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.
What if it was Jessica’s finger sent to the police?! In the previews we see that Aria opens her trunk and finds a body with a finger missing. What if Ezra killed Jessica and Aria knows about it and has been covering for him?? I think Ezra was a P.I. hired by Jessica to find out what happened to Alison. Jessica had that lair in Aunt Carol’s storm cellar to find Ali. She was searching for her, and I think she was using Ezra to do so. We know that Ezra believed that Mrs. D was A at one point, and maybe he took action. Maybe he killed her thinking he was protecting Aria and the girls only to learn that he had been wrong. We never actually saw Ezra and Aria talk about Aria assisting with burying Rollins. Maybe he also admitted to killing Jessica after she was honest with him, and she is covering for him! And maybe Jessica’s body will be found in Aria’s trunk as a way of A.D. Saying “I know everything”. And this is how we will learn about who killed Jessica!! We have also seen two hands holding each other underneath a table in the previews for this season, and what if they belong to Aria and Ezra after they are brought into the police department for questioning after receiving the finger. then maybe A.D. Will help them get out of the situation if they agree to play on the A team. That’s how Aria will turn “dark”! Because she is being blackmailed into helping A.D. Do his/her dirty work! And that’s how Aria learns how to do all of this tech-related stuff! Because Ezra has been teaching her as a P.I.!
“Okay (Y/n), since you’re the responsible one, when I call, it’s the green button. When you see my name, push it.”
“Yes Mrs. Mitchell”
“Good girl. Be careful you three. Look out for each other”
“We will Mrs. Mitchell”