natural writing

I’m at my best when I’m alone, in solitude and listening to the soil take in all that it can take. It’s when I’m alone that I realize how temporal even the still air can be.
—  s.f.; the sleeping princess awaken in spring; 25.03.17

anonymous asked:

You all think you are so educated but you fail to see the problem with these books. You're writing about abusive relationships, homophobic, racist and sexist characters

1. I have never claimed to be educated, even though I hold pieces of paper I paid dearly for, I don’t view myself as educated. 

2. Abusive relationships. Now that is something I personally know about. They are everywhere, repeat everywhere. Does that mean we should stop writing about them?  Stop readers, especially young readers, from recognizing the signs of abusers through fictional characters?  How many young readers will recognize the aspects of Tamlin now and run the hell away from that relationship. 

3. Homophobic. I’m using TOG as my example. Aedion finds all genders attractive. He has bedded both men and woman. Aedion is bi and is a main character. Emrys is mated to a male. There was a fleeting moment that Aelin thought Gavriel was with Rowan. She did not feel disgusted or judge. Where is the homophobic nature in that writing?

4. Racist. Where? Aelin befriends Nehemia, to the point that her death wrecks her. She is a princess and is shown the respect of a princess. In ACOTAR SJM highlights racism, there is a divide between high fae and lesser fae. Rhys and Tarquin talk of changing their world. Removing the divide. In Velaris, there is not a divide, Feyre sees this.

5. Sexism is EVERYWHERE. Every female (fantasy and real) feels it day in and day out. SJM writes sexism into her books instead of sweeping it under the carpet like many do. She writes about it. Acknowledges that is is there. 

Just because we write about the very negative aspects of society does not mean that we condone them. We are reading books that are highlighting those negative aspects and trying to show us how to make the world better, while giving us a fictional escape from our crappy world. 

I agree that the books can be problematic and are not perfect, but please share with me a fantasy book that is. Hopefully I have read it, if not I will buy a copy and start a fandom (if one is not created).

the sun

warm and welcoming

its soft rays comforting me

I am enveloped in a blanket of happiness

the grass

prickly beneath my feet

the blades tickle my feet

it is a long-awaited feeling

the birds

chirping and calling

filling the air with their songs

making music for themselves and no-one else

the breeze

a breath of cool air

drying my sweat

the solitude

along I can be myself

standing in silence

I can be comfortable

in nature

it exists not for our pleasure

no symbiotic relationship exists

it can survive without us

but we can not live without it

it asks for nothing

yet we destroy

when we need only

to enjoy

Here’s a late earth day poem. I was enjoying the weather and being outside yesterday so I wrote this.

It doesn’t have to be Spring for you to bloom.
—  It’s been said that Spring is the time of new beginnings. Enjoy it, but make sure to remember that you can have a new beginning any day, any time. // @maxwelldpoetry

star crossed lovers + insp

i. Eros — is a lover with a burning passion that outshines and burns the all others with a fiery flame that in return burns them. It is a fire with raw intensity that could melt pure steel and harden the softest of hearts into the purest of diamonds. Eros is not always that of a true lover.

ii. Ludus — is a lover like that of milk and honey and innocence. Its whispers fainter than flower petals against soft skin. It is a soulmate that burns brighter than the sun whose heart is purer than the whitest of sands. Though Ludus’ love is not raw and passionate and burning. It is a love built on secrecy and promises and trust and toothy grins and nostalgic scents. 

iii. Philia — is a lover built on blood and dirt and gritted teeth. Philia is the iron in the blood and plasma from which the deepest stars in the galaxy are made of. They are passionate and forgiving and most of all undeniably understanding. A lover that is not easily found, nor a lover that is easily forgotten.

iv. Pragma — is a lover that understands with a maturity like no other. Pragma knows nothing of revenge or deep rooted hatred. It isn’t a first kiss or childish crushes. Pragma is a lover with selfless desires and a heart full of gold and warmth and an understanding touch. The bands between two hearts and the long journey to the stars. A lover who is everlasting even when their other half is no longer apart of them.

v. Agape — is a lover whose heart fell for strangers on empty buses and midnight train station platforms. The color yellow. A lover of naivety and hope and carefree. One who could only see others as if they had done no wrong. A lover built of wanderlust and fairy tales and stardust. One who extends galaxies to the ones they love, for nothing in return.

vi. Philautia — is a lover of themselves. A lover often mistaken for vanity and selfishness. A lover who need not to be desired, to appreciate their self-worth. Though they often are desired by many. Philautia is one who only needs the love they give off. They are a lover made of silver stones and a heart guarded by rusted chains.

—  Six Kinds of Lovers by Nicole Moon

Dirt builds up under my fingernails

And the cigarette butts collect in the pockets of my coats and of my jeans.

My pants fit more loosely;

My skin feels more like rubber bands wrapped around my bones.

Coffee is the only thing I can taste, and it tastes like iodine.

I feel colder, I feel far away, I feel like a crater where the earth has been churned up and displaced.

They’ve been digging up the gas lines from under the streets, you know.

Cutting deep, linear valleys into the mysterious red clay beneath the tar.

I imagine sinking through those gas lines,

Through that red clay,

Deeper and hotter and redder

And further and further removed

From the surface of the cities and the surface of myself.

No more cigarette butts in my mouth or grey dirt in my blood;

Just my naked skin against the red clay,

Just my ancient, finely-tuned body against the deep earth which bore it.