She’s looking out at you with a
half-grin on her face, like you’re just another 100-dollar fly she’s about to
ensnare. A circular sign at the top of the frame reads “Spiderwoman”.
Eliot is
the only one of the group who is not centered in his own portrait. Instead he
stands to one side in his usual hitter-pose: arms crossed, feet firmly
anchored, an unimpressed scowl on his face. What isn’t usual is his clothing:
he’s wearing a long, dark golden cloak. A matching circlet is in his long,
loose-flowing hair. He’s standing in the middle of a yellow desert, impossibly
blue sky above him. In the centre of the painting is a huge pyramid, with two
more in the background. The title is carved into the simple dark wood frame: “Sphinx
Eliot”. You wonder idly what kind of riddle he would pose.
As weird as
the first four paintings were, Hardison’s is the most unexpected. You’ve come
to expect overconfidence from the boisterous geek. Maybe “Hero
Hardison” surrounded by his favorite tech gadgets. You’re unprepared for
the honesty you find in the hacker’s self-portrait. The painting looks like
you’ve just thrown open the door to go outside. On the doorstep is a young,
curly-haired boy that you hardly recognize as Hardison. The boy, dressed in a
suit and bow tie, stares up at you with wide eyes. In one hand he holds a worn
little suitcase. In the other is a slip of paper that reads: “Please take
care of this boy”. The title is written on a similar, slip of paper pinned
to the top of the simple frame: “Alec Paddington”.
The guy who invented the theory that vaccines cause autism had his medical license revoked for it
thats ridiculous
they took it away because he came up with a seemingly plausible theory?
They took it away because other scientists have been unable to reproduce his results, his results were made up, he didn’t even get approved by an ethics committee, and now he’s risking the health and lives of a whole bunch of people
It’s crazy how this one person, in a study of only twelve children, gained so much traction in the world. He put this lie out there—and it was a lie, not just interpreting data incorrectly—and now it doesn’t even matter that he’s been proven totally false. Years of effort to reestablish the truth can’t undo the lie once it’s out there in the world. Hundreds of thousands of people believe that lie, and actual children are getting sick and dying because of it.
This is a really troubling aspect of how human minds work, and it’s something conservative politicians take advantage of on a regular basis. If you just say that “well over 90% of what Planned Parenthood does“ is provide abortions, it doesn’t matter how often people recite the objective truth that abortions are a tiny fraction of Planned Parenthood services. You can say the truth 1000 times for every one time the lie is repeated, and thousands of people will still trust the lie.
I’d never heard this before, and it’s actually really helpful information to have, so thanks. Here is a scientific article by the American Academy of Pediatrics explaining the flaws in Wakefield’s research and briefly summarizing four studies that refuted the fraudulent claims. Here is an article by the editor-in-chief of the British Medical Journal calling him a fraud in no uncertain terms. Here is the first part of a nine-part investigative journalistic series, published in the BMJ, uncovering his fraud. And the General Medical Council conclusions that stripped Wakefield of his clinical credentials can be found here.
I’m honestly so mad right now reading about this guy. People are dying of measles right now because vaccinations fell off so sharply, and those deaths can be laid at the door of this man.
When the apocalypse comes, pestilence will ride wearing Wakefield’s face
can we just like, all agree to boycott tumblr for 24 hours to show the staff that we’re pissed about the update? because they have to track usage and stuff like that, and I feel like it would send a pretty big message if enough people did it. like nothing fancy, just don’t use tumblr from 12:00am to 11:59pm, one whole day of nothing, not even mobile blogging. maybe set up one queue’d post explaining why you’re boycotting (so anyone that doesn’t get the memo would know what’s up) but other than that maybe even stop queues (just for the day) to help send the message.
I’d propose Wednesday, September 9th as the day. That’s one week after the update, one week to give it a try, one week to show the staff that we’re not just overreacting to change (the way people are apt to do on the internet) but are serious about not liking the way they’ve changed our blogging experience. That also gives us a week to get this post around the site: long enough to spread it around, but not so long that people forget that we’re going to do this. Maybe set a reminder on your phone or computer so that you don’t forget. I’ll be posting in the tag #updateboycott throughout the week for general reminders and to answer any questions/suggestions.
And please, reblog this. The only way this will work is if enough people see this post and participate to make a difference.
so tl;dr: hate the update? join the boycott of tumblr on Wednesday, September 9th from 12:00am to 11:59pm by just not using tumblr that day.
