when did jess start thinking that the story of the gilmore girls would make for an excellent book?
did he first think about it all those years ago when he first got to know rory & lorelai and was taken aback by their unique dynamic? was he reading a book exploring familial relationships one day, which lead him to ponder a possible story about those fascinating ladies from stars hollow? did he always envision rory one day writing her own book? was it specifically a story about the gilmore girls that he thought would be perfect for her to write, or were there other genres/plots he believed she’d be great at writing? has he always felt like suggesting she write this book, but never wanted to feel like he was trying to steer her away from her journalism career path?
Migrant. Migrant geese or some such was where first I heard the word so as to note it, the word migrant actually not alone at origin, part of a phrase with white wings, and it is driven it is thoughtless it is magnetically on course steered by stars and obsessed with diving for food and likely to have secreted in its braincoils a chart for the way home. A cyclical, undependable word– a trait prettifying itself when observed by the other species whose skies it occupies – Migrant is all the birds of the air and I lack the balance to set off on a flight with a due destination and a warm or frosted prompting back. Migrant is cerulean and khaki and it has a lot to say for itself once encamped temporarily by a river that will do. All movement, this word. Out at elbows or tense-thighed: verbal. Absolute: adjectival. In the singular, it implies plurals: migrant isolate in so far as rising from or surrounded by settlers. The hunted, hunter, unconcerned. No, not that.
Olicity in a turn-of-the-century frontier town. (I'm watching "When Calls the Heart" and it's stuck in my head.)
The sun was high in the sky and the dry dust swirled around his booted feet as Oliver Queen, Star’s sheriff, walked through the streets of his town. At this time of day, crime was limited mostly to men getting charged too much for the rotgut they swilled in the saloons along the optimistically-named Glade Street. So that meant he could leave his deputy, Roy Harper, watching the jail while he paid a visit to his sister and took her to lunch.
He nodded at the townfolk who greeted him and did his best to steer well-clear of women like Miss Helena and Miss Susan. They were both fine women, of course, but Oliver wasn’t ready to settle down. Not when he had his sister to bring up and a town to protect. Not when he was still atoning for what he had done during the War Between the States.
Soon, he arrived at the small house he shared with his sister. Taking off his hat as he stepped onto the porch, he opened the front door and called out, “Speedy?”
“In here, Ollie!” His sister’s voice floated out of the room their mother would have called a parlor, but which they called the sitting room. Since after all, they weren’t back East anymore.
“Thought you might want to get lunch with your brother, if you wouldn’t be too embarrassed–Oh.”
Thinking his sister had been alone, Oliver hadn’t thought anything of tugging his shirttails free of his pants and unbuttoning a few buttons while walking into the sitting room. He had sweated through his shirt in the dry Arizona heat, so he knew Thea would insist on a fresh shirt if she was to go to lunch with him.
But his sister wasn’t alone. There was a young woman, with blonde hair twisted haphazardly into a knot, wisps escaping around her pink-and-white face. Behind her spectacles, her eyes the color of the sky were wide, and her naturally pink lips were parted in an O at the sight of him in his unkempt state.
“Ollie, really?” Thea asked as Oliver quickly put himself to rights. He nearly dropped his hat until his sister plucked it from his grasp and stepped away with it.
“You could have given me a warning,” he muttered at Thea’s back before turning to his sister’s guest. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t realize my sister had a visitor.”
“No … no, it’s quite all right,” the young woman said, sounding rather dazed. That made Oliver take another look at her, wondering if perhaps the heat was getting to her. She had the look of someone newly arrived from the East; perhaps she was feeling light-headed?
Thea returned from the hall and said airily, “Oliver, I’d like to introduce Miss Felicity Smoak of Boston. Miss Smoak, this is my brother, Sheriff Oliver Queen.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Oliver said, nodding to the young woman. “Welcome to Star.”
“Thank you,” Felicity said, fidgeting a little with the handkerchief in her hand, before rising to her feet. “I don’t want to intrude upon your no-doubt-limited time together as siblings, so this seems like a perfect time to conclude my visit–”
“Oh, no,” Thea replied. “If Ollie’s gonna take me out to lunch, he can take you out, too. That way, you can explain more about your problem and he can start to help you.”
Oliver knew at this point he should protest Thea’s high-handed treatment of not just himself, but Miss Smoak, too. Yet … there was something about the woman in front of him, in the bright blue dress. Some spark about her, even though he had only just met her, that made him want to get to know more about her. And after all, if she had some business that required the sheriff–well, he was the sheriff.
“I couldn’t possibly–” Felicity began, but Oliver held up a hand and she shut her mouth so hard, her jaws clicked together.
