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@hazelscribbles
Meet the CEO of the forest! I call him Jonathan

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hey I donât think Iâve ever talked here about corn wolves. here let me find a gas station real quick
okay so Iâm in the middle of nowhere stopped for gas in a small town in Iowa rn and my Internet is REALLY spotty so I hope this posts but
as people who have followed this blog for longer might know, sometimes I go hang out with this corn genetics lab at school, as in we meet up on friday nights to talk about corn science and stuff. once the corn genetics subject of the week is covered sometimes we go off track and start talking about other stuff. as u may imagine from a corn genetics lab, most of the members grew up on farms here in the midwest, and one night we were talking and a couple of the people started discussing an urban legend that they were taught as kids to keep them from running into their familyâs cornfields and getting lost. one of those people was from Nebraska, and the other from rural minnisoda- these were isolated incidents of this urban legend happening, and all of us were deeply engrossed in this. i cannot make this shit up, this is the story:
there are wolves that live inside the corn when itâs full grown. theyâre huge, and are camouflaged to hide in the fields. their breathing sounds like the misting of the irrigation systems set up over the corn in these areas for water. if they see small children in the fields, they kill and eat them.
now Iâve lived my whole life in suburban Iowa, and I can vouch that we donât have irrigation systems like that here; our group came to the conclusion that this must be the reason that from our 7 or 8 person sample size, the corn wolves did not exist in Iowa, the largest producer of corn. Iâve never seen the corn wolves mentioned anywhere else outside that one night with the genetics lab, and it really fascinates me because as a horror/creepypasta person myself, I think itâs a great example of those strange little urban legends that never get written down on paper. the fact that itâs never appeared anywhere else in my life kind of confounds me, because itâs a really cool story. i like to go driving around rural Iowa when Iâm home from college, and i always end up thinking about the corn wolves.
neither of the people believed it as kids btw lol
This is a FANTASTIC piece of Americana and cryptic lore. I propose making them a thing immediately.
Fun geography time. This isnât an unprecedented or unusual piece of folklore, and I think thereâs a notable demographic reason that this lore shows-up in the long-grass prairies of the northern Corn Belt of the U.S. This appears to be a classic telling of âRoggenwolfâ folklore, a variation on the âfeldgeisterâ concept. Roggenwolf - or sometimes, Kornwolf - specifically refers to the German folk belief in a phantom wolf spirit which hides in tall corn fields and stalks children. Roggenwolf is one of the more popular and widely-known of the feldgeister spirits. In German folk culture, Feldgeisters, as is probably obvious from the name, are malevolent spirits which dwell in crops and rural agricultural fields. Feldgeisters are almost always specifically associated with children; that is, they are said to target children for torment and death. They are not really associated with naturally-occurring grasslands or woodlands, but instead are distinctly related to domesticated crops. Sometimes, some rural residents will make small ritualistic offerings during harvest season as a gesture to appease the spirit. The spirit is said to be most active when crops are at their tallest. Other variations of the crop-dwelling feldgeister include an evil pig (Roggensau); a dog that tickles children to death (Kiddelhunde); a witch-like corn-woman who kidnaps children (Roggenmuhme); and a chicken that pecks-out childrenâs eyes (Getreidehahn). I would say that there are two (2!) very good reasons why feldgeister lore shows-up in some micro-regions of the Midwest, while being absent in others. Specifically, both the ethnic heritage and the ecology of a certain part of the Plains/Midwest create good conditions for replicating this European lore in North America People familiar with the cultural geography of the American Midwest are probably well-aware of the strong ethnic Norwegian presence among rural agricultural cultures in the glaciated plains of the Red River Valley of western Minnesota, the northern half of North Dakota, and northeastern Montana. Ecologically, this landscape is glaciated prairies with pothole lakes, and often hosts much more barley than corn. Meanwhile, the Heartland region of rural Illinois and Indiana, though hosting quite a bit of heavy corn industry, isnât too much more ethnically German than other parts of America, and much of the landscape is a mixture of Rust Belt industrial areas in-between the cornfields (so itâs not exactly desolate and creepy). However, there is very strong ethnic German presence in the long-grass prairies southern Minnesota, South Dakota, south-central North Dakota, parts of western Wisconsin, and central Nebraska and Kansas away from the urban areas of Omaha and Kansas City. In most of this land, over 50% of the population has German ancestry. Aside from this cultural composition, this region also lends itself better to creepy, eerie stories because it is more empty and ecologically homogenous than the rest of the Great Lakes and Heartlands; this is the region where crops run uninterrupted for miles and rural dirt-roads run in empty grid networks in every direction. Though the feldgeister concept has a closer association with cornfields in Europe, the long-grass prairies (roughly centered neared Sioux Falls) host 1) heavy German influence, and 2) the most expansive crops in the country. Therefore, the region is probably ripe for a replication of spooky German lore about haunted cornfields.
