before i fell in love with words,
with setting skies and singing birds ⏤
it was you i fell in love with first.

aquawyrm asked:

Just read chapter 1 of Tourmaline. If you update promptly, I will smile happily and continue reading. If you do not update promptly, I will grin like a maniac, go back to chapter 1, and read it again from the top. One of my favorite authors is doing a multi-chapter fic. I win. Whatever you do, I win. Even if you never finish, I am free to re-read what you have written and headcannon your fannon. I win. :D


That’s like…the most resoundingly positive response I could imagine for this! Thank you! I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna see this through. But I’m so glad to not disappoint either way! ^^


Alright, so some of you may have heard but famous author of “The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod” author recently came out as transgender. He was once known as Heather Brewer, but is now known as Zac…and…I can’t even begin to explain how fucking happy I am for him.

Zac is my absolute favorite author. I love all of his books, have signed copies of all of the Vladimir Tod books as well as a poster that hangs right above my bed. I actually met him at a book signing of his a few years ago. He tapped me on the shoulder and said “Love your makeup” to me. (Black lipstick, the usual goth look) He really means the world to me

As some of you may know, I also came out as transgender back in December. But then, I went through a bit of therapy and realized, I’m not transgender. I’m genderqueer. I use male pronouns and I go by Alex. And recently, transgender rights has been getting a much better look in the media but now someone I actually know, admire, look up to. Someone who has personally impacted me….I just feel….so happy and amazing. unclezacbrewer…you’re so fucking awesome

You are right, sir, when you tell me that Les Misérables is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well as to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers. The sores of the human race, those great sores which cover the globe, do not halt at the red or blue lines traced upon the map. In every place where man is ignorant and despairing, in every place where woman is sold for bread, wherever the child suffers for lack of the book which should instruct him and of the hearth which should warm him, the book of Les Misérables knocks at the door and says: “Open to me, I come for you.”
—  Victor Hugo
Some people, they can’t just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me… I don’t know. I didn’t want to fix it, to forget. It wasn’t something that was broken. It’s just…something that happened. And like that hole, I’m just finding ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time.
—  Sarah Dessen
The announcer had them off on the subject of housing developments, and the little Burke girl said she hated houses that all look alike - meaning a long row of identical ‘development’ houses. Zooey said they were 'nice.’ He said it would be very nice to come home and be in the wrong house. To eat dinner with the wrong people by mistake, sleep in the wrong bed by mistake, and kiss everybody goodbye in the morning thinking they were your own family. He said he even wished everybody in the world looked exactly alike. He said you’d keep thinking everybody you met was your wife or your mother or father, and people would always be throwing their arms around each other wherever they went, and it would look 'very nice.’
—  J.D. Salinger, Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters.
I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down.
—  Annie Dillard