“Miss Smoak, I don’t know much what Boston’s like,” Oliver said, gazing down at her. She was so much shorter than he was, yet her presence seemed to fill up the room. “It’s probably not that different from Philadelphia, where Thea and I were born. Yet out here on the frontier, people take care of each other. We help each other. And we certainly give newcomers a warm welcome. So please, allow me to treat you to lunch and help you get the lay of the land.”
She bit her lower lip, her white teeth sinking into her very plump, very kissable bottom lip. Oliver swallowed, trying to get his thoughts–and his body–under control as he waited for her response.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Queen. Sheriff! I meant Sheriff Queen. Although I do regret that I might have need of your services as sheriff, instead of just getting to enjoy lunch with you. And your sister, of course. I–I would gladly accept your invitation. ‘Your’, in this case, being both yours and Thea’s invitation.” Felicity took a deep breath, her face going even more pink.
He couldn’t help staring at her, a small smile growing on his face. For an Eastern girl, she wasn’t polished to a boring perfection, this Felicity Smoak. She would be the last kind of girl his mother would have wanted him to become acquainted with. Yet in that moment, Oliver Queen realized he was going to become more than acquainted with Felicity Smoak.
Delicious Foods begins with Eddie, a young man with freshly severed hands, frantically trying to steer a stolen car from Louisiana to Minnesota. It’s a gripping first chapter that sets the stage for the rest of the novel. What exactly is Eddie escaping? How did he lose his hands?
From there, we step back quite a bit to see what led Eddie to this situation. We learn that his father died horrifically when Eddie was six years old. His mother Darlene, devastated by the loss of her beloved husband, turned to crack to cope with her grief and trauma. One day, when Eddie was still a child, Darlene disappeared. It turns out she had been lured away with the promise of a good job at a mysterious, nefarious company called Delicious Foods that essentially enslaves black employees, trapping them at the facility to conduct strenuous manual labor in exchange for drugs.
Delicious Foods is a southern gothic cultural satire with a distinctly surreal bent to it, and there are a lot of compelling metaphors at play: while modern slavery and unfair labor practices—particularly in the food industry—are current realities, Delicious Foods is just as much a commentary on pre-Civil War chattel slavery and the deep legacy of racial injustice in America. Hannaham’s characters are bombarded with modern examples of systemic racism, and these struggles often drive them to desperation.
Perhaps the most brilliant thing about this book is that Darlene’s chapters are actually narrated by crack cocaine (nicknamed Scotty). It’s a strange narrative device, but it totally works—and it really drives home the hold that drug addiction has over people’s humanity.
As much as I loved Hannaham’s ideas and the ingenuity of his narrative approach, I struggled with the pacing of this book. I’m not sure it had to be as long as it was. And as interested as I was in the story, there were few scenes that gripped me quite like the opening.
I read this for a book club, and I’m glad I did. There’s certainly a lot to discuss about slave labor, systemic racism, addiction, familial loyalty, freedom and forgiveness.
I find some of the dailies hilarious that we have to do
I can just picture Anne going around and delivering milk. She’s up like six feet off the ground on her huge Jorvik Wild Horse, juggling full milk bottles. She steers Stormy towards the house until she’s in range, about ten feet away, and at a full gallop chucks the milk bottle at the porch. It somehow lands perfectly (probably some of Aideen’s magic helping out) and Anne keeps galloping towards the next house, jumping over a car and bouncing off the houses on her quest to deliver full bottles of milk to all the residents of New Hillcrest as fast as possible.
a blur of cheap hotels , fast food dinners , long days and nights of driving , road 50. eyes focused on the road ahead, her hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, looking over her shoulder to observe his sleepy form on the backseat. snores. but she didn’t mind. she smiled in the rear-view mirror. nothing but darkness, his breath, stars above them and the motor’s music. an old mercury Cougar. his mercury Cougar. “tired of the east coast” he said one day. “i want the Pacific” she wished one night. they had met somewhere in Indiana, shared a cigarette, but never their names.
polaris - “and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by”
lose your soul - dead man’s bones | march into the sea - modest mouse | riptide - vance joy | black water - timber timbre | the mariner’s revenger song - the decemberists | boat song - woodkid | shallows - daughter | little talks - of monsters and men | to the sea - katzenjammer | siren song - bat for lashes | grown ocean - fleet foxes | the sea & the rhythm - iron and wine | get home - bastille | sea of love - cat power | song of the sea - cake bake bettty | sailor song - regina spektor | what the water gave me - florence + the machine | bottom of the river - delta rae | i’ll drown - sóley | dead in the water - ellie goulding | under the tide - chvrches | the pirate’s gospel - alela diane | bonus track: hey ho - the lumineers
[Had a ruff day request A imagine where the reader is bringing Josh home to meet her family and her brothers absolutely hate him and his band/music but the reader doesn’t care because she’s madly in love. - Anonymous]
[A / N - Two posts in one day!?! Hope you all enjoy this!]