Thanks.
also: different timezones are a thing, so wouldnt it be ultra cool if we all agreed on 24 hours in the same timezone? so it really makes the biggest possible impact?
I realized that after I made the original post. The boycott will begin at midnight on the american east coast, which means:
9pm Sept 8th PST (US & Canada West Coast)
10pm Sept 8th MDT (US & Canada Mountain)
11pm Sept 8th CDT (US & Canada Central)
12am Sept 9th EST (US East Coast)
5am Sept 9th GMT (England)
6am Sept 9th CET (Central Europe)
1pm Sept 9th JST (Japan)
3pm Sept 9th NZST (New Zealand)
1pm, 2:30pm, and 3pm Sept 9th (Australia)
thanks to everyone who’s pointing this out, please try to reblog this with the times on it!
Does anyone else have that friend where it’s just like “Literally nothing you say can shock me anymore. We have said the worst possible things to each other in the form of sarcastic banter to the point that I have become numb to the moral reality of this world.”
Oh my god THAT’s why she’s willing to sacrifice her crew, because she’s tried any variation of telling them, of asking their help, and there’s always somehow a weak link, they’re not good at secrets, at acting. They don’t even come away from the Citadel, or her crew is suddenly replaced by Joe, or she’s taken off the War Rig, or– In desperation she tries not telling them one time, and it’s gut-wrenching, but then she gets much further, and now she has to get them killed over and over again, punch Ace off of her running board like he’s one of the Wretched over and over again–
She only ever reaches the other Vuvalini once, on their final run, which is why it was so crushing when she found out that there were only a few left, and that her home was gone. The run through we saw was the furthest she ever got, after hundreds of times watching her crew and the sisters die in different ways. Maybe she even killed Max many times before, or left him to die in the desert.
THIS IS HONESTLY SCARY AS SHIT AT THIS MOMENT. IF HE FUCKING WINS, WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO US POCS. STOP TAKING THIS AS A FUCKING JOKE.
HONESTLY, IM AFRAID FOR MY FUTURE BECAUSE WHAT IF HE FUCKING DOES BECOME PRESIDENT??? HE WILL MAKE IT HARD FOR US.
YOU GUYS REALLY DONT UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING IMPORTANT THIS IS. YOU
C A N N O T
LET TRUMP FUCKING BECOME PRESIDENT. YOUR LETTING SOMEONE WHO CANT EVEN FUCKING TAKE CARE OF HIS OWN BUSINESSES AND WIGS GET INTO OFFICE.
I DONT CARE IF YOU ARE NOT INTO POLITICS. VOTE FOR BERNIE SANDERS.
I DONT CARE IF YOU ARE LAZY, DO IT ANYWAYS.
I DONT FUCKING CARE IF YOU ARE WHITE, BLACK OR ANY OTHER COLOR.
PROTECT YOURSELF FROM THIS FUCKING STUPID ASS RICH MAN.
PLEASE.
You guys honestly don’t realize how important this is. That stupid ass man is in the lead with votes. You CANNOT let him win. To the people that don’t care, you will most definitely care once he’s in fucking office ruining everything more. You don’t understand how important this is to me. You don’t understand how scary this is for p.o.c .
I’m Canadian, but I have a friend in the states bawling right now because he’s winning. Its absolutely horrifying. And if you don’t live in the states, signal boost this shit. The states are practically everyone’s trade partners, including Canada’s, and Trump could ruin that too. It affects everyone on the fucking planet. Signal boost this. Don’t vote Trump. Please.
This seriously fucking terrifying. If Trump wins, I fear for the safety of everyone in this country. I hate this so much.
“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.
A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.
I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,
Hello you are an EMT?!?!?!! I start college on Tuesday and I am going to be a paramedic! (Well pre paramedic, EMT-basic and prerequisites)
I am indeed! You’re welcome to ask questions about the training if you want, or just come complain about the class/your classmates/the whole college thing/whatever. Congrats on having some semblance of your shit together from the get-go, by the way, you’ve kind of got one-up on me–I do not recommend switching your major to premed at the end of sophomore year, by the way, because it involves much terror and scary class loads. Good luck!
Okay, staff, I am super freaking pissed about the update and here’s why.
I cannot read your new format.
I’m not trying to be whiny or nitpicky or over-dramatic. I can appreciate that you were attempting to make things look more organised/less confusing/whatever. I also expect the new format is a great improvement for people who have screen readers. That’s great. That’s fine.