Source: Me Map 1 â Cultural Micro-Regions of the Heartland and Great Plains: I think that this map might help to visualize where both cornfields and rural lifestyle predominate, opening the door to rural folklore. The two regions here where corn agriculture is predominant are the orange and yellow regions. The orange region, the classic âHeartlandâ, hosts Indiana Hoosier culture and the cornfields of Illinois and Ohio. However, the region is marked by smaller farms and a higher population density, and is not that rural compared to the plains further west; much of this region also hosts larger cities and a lot of Rust Belt industrial zones and dairy farms. The yellow region, however, is both covered in corn and quite rural, where crops can span from horizon to horizon. Thatâs where we would look for German folk culture.
Source: An anonymous hero cartographer whoâs had their work stolen by Pinterest users Map 2 â German Ancestry in the U.S. This might help to visualize the places where predominant corn agriculture overlaps with German ancestry. Note that in much of central Wisconsin and central North Dakota, over 50% of people have German ancestry. But this land isnât really dominated by corn. However, the region roughly from Fargo (on the Minnesota-North Dakota border) to Kansas City is both heavily German and dominated by corn. â Anyway, feldgeister lore is scary. Iâd love to hear more American versions, since a lot of the scholarship on these spooky corn-wolves is based on folk culture in Germany itself, rather than the diaspora in the U.S.
Saw this post about feldgeisterâs going around again, so thought Iâd make a low-effort re-post for anyone interested in âMidwestern gothicâ or how local ecology influences regional folklore.
this an awesome hot take thank you!!Â
and just in time for halloween and the corn harvest, too đ
a little autobiographical piece about the internet
The mightiest power of death is not that it can make people die, but that it can make the people left behind want to stop living.
âMy Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You Sheâs Sorryâ by Fredrik Backman (via desertedcactus)
2013 - 2014 - 2018
rapidly hurtling towards one decade of working on this dumb story

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a funeral
So she sat in the back of her parentsâ car, knees too short to be uncomfortable, twenty-eight and too old for the faith of her grandmother, twenty-eight and too young to live without the faith her grandmother placed in her. She did not look back at the house. She went forward, a piece of her grandmotherâs history firmly in her lap, a piece of her own history receding, then gone in the red glow of the brake lights.
âour teeth and ambitions are baredâ is a zeugma
and itâs a zeugma where one of the words is literal and one is metaphorical which is the BEST KIND
I didnât know about zeugmas until just now! That is so awesome, everybody:Â
zeug¡ma ËzoÍoÉĄmÉ/
noun
a figure of speech in which a word applies to two others in different senses (e.g.,John and his license expired last week ) or to two others of which it semantically suits only one (e.g., with weeping eyes and hearts ).
ISNâT THAT AWESOME??
#in english class in high school my teacher had us write our own zeugmas in class#and one guy came up with âhe fell from her favor⌠and the windowâ#i am forever looking for opportunities to use that one
She dropped her dress and inhibitions at the door.
Whatâs this? My favorite rhetorical device showing up on my dashboard?
IT HAS A NAMEEEE!! OH MY GOD!!!
I LOVE THIIIIIS!!!
One Iâve loved was âon their weekend trip they caught three fish and a coldâ
I love these theyâre like a pun and a metaphor wrapped up into one neat phrase
@jwlzrulezz rhetorical device of the day
She stole my heart and my cat. đ
OH.
crime pulp is full of zeugma and itâs the greatest. âshe was the kind of girl whoâd break your heart, or maybe your arm.â
âTwo men walked into a bar. The third ducked.â is probably not a proper zeugma but the joke leads you to assign one definition of âbarâ to the first part before leading you to conclude that itâs the other type of bar with the context provided by the second part.
That said, my favorite proper zeugma is the Burma-Shave poemÂ
âHe saw a train / and tried to duck it / kicked first the gas / and then the bucket.â
âShe fell for him, and on himâ
literally NOTHING can compare to found family stories like that trope is the actual physical beating heart in my chest. choosing your family, who you want to love and heal with, who you believe in and viciously defend and trust. forming those bonds on your own is SUCH a lovely, compelling narrative that we should NOT sleep on. thanks.
people being interested in my oc
people asking in-depth questions about my oc
It is a small shop; it is just how he remembers and nothing like his memories. He does not recall the tavern down the lane, or the old woman who insists that she knew him when he was smaller than her frail, stooped form. He does not remember the fountain two blocks over, but then again that might be new, and there are so few people left to recall his father that no one remarks upon the resemblance. He has come back here, to the 16th ward, but it is no longer home. It is, however, the opportunity to build something new. He goes back to the foundations. He cleans the house from its basement to its attic; he lets the charms get to know him again, teaches the kitchen not to bang pots and pans when he burns his bacon a little (but says a quick thanks to the watchful saints when he forgets the bacon entirely). He walks the halls and passes his father and mother's room over, but his old room is uncomfortable too, and his sister's room in the bend of the stairwell is too small (too small for his tall frame and too small for the ghosts that it holds, the faint smell of her perfume beneath the dust).
â16th Ward [the last chapter],â - the omen thief

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When the scene isnât turning out like itâs supposed to but at least youâre writing
It is the smell of the trenches that he most remembers; the way the men huddled together, trying and failing to protect the large supply caches that they had smuggled to the front lines and were waiting to deliver to the beleaguered city of Bezonvaux, perched haphazardly in the middle of the vast no man's land. The constant rain of artillery left a reek of char and ichor, and sometimes when Reliance woke in his mansion on St. Mark Square, it took many long moments for the smell to fade away. If it was dark it would take longer; if it was dark he could hear the voices, too, and the shrill whistles of the incoming shells, the distant tolling of the bells that indicated a gas attack or an oncoming wave of paralytic magic. If it was dark he could feel the earth pressing in around him, and he would wake shaking and clawing at the covers of his bed, convinced he was in those man-made graves, surrounded by the living and the dead indiscriminate.
The Omen Thief
There had been so many silences between them; the silences of their early partnership, when he could not imagine using a demon for anything other than its Writ ordained use; the silences that came after, the uncertain clumsiness of trying to decide if she was a tool to be used or something else; the silences in the spaces between action and waiting, where they knew one another as partners, as the one thing that could be counted on in a sea of uncertainty. This silence, however, was the worst. His grief was a physical presence. Her own mourning loomed like a specter.
âAftermath,â The Omen ThiefÂ
Me: *gets story idea*
Me: This is so obvious and clever it practically writes itself!
*later*
Narrator: It did not write itself.
me walking into a cvs at midnight: i need to lift a curse
employee: aisle 5
me: thanks

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in my search for Danâl Webster Supernatural Fiction i found a book about necromancy from 1918, which attests to americansâ obsession with summoning Daniel Webster, and their disappointment at receiving an inferior product
Inscription over the gate to the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven CT. 2016