A sigh escaped your lips as you put the car in park, your
hands resting on the steering wheel. You took a breath, starring out of the
windshield at your childhood home. The home that you loved and hated at the
same time. It held special memories for you, like the Christmas where you got a
kitten, your dad surprising you with keys to your own car, and how you once got
five dollars in quarters from the ‘tooth fairy’. But there were bad memories
too. The time your older brother pushed you head first into the dining room
table, your parents throwing dishes at each other, and the week after you got
your first car your brothers took baseball bat to it and smashed all of the
You shuddered as cold fingers pried your hands from the
steering wheel, your eyes following the length of the arm till your eyes locked
on brown ones. Josh was smiling but you could see concern in his eyes, hidden
Josh had asked you out eight months ago after knowing you
for almost three years prior. But the catch was that your family didn’t know
him personally. Sure they all saw him on tv and the photos that surfaced on the
internet. But they only knew that Josh Dun was one half of Twenty One Pilots, a
controversial band in their eyes. Your mom had told you over the phone a few
months ago that Josh needed to wipe the makeup off his face because he wasn’t a
girl. She also said that he needed to keep a shirt on at all times now that he
was dating you, to stop showing off his body for the world to see.
You had blown up at her, practically screaming into the
phone as you slammed cupboards in your house. Josh was his own person and could
do whatever he wanted. You told her that he could shave his whole head, wear
the sluttiest dress, and pierce every inch of his face and you would love him
no less than you do now. Of course your mom had hung up on you and didn’t talk
to you for three weeks.
Josh let go of your hand and he unbuckled himself, tucking
his phone into his pocket. You nodded, more to reassure yourself than anything,
and turned the car off, unbuckling your own seatbelt before getting out of the
car. Josh headed around the car and put his arm around your shoulders as you
slammed the car door, kissing the side of your head as you both began walking
to the front door.
You knocked three times, waiting for half a second before
the door opened to reveal your father. He greeted you with a hug and a firm
handshake to Josh. Your father’s expression was neutral and you couldn’t figure
out what he was thinking, but he ushered you both into the kitchen to greet
your mother. She was just pulling the ham out of the oven, setting it on the
stove before turning to you.
She hugged you lightly as you awkwardly patted her back. She
turned to Josh with a slight frown, shaking his hand quickly before going back to
the stove to take care of the ham.
“Mom, is there anything we can help you with?” She turned
briefly around, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the meal.
You sighed, hanging your head, grabbing Josh’s hand to drag him to the living
Your brothers were sitting on the couch watching a football
game, but they turned it off once they saw you approach, Josh in tow. You could
literally feel the air tense up as your brother’s looked Josh up and down. They
greeted you both with half-assed waves.
To say that your whole family didn’t approve of Josh was an
understatement. They hated him and they didn’t even know him, wouldn’t even
give him a chance. You just knew that your mother was going to call you within
the next few days to demand you to break up with him. To find a new boy that
knew how to take care of a house or car when it was broken.
“It’s time to eat everybody!” You mother’s voice called from
the dining room and your brother’s immediately rushed in, taking their usual
seats. You and Josh were forced to sit across from them as your parents took
both ends, making a dramatic show of saying grace before you were allowed to
Dinner went smoother than you had expected, your hand resting
on Josh’s leg the entire time, squeezing lightly when the topic of Twenty One
Pilots would come up. Though your older brother would voice his dislike for the
band any time he could. Honestly, it was all getting a bit old when the same
topics popped up during dessert.
You cleared your throat, everyone’s eyes turning to you. “We’re
going to leave now.” You heard a quiet ‘good’ from across the table and you
glared at your brothers. “Honestly, you both disappoint me. In fact you all
disappoint me. I love Josh with all of my heart and I would like to spend the
rest of my life with him. If you even knew him the slightest bit then you would
understand that he has the purest heart in the entire world. I love him, his
band, his little quirks, his flaws, his smiles. I love that no matter what he’s
always there to catch me when I fall and he supports me to the best of his
ability. I don’t understand why you all can’t understand that.”
You took a breath, looking around the table. You mother was
hanging her head in shame, you brothers were grimacing, and your father just
held that neutral expression again.
“What ever happened to that saying ‘if you don’t have
anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’? We’re done here and we’re
going to head home. From this point on I don’t want to talk to any of you until
you are willing to give Josh a chance. Or don’t, I don’t really care.”
You pushed your chair back and walked to the front door,
Josh hot on your heels as you both exited the house. You rounded your car, both
of you slipping in before you peeled out of the driveway. You didn’t relax
until you were miles down the road, far from your parent’s house. Josh placed a
hand on your thigh and you looked over at him.
He was studying you, his face scrunched up in concentration,
his thumb rubbing lazy circles into the denim of your jeans. “Did you really
mean all of that?”
