#pen and #ink antler. First time with a dip pen!
We are The Muses. Goddesses of the Arts and proclaimers of heroes.
Calliope, Clio, Terpsichore, Melpomene, Thalia
heres the realest shit ever: literally no one is going to pressure you to do drugs in high school
literally no one
an encounter i had in 10th grade in a bathroom
person: hey we’re about to smoke some pot do you want some?
me: nah i got a test in like 20 minutes i just have to pee
person: alright good luck
actual highschool party I’ve been to
person: I brought beer!
people: aaaaaaa yyyyeeeaaahhh
person: want some?!?!
Me: no I don’t drink
person: GOOD MORE FOR US HERE’S SOME SODA
On the bus:
Dude: Do you want a cigarette?
Me: Dude I’m asthmatic. I’d die.
Dude: Okay, cool, cool.6th period math:
friend: hey, you want a weed brownie?
me: nah I’m good.
friend: cool.
Went to a party in high school
I walk into the living room right as a dude turns around and exhales his pot smoke.
Blows right into my face
Dude: “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. I didn’t mean to do that. I know you don’t smoke.”
Moral: the only way you’d feel “peer pressure” is if you actually want to try something and are just scared/nervous to say so.
Additional Moral: The only ones to really “peer pressure” are insecure of their choice and are looking for validation.
I went to quite a few parties at my first uni, and I never drank out of choice. The upperclassman usually praised me (”GOOD WE NEED MORE SOBER PEOPLE TO DRIVE OR IN CASE THE COPS SHOW UP!!”), but the freshman would get pissed at me and tell me I was a killjoy or I would have more fun. Guess who was dragging their n00b butts home after they got too wasted to find their own way? This gal.
(Source: 1-800youwish)
“
Here’s my life. My husband and I get up each morning at 7 o’clock and he showers while I make coffee. By the time he’s dressed I’m already sitting at my desk writing. He kisses me goodbye then leaves for the job where he makes good money, draws excellent benefits and gets many perks, such as travel, catered lunches and full reimbursement for the gym where I attend yoga midday. His career has allowed me to work only sporadically, as a consultant, in a field I enjoy.
All that disclosure is crass, I know. I’m sorry. Because in this world where women will sit around discussing the various topiary shapes of their bikini waxes, the conversation about money (or privilege) is the one we never have. Why? I think it’s the Marie Antoinette syndrome: Those with privilege and luck don’t want the riffraff knowing the details. After all, if “those people” understood the differences in our lives, they might revolt. Or, God forbid, not see us as somehow more special, talented and/or deserving than them.
There’s a special version of this masquerade that we writers put on. Two examples:
I attended a packed reading (I’m talking 300+ people) about a year and a half ago. The author was very well-known, a magnificent nonfictionist who has, deservedly, won several big awards. He also happens to be the heir to a mammoth fortune. Mega-millions. In other words he’s a man who has never had to work one job, much less two. He has several children; I know, because they were at the reading with him, all lined up. I heard someone say they were all traveling with him, plus two nannies, on his worldwide tour.
None of this takes away from his brilliance. Yet, when an audience member — young, wide-eyed, clearly not clued in — rose to ask him how he’d managed to spend 10 years writing his current masterpiece — What had he done to sustain himself and his family during that time? — he told her in a serious tone that it had been tough but he’d written a number of magazine articles to get by. I heard a titter pass through the half of the audience that knew the truth. But the author, impassive, moved on and left this woman thinking he’d supported his Manhattan life for a decade with a handful of pieces in the Nation and Salon.
Example two. A reading in a different city, featuring a 30-ish woman whose debut novel had just appeared on the front page of the New York Times Book Review. I didn’t love the book (a coming-of-age story set among wealthy teenagers) but many people I respect thought it was great, so I defer. The author had herself attended one of the big, East Coast prep schools, while her parents were busy growing their careers on the New York literary scene. These were people — her parents — who traded Christmas cards with William Maxwell and had the Styrons over for dinner. She, the author, was their only beloved child.
After prep school, she’d earned two creative writing degrees (Iowa plus an Ivy). Her first book was being heralded by editors and reviewers all over the country, many of whom had watched her grow up. It was a phenomenon even before it hit bookshelves. She was an immediate star.
When (again) an audience member, clearly an undergrad, rose to ask this glamorous writer to what she attributed her success, the woman paused, then said that she had worked very, very hard and she’d had some good training, but she thought in looking back it was her decision never to have children that had allowed her to become a true artist. If you have kids, she explained to the group of desperate nubile writers, you have to choose between them and your writing. Keep it pure. Don’t let yourself be distracted by a baby’s cry.
I was dumbfounded. I wanted to leap to my feet and shout. “Hello? Alice Munro! Doris Lessing! Joan Didion!” Of course, there are thousands of other extraordinary writers who managed to produce art despite motherhood. But the essential point was that, the quality of her book notwithstanding, this author’s chief advantage had nothing to do with her reproductive decisions. It was about connections. Straight up. She’d had them since birth.
In my opinion, we do an enormous “let them eat cake” disservice to our community when we obfuscate the circumstances that help us write, publish and in some way succeed. I can’t claim the wealth of the first author (not even close); nor do I have the connections of the second. I don’t have their fame either. But I do have a huge advantage over the writer who is living paycheck to paycheck, or lonely and isolated, or dealing with a medical condition, or working a full-time job.
