Her name is not really Coraline, of course, but it is one of her very favorite books, and Elsewhere University does seem like a parallel world she’s stumbled into, so she takes the name proudly. She thinks she ought to fill the part she’s been assigned, and little by little her pockets fill with buttons and pieces of glass through which to see the truth. Not all the time, but enough to count, she counts things – doorways and anything blue, among a variety of objects, arcane and mundane alike.
The girl called Coraline also answers to Buttons and MIST, but it took some time for her to notice those sounds referred to her. Once, her scene partner called her Other Mo—but his tongue had barely cradled the second sibilant against his teeth when her hand shot out and clamped around his wrist. “That’s not what I am,” she hissed, “and I won’t become it either. Now go back a few lines; let’s start at ‘Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I’ll be gone’.” Something was smiling on her that day, or frowning on him, but he does not try to unstitch the seam that hangs ragged from his skin.
(I might do more with the girl called Coraline eventually)
I had forgotten what fiction was to me as a boy, forgotten what it was like in the library: fiction was an escape from the intolerable, a doorway into impossibly hospitable worlds where things had rules and could be understood; stories had been a way of learning about life without experiencing it, or perhaps of experiencing it as an eighteenth-century poisoner dealt with poisons, taking them in tiny doses, such that the poisoner could cope with ingesting things that would kill someone who was not inured to them. Sometimes fiction is a way of coping with the poison of the world in a way that lets us survive it.
And I remembered. I would not be the person I am without the authors who made me what I am—the special ones, the wise ones, sometimes just the ones who got there first.
It’s not irrelevant, those moments of connection, those places where fiction saves your life. It’s the most important thing there is.
FROM NEIL GAIMAN’S NEWBERY ACCEPTANCE SPEECH (Also in The View from the Cheap Seats)
I am so bored today and I wanted to know some new people but I am not the kind of person who start chatting randomly so…so I was thinking what if we create a Telegram group chat (?) to talk or have fun or do nothing I dunno… without hate ..(I say telegram ‘cause telegram is beautiful and very useful and love it) …so yeah. If you (someone, anyone) like the idea ehm like, write me a message (?)
To inspire your writing, or simply give you feels. You can even use these for quotes on character biographies if you please. I didn’t compile this list, and all credits go here. [x]
1) “Who, being loved, is poor?” — Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance.
2) “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.” — Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina.
3) “Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same…If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” — Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights.