I grew up surrounded by words, quite
literally. By the time I was six months old my parents had taped words
to every surface in the house, so the walls said “wall” the window said
“window” and so on so forth. I still don’t know how they managed to get
the cat involved but some things are meant to be wondered at.
But for the next six years the world was covered in words, as first I learned to read, and then my brother. I dare say if you move some furniture in my parents house to this day you will find a faded piece of paper that says “shelf” or “bookcase” on it. It was a sad day when they were taken down, they were like old friends. But by then the magic had already worked. I was able to look at the world and see words, whether they were printed there or not.
was four when I sat down to consciously write my first story. I remember
it vividly because I had my bright yellow Cadburys Caramel mug, that
had the purple flowing font on the side with the bunny rabbit lady
on it. It was filled with “baby tea”— mostly hot milk with a splash
of tea from the pot to give it color— and I was holding it in both hands, sitting at the
little “art” table dad had built for me in the corner so I had a place
to sit and scribble that wasn’t the walls. Contemplating my next masterpiece I looked around the room for inspiration. Would it be an exploration of color through pinky finger painting only? Or would it be the greatest macaroni interpretation of a dog we’d ever seen? Sadly we’ll never know how this might have worked out, as at that very moment, mum came in holding a crystal mobile and hung it up on the window sill. This in turn had the effect of creating a living, dancing rainbow in the living room, and something in my brain short fused.
That was the day I learned the word “iridescent”. It was like learning the language of angels.
After that I was always scribbling something. My school books were a mess of words, crammed into margins and on back pages. I was always in trouble for letting my mind “wander into whimsy.” Once I got a report card that said “fantastical leanings towards flights of fancy.” It was meant as criticism, but dad still has it framed in the office.
Then there came the time a few years later when I was reading the Hobbit with dad, and I turned to him quite seriously and asked “where are all the girl hobbits?” and dad hemmed and hawed before eventually telling me “they’re in another book, darling…having their own adventure…” and I accepted this and settled back down to let him finish the chapter. He probably thought I forgot about it until that weekend I marched up to the Librarian and asked for “the girl hobbit book please”, which was met with much confusion and my dad rushing over to tell me they probably wouldn’t have it yet because it was very rare. A few weeks later, dad handed me something. It was sheaves of paper bound together by string. It was, he told me, a very exclusive copy of the girl hobbit book.
I still have it somewhere, back home. Probably on a shelf somewhere that still says “shelf”.
And sweet, naive thing that I was, I believed him. It wasn’t until later on and someone else popped my bubble, that I realized dad, not Tolkien, had written it. And oh I was furious, furious because the story had been so good and because dad had lied about not writing it himself. But that small bubbling anger was nothing compared to the heat inside my brain when my dad confessed he’d tried without much success to find books I might like with girls in them. All the heroes were boys, you see. It made me quite tearful actually, that no one had ever thought that someone like me could go off on an adventure and save the world, when I knew it to be a blatant lie. Old Mrs McDougall across the street had been a land girl and saved a man shot down from his spitfire. Mrs Mitchell had been the emergency coordinator and saved people from burning buildings when the Nazis bombed the shipyards, and her skin was all bubbled and tightly pulled across the left side of her face because of it and her hands didn’t quite work because she’d gripped burning metal to try and free the men inside. Those, were heroes. But we never learned about them at school. We only learned about kings and tyrants and the kind of heavily filtered history that lead you to believe that women were in there somewhere, but only in the same sense that a wall has paint on it.
And now my books, my lovely wonderful books, where you could travel through space and time or climb up volcanoes to throw rings inside and save the world…those wonderful colorful worlds that spoke the language of angels, were just the same.
I was ready to cry and be defeated about it until dad, raising his eyebrows at me and offering me a notebook, said, “well, maybe someone ought to write one.”
And you likely know the rest by now. But in short I write because there are stories to be told. I write because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to how the word iridescent feels. I look at the world and I see words, dancing like rainbows, singing like angels.
There’s words everywhere. I’m just scribbling them down.
Dancing with the Stars!au where Bitty switched to dancing after having to give up figure skating and now he’s like an alternate dance coach or something. Jack goes on the show during the off season as a Georgia-approved attempt to make him seem more human and less robot. It works partially. He’s just as intense as he is on the ice but he’s not as talented and clips of him stepping on his partner’s toes and getting chirped for it seem to doing their job if what he can glean from the internet is accurate. He was originally paired with a girl but half way through the season she accidentally hurts something and Bitty was the first person they could get to fill her place for the next episode. Jack isn’t out but Bitty is and as long as Jack doesn’t mind dancing with a guy Bitty is okay taking the girl’s role. Maybe this will be the exposure he needs to get his own contestant next season. Either way they end up working together for an episode and they light it up. Bitty reworks the routine both to fit him and into something Jack isn’t struggling to do and it’s his best dance score-wise to date. Before his scores were passable but weren’t likely to get him through to the final couple of weeks but with the way he danced with Bitty he could go all the way. Naturally after a night like that when they try and find him a replacement female partner he says no and that he’d rather stick with Bitty. This is only partially due to his scores and more to do with the fact that he actually likes Bitty rather than his previous partner. They got along fine but there wasn’t that spark of connection that Jack has with Bitty. So Bitty stays with Jack for the rest of the season and they light it up. Bitty has a knack for devising devilishly simple routines that show off all of Jack’s best qualities and his hard earned dancing skills without being beyond his level and allowing the audience to connect with him on an emotional level. Which is a feat considering this is Jack we’re talking about. Bitty is also one of the best dancers that Jack has ever seen and he’s constantly impressed by what Bitty can do on his own when Jack isn’t holding him back. Needless to say they make it all the way to the finale while at the same time falling in love with each other. Bitty maybe has the never fall for a straight boy while providing interview footage though the editors thankfully cut that part out. At the end of the show, Jack and Bitty say goodbye and Jack makes noises about getting Bitty to a Falconers game once the season starts but both of them are pretty sure they’re not gonna see each other again. They say bye for a final time after one last late night practice and Jack heads out to bed while Bitty stays to just practice one last thing but on his way out Jack realizes just how much he cares for Bitty and then he runs back into the room and kissing happens. And then the next day they have to dance in the finale and it’s a thing and they’re on fire and they don’t kiss on stage cause public but it’s a very close thing. And look, idk if they win b/c I wanna be realistic but they probably win b/c Jack can never have enough silverware. And then they both go home and date and everything is good.
it’s just us, and a couple of pets in our one bedroom apartment. We’re always so happy to be together. We’ve become each other’s best friend. i read you books and we cook meals together. Our brains are filled with love. Dancing in the kitchen quietly.
“A lot of times, when people say Hip-Hop, they don’t know what they’re talking about. They just think of the rappers. When you talk about hip-hop, you’re talking about the whole culture and movement. You have to take the whole culture for what it is.” Afrika Bambaataa