How can I be so sure? Because I used to be poor, overworked and overwhelmed. And I produced zero books during that time. Throughout my 20s, I was married to an addict who tried valiantly (but failed, over and over) to stay straight. We had three children, one with autism, and lived in poverty for a long, wretched time. In my 30s I divorced the man because it was the only way out of constant crisis. For the next 10 years, I worked two jobs and raised my three kids alone, without child support or the involvement of their dad.
I published my first novel at 39, but only after a teaching stint where I met some influential writers and three months living with my parents while I completed the first draft. After turning in that manuscript, I landed a pretty cushy magazine editor’s job. A year later, I met my second husband. For the first time I had a true partner, someone I could rely on who was there in every way for me and our kids. Life got easier. I produced a nonfiction book, a second novel and about 30 essays within a relatively short time.
Today, I am essentially “sponsored” by this very loving man who shows up at the end of the day, asks me how the writing went, pours me a glass of wine, then takes me out to eat. He accompanies me when I travel 500 miles to do a 75-minute reading, manages my finances, and never complains that my dark, heady little books have resulted in low advances and rather modest sales.
I completed my third novel in eight months flat. I started the book while on a lovely vacation. Then I wrote happily and relatively quickly because I had the time and the funding, as well as help from my husband, my agent and a very talented editor friend. Without all those advantages, I might be on page 52. OK, there’s mine. Now show me yours.
—
Ann Bauer, ““Sponsored” by my husband: Why it’s a problem that writers never talk about where their money comes from”, http://www.salon.com/2015/01/25/sponsored_by_my_husband_why_its_a_problem_that_writers_never_talk_about_where_their_money_comes_from/ (via angrygirlcomics)
This applies to comics too.
(via d-pi)
Saving this for when I get the “How can you ever think you’ll be a writer when you never make time to write?” line from my parents. It’s difficult to write freely when you have to write, study, read, and drive a long distance for school as a full-time, and working 25+ hours to support said school.
character development
nope that would be called successful female socialisation in a patriarchal society
Please do not use feminism to shame my interests.
I like pink and dresses and art and music and fashion. I also like blue and sports and comics and I choose not to wear makeup and have had short hair for the past five years. I am a person with feminine and masculine interests. I have not been socialized to be more feminine, I have adopted new interest, grown as a person and learned to embrace both my feminine and my masculine sides.
If you want to do a feminist reading on this silly ass comic about how I’ve changed over the past decade maybe you should look at why I actively avoided things typically viewed as “feminine”.
You’re not helping feminism by making me feel like I don’t have control over myself. You’re not helping feminism by shaming girls who consider themselves more feminine than masculine.
Thank you and goodbye.
^^^^
AMEN ^^
#it is also the ‘i have a live laugh love decoration somewhere in my house’#’i have a child named caedyn’#Wall decals about bible verses will class up any kitchen #You should come to my Thirty-One party
I can’t stop. There are too many:
#I’m the best mom on this field trip and everyone knows it #Have you read Eat, Pray, Love? #Let’s get lattes after Zumba! #Gluten causes Autism #I will have him pulled out of your class #Oh shoot, I forgot I volunteered to bring brownies to faith group tonight #We don’t let him watch more than one hour of TV a day #Stick figure family window sticker #(whispers behind hand) you’ve got to read 50 Shades of Grey
Forgive me. I am a mother, and I walk among these women every day. I have adopted their ways as a form of camouflage.
dying
ITS BACK AND IT GOT BETTER
MINI VAN ARMY
“On my way to Kaytlyn’s dance class, getting Sbux.”
“Can I get a venti-skinny-PSL-breve-extra-shot-extra-hot-NO-FOAM-extra-caramel. And a vanilla bean frapp-eh for Kaytlyn– THAT’S NOT HOW YOU SPELL HER NAME!!!”
(Source: tibets)
Changing my gender to one of the oceans.
Just call me transatlantic uwu.
I’m literally genderfluid.
I find your reasoning shallow.
yet again, I strongly identify with Kirby
Tried to get her talking on video but of course by the time I’d got it working she’d stopped!
Also excuse the poor quality, there’s hardly any light in the front garden.
Oh my goodness she’s a beautiful creature!!
The Random Darknet Shopper, an automated online shopping bot with a budget of $100 a week in Bitcoin, is programmed to do a very specific task: go to one particular marketplace on the Deep Web and make one random purchase a week with the provided allowance. The purchases have all been compiled for an art show in Zurich, Switzerland titled The Darknet: From Memes to Onionland, which runs through January 11.
The concept would be all gravy if not for one thing: the programmers came home one day to find a shipment of 10 ecstasy pills, followed by an apparently very legit falsified Hungarian passport– developments which have left some observers of the bot’s blog a little uneasy.
If this bot was shipping to the U.S., asks Forbes contributor and University of Washington law professor contributor Ryan Calo, who would be legally responsible for purchasing the goodies? The coders? Or the bot itself?
ROBOTS ARE STARTING TO BREAK THE LAW AND NOBODY KNOWS WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT - Fusion
I am still laughing about this.
Where art isn’t quite crime, crime not quite art.
Such algorithmic flagrancy