I just cannot freaking read this. I have dyslexia, and my dyslexia is set off by pictures, bold, italics, anything that is more “interesting” to my brain than plain, unadorned text.
Like this monstrosity:
Look at it. Just look at it. The pictures get in between the lines of text, there’s distracting colors and pictures everywhere. The names are bolded when they’re really not the most important thing. Looking at this, I see everything except what I’m supposed to see, that cheesy series of puns. (No pun intended.)
You literally couldn’t have made a worse format for me if you’d tried.
The thing is, your format was what made me really like Tumblr in the first place. It was super clear who was writing something new, because look, there was a freaking line pointing right to it. Unless someone started writing in all caps or bold or whatever, all the text in a post had the same amount of emphasis. Finally, SOMETHING ON THE INTERNET I COULD READ.
And now, now I can’t read any of it at all.
So yeah, I’m pissed.
Like, I know that you’re not going to change it back, because you never seem to listen when anyone on your site complains about anything. I’m not sure why I bothered writing this to you guys, given your track record.
But now’s your chance to prove me wrong. Seriously, the least you could do is give us an option here. You’ve still got the old code. Just stick a button somewhere to revert to the old format so I can enjoy my text posts in peace.
Sincerely,
Dyslexic Blogger
SIGNAL BOOST because I really hope Tumblr pays attention to this. I’m sure Miraniel’s not the only Tumblr blogger/reader in this position.
*raises hand* yes hello I have this issue as well. thanks.
Since I know there’s probably a fair amount of you out there who haven’t seen the first three Mad Max movies, I’m here to tell you a li’l secret about them:
All the people complaining about how Max “isn’t the main character” in Fury Road are big ol’ Fake Fanboys cause Max’s primary character trait in literally every movie is “I hate this, why is it happening, please leave me alone to brood in the desert in peace”.
He’s much more the central focus of the plot in the first movie but in Road Warrior and Thunder Dome he basically just gets kidnapped or beat up by wankers in weird bondage outfits and spends the rest of the movie trying to leave as soon as possible while other people are like “please solve our absurd post-apocalyptic problems”. There is not one single point where Max actively seeks out being a hero until it is forced upon him. He ACTIVELY TELLS PEOPLE WHO ASK HIM FOR HELP to take a hike.
Mad Max himself would like nothing better than to never, ever, ever be the main character.
He would also like for people to stop stealing his fucking car.
*accidentally ends up creating 2 new blogs, unfollowing 5 people, following 2 other people, buying a piece of land in antarctica, and causing a global power outage*
congratulations to Minerva McGonagall on her pending retirement today, who is going to look down at her list of first years and see “James Sirius Potter” and just call it a fucking day
aka “A attempt at resolving/achieving something with less effort than is required for success, & a high probability of it proving merely futile & faintly unpleasant’
I can support this as a turn of phrase.
Added to Leonard McCoy’s list of quaint metaphors to be used in stressful situations.
if an expression I came up with was used by Leonard McCoy in a fic, I would feel so proud
Alright, look, all the remus is half French/Italian/Spanish/etc. Headcanons are cute and all, but guys, GUYS!
-he’s canonically half Welsh already! WELSH!
I honestly feel like this isn’t appreciated nearly enough.
*dreams of a Remus with the cutest twang of a welsh accent*
- Imagine Hope teaching him the language on the days of the moon so his little mind will be busily occupied while her hands shake unseen in her lap with fear and sympathy for her little boy.
-imagine Remus being startled into swearing in Welsh the first time he is pranked by his new dorm-mates.
-imagine their faces splitting into delighted grins and the following hours of swapping increasingly outlandish swears (Sirius knows some wild ones in French himself).
-imagine Remus studying Welsh magic, knowing that it’s supposed to be very potent.
something that stood out to me rereading prisoner of azkaban this time was how remus is also 100% ready to kill a bitch once he learns what has really happened
he’s so often characterized as a huge softie and/or the morality pet in fic but at the end of POA he’s even more ice cold about this revenge murder plot than sirius; lol he literally just rolls up his sleeves and is like “well peter, time for you to die”
This. It’s worth noting that Remus is strongly implied to have a huge problem with the Dementor’s Kiss - he asks Harry if he thinks that anybody really deserves it, even believing at this point that Sirius killed the Potters. Remus is not a fan of inhumane punishments or unnecessary cruelty, but he clearly believes quite firmly in the necessity of taking a life at times, especially when it’s a case of either self-defense or justice.
