okay but like. remember when someone took red beanies to a book signing and got dan and phil to wear them and the blurry pictures taken from a distance were everywhere because beanies. remember when dan apologised every time his hair was even the slightest bit curly. remember when he’d insist he looked absolutely terrible when a fan told him otherwise. and now dan just casually did a liveshow in a pastel beanie with his hobbit hair. like it’s not the biggest deal but he just looked really soft and comfortable and happy and it makes me feel all warm inside and i’m just really grateful for dan howell
Yeah though, I kind of thought this is where we were heading. The witches they’ve been fighting. They’re “corrupted” magical girls, aren’t they? Because of course they are. Of course they’re the pain of lost dreams, of girls who maybe want to try and break the cycle. Of course they become the very thing they’re fighting.
I did a Thing today
There’s a free creative writing group at my local library and I actually… went to it… on my own… There were about 10 people with an average age of 65 (possibly 70), mostly women, and each week someone puts forward a theme and everyone has half an hour to write something related to the theme and then reads it out to everyone, and they comment on it. The theme was ‘going on a journey’, which I duly forgot about, and after about 10 minutes of staring at the paper thinking ‘oh god what am I doing here’ I finally thought of a starting sentence. I wrote about an eight y/o boy called Theo who is at the beach with his older brother and finds a stray kitten. I didn’t actually get to the kitten part. But I wrote about a page and shakily read it out (quite badly, because a great deal was messily crossed out) and they seemed quite impressed haha. Most of the other people wrote anecdotes about their train journeys… They were more fluent/confident writers than me but their writings were more like diary entries than fiction. But the people were all really nice, anyway. The organiser said I wrote well, and the lady next to me liked my descriptions. Others were very complimentary. An old seacaptain-like man with a soft Northern Irish accent sat opposite me, and told us about the time he was away in France and went to a patisserie and the lady behind the counter was so pretty he forgot all the French he had learned and stumbled back out of the shop without buying anything. There was a woman with Alice in Wonderland syndrome who has a fear of travelling on the tube on her own in case she has an episode. I remember these things because I relate to them, to some extent. In short: woo I left the house and did a really scary thing which doesn’t seem like a big deal really but reading out a story that I wrote in 20 minutes without editing it to a group of strangers is……. An Awful Lot for me