“Of course.” You flicked your eyes to Josh briefly before
you turned your attention back to the road, realizing you were going ten miles
per hour over the speed limit.
Josh leaned over the center console, placing his head on
your shoulder. You brought your hand down and linked your fingers with his,
squeezing them to reassure him. “That’s the first time you said ‘I love you’”.
He nuzzled his face into your shoulder and you couldn’t help but smile down at
him as you turned a corner, maneuvering the steering wheel with one hand.
“O-o-okay, just one more time. Bear with me.” Seven placed his hands on MC’s shoulders and steered her into the couch. She rolled her eyes, but sat down and humored him, just as she had done the other five times he had felt compelled to spell out his plan.
Seven pulled a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket and placed it in her hands.
They’ve taken a break from the mats and boxing gloves, Max and Chloe are going on their first date! However, Chloe has an unexpected conversation beforehand.
Chloe gripped her steering wheel anxiously as she parked in front of Max’s house. They had agreed by text to have her pick the girl up, since she didn’t know where the restaurant they were going to was.
The punk heaved a long sigh, in a frail attempt to calm her nerves. She took the key off of the ignition and opened the car door, sliding out.
Play it cool, play it cool.
The sky was a dark blue, millions of bright stars coated the horizon, and the moon shined bright. She breathed in the cool night air, almost as if she was trying to transfer the relaxed ambiance onto her.
Chloe internally patted herself in the back for picking out such a great time for their first date.
The mere thought made her heart jump. She dangled her keys with her free hand as she knocked on Max’s door, the sound they made helping Chloe distract herself a bit.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Imagine Poe Dameron, too little to walk, falling asleep
watching X-Wings spinning on the mobile above his bed, as his mother quietly
tells him what it’s like to fly among the stars.
Image Poe Dameron as a toddler, sitting on his mother’s lap
in her X-Wing, making “pew” noises and pretending to steer.
Imagine Poe Dameron smiling without either of his front
teeth as he darts around on a toy ship that hovers two inches off the ground
and moves forward at a crawl, with a bowl on his head and teddy bear as his
Imagine Poe Dameron, gangly and awkward in the way that kids
going through puberty often are, building a droid of his very own and spending
hours crafting better bodies for his precious BB unit’s AI.
Imagine Poe Dameron, shaggy-haired and pimply-faced, with
shaking hands as he pilots a real X-Wing for the first time, his mother’s voice
echoing distantly in his head.
Imagine Poe Dameron, barely even 20 and already Black
Leader, as General Organa pats him on the back and tells him how proud his
mother would be.
They put Artie in the back of the car and drive. Kent’s day with the Cup was fantastic and he took it to the children’s hospital where Katie had her appendix out last year, and they had a family party at home and everything was nearly perfect, except —
“Father, Son and the Holy Ghost” - On Visions and Framing in 11x04 “Baby”
Two men - father and son - behind the steering wheel of a 67 Impala. Not just any car, but pretty much “the most important object in the entire universe”. The small toy soldier crammed in the ashtray, the legos in the vents, the initials “D.W.” and “S.W.” carved into the hat rack - as Chuck Shurley, creator of the Winchester Gospel, once wrote, “all these little blemishes are what make her beautiful”, make this car truly the Winchesters’ and much more than that: a home when they truly didn’t have anything else but the open road and the stars as their guide. He did not just write that though, but also mentioned that the “devil doesn’t know or care about what car the boys drive”. And as we know this was his undoing. Five season later we start of into an episode with exactly these little blemishes, because the devil’s in the details. And in this case maybe quite literally.
Not only do these little things provide a cue for the audience to remember what exactly was so important about these objects and the car itself, they also subtly introduce a character back into the narrative without even needing to mention his name (though it was done in the episodes prior): Lucifer.
This season has introduced the two main characters receiving visions as a structuring element and with that not only picks up the thread about perception, but also poses the question whether these visions are relating to the past, the present or the future. Dean’s talk with the woman in the eye of the storm more and more shapes up to have been a vision of the future. Possibly of the end of the season with Dean heading into battle against the Darkness, reuniting with it and ending up locking himself away with it in the Empty - much like Dorothy didn’t find any other way to overpower the wicked witch than to seal her soul with the soul of the witch away, for eternity. Since Dean and the Darkness are bound, much like Charlie and Dark!Charlie, it’s only logical to assume that whatever harms the Darkness will also affect Dean, which is why they “help one another”. Sam’s visions too, seem to be visions of the future rather than flashbacks to the past and his time in the cage and with that possibly indicative how the season may end for him.
In terms of framing, this episode certainly set up or rather emphasized a couple of possibilities in the way it showed Sam and Dean. Especially in the scene leading up to and leading out of Sam’s dream.