I also think that Remus was even madder at Peter then he ever was at Sirius, because Sirius had actually endured a consequence to his betrayal and Peter had not - in fact, he’d successfully passed off both the blame and the consequence onto Sirius.
There’s something about Sense8 that you will only notice
if you are actually familiar with all/most of the original languages
that should be used and that’s the way the narrative is written is
completely based in the original language. I have seen a couple of post
about how Lito or Sun’s dialogues were weird or too artificial and
that’s because it’s a direct translation of their natural speech.
It’s
probably less strong in Lito because he lives in a world of Soap
Operas, he lives and breath dramatic characters so his character is
overdramatic and fake (something he totally owns and accepts) but when
you listen to Sun, especially pre-jail Sun, you can see that her English
is a direct translation of her Korean. The way the sentences are
constructed, the emphasis and tone… she is not a Korean woman living an
American life, she is a Korean woman living a Korean life in Seoul with
the not-so-uncommon problems in the Korean chaebol sector. If you know a
lil bit of Korean you are able to translate every single one of her
sentences to Korean and they look authentic, the same way Lito’s
sentences half the time would work way better in Spanish that they do in
English.
(Edit:several rebloggers have
confirmed that, indeed, Wolfgang also talks a translated German, which
only confirms the theory. All of this also explains the fact that every
single actor comes with their original accent, they don’t try to mimic
American/British accent but they have kept the accent they would have if
they were talking in their original language and we were only listening
to their English because we are connected with the Sensates. Sense8
tries to turn the viewer into another Sensate, in some sort of Jonas. I would very much appreciate if someone can shed some light about the Swahili and the Hindi, though)
(Edit2: Thanks to r-ed
we have confirmation that Kala’s English is also a translation from the
original Hindi. As it happens with Korean, and probably Swahili too,
these languages’ structure are pretty different from English, while
German and Spanish have more similarities structure-wise) so the
translation has been enriched to be understandable, but the basis of the
Hindi language as well the accent has been respected. As I commented on
an earlier post, the writers have understood that language/accent is
part of the characters, but adapting their language to English they
would have erased this side of them that is as important as their
cultural inheritance, so it’s important that they only translated the
language into a more understandable language, considering they interact
with each other in a mental wave length, making it possible for each one
to understand the other without the need to use the
same physical language).
Michael, Lana and Andy have done an
amazing research work and even though I’d be forever happy to see them
talk more in their own languages I am so satisfied with the way the have
handled the language issue.
i really like the advice “write marginalized characters but don’t write about marginalization unless you experience it”
absolutely i think cis people should expand their horizons and write trans characters, but they shouldn’t write stories about being trans. likewise i think allistic / NT authors should write about autistic characters! but not stories about being autistic.
represent us. absolutely. but don’t tell our stories. let us do that.
Trying to prove a point to someone who says “it’s just a phase, your mind is made up after high school”
Bisexuality isn’t a legimate sexuality though, it was invented by the CIA in the late 1980s in order to distract the general public from the wizard uprising.
so I’ve always sort of liked the idea that within the communion of saints there the Heavy Hitters, the Career Saints who are invoked widely and in situations of grave need—I’m talking your Catherines and Francises and Theresas, the Twelve Disciples and Michael; the Big Time Major League saints who intercede on behalf of so many, and so are always in conversation with the divine, case managers for the sick and dying and hurting and faithful of the world.
but that also means that there’s a bunch of saints hanging around who are just—minor holy women, lesser martyrs, incidental virgins, doctors of the church who never managed to find a publisher. They’re not prayed to very often, and rarely called on to manage the difficult cases; they have a lot of free time.
so what do you do, if you’re a saint with some free time on your hands? You answer all the not-quite-prayers, the “jesus, don’t turn red don’t turn red’ muttered by cab drivers and the “christ, can you just try it to see this from my point of view?” spat out by a furious girlfriend and all the “oh god please let me make this meeting in time” “please don’t let me fail” “I’m so tired I hope I can get home”
or maybe I just like the idea that every time you mutter “god, let me be okay” there’s some girl killed in 9th century for refusing to marry who falls into step beside you—and though no book or chronicle or living person remembers her name, she squints up at you and says with holy authority, “yeah, you’re going to be fine.”
