JayWrites

Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.

If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.

Are you with me?

(Read on our blog)

Beginning in 1933, the Nazis burned books to erase the ideas they feared—works of literature, politics, philosophy, criticism; works by Jewish and leftist authors, and research from the Institute for Sexual Science, which documented and affirmed queer and trans identities.

(Nazis collect "anti-German" books to be destroyed at a Berlin book-burning on May 10, 1933 (Source)

Stories tell truths.

These weren’t just books; they were lifelines.

Writing by, for, and about marginalized people isn’t just about representation, but survival. Writing has always been an incredibly powerful tool—perhaps the most resilient form of resistance, as fascism seeks to disconnect people from knowledge, empathy, history, and finally each other. Empathy is one of the most valuable resources we have, and in the darkest times writers armed with nothing but words have exposed injustice, changed culture, and kept their communities connected.

(A Nazi student and a member of the SA raid the Institute for Sexual Science's library in Berlin, May 6, 1933. Source)

Less than two weeks after the US presidential inauguration, the nightmare of Project 2025 is starting to unfold. What these proposals will mean for creative freedom and freedom of expression is uncertain, but the intent is clear. A chilling effect on subjects that writers engage with every day—queer narratives, racial justice, and critiques of power—is already manifest. The places where these works are published and shared may soon face increased pressure, censorship, and legal jeopardy.

And with speed-run fascism comes a rising tide of misinformation and hostility. The tech giants that facilitate writing, sharing, publishing, and communication—Google, Microsoft, Amazon, the-hellscape-formerly-known-as-Twitter, Facebook, TikTok—have folded like paper in a light breeze. OpenAI, embroiled in lawsuits for training its models on stolen works, is now positioned as the AI of choice for the administration, bolstered by a $500 billion investment. And privacy-focused companies are showing a newfound willingness to align with a polarizing administration, chilling news for writers who rely on digital privacy to protect their work and sources; even their personal safety.

Where does that leave writers?

Writing communities have always been a creative refuge, but they’re more than that now—they are a means of continuity. The information landscape is shifting rapidly, so staying informed on legal and political developments will be essential for protecting creative freedom and pushing back against censorship wherever possible. Direct your energy to the communities that need it, stay connected, check in on each other—and keep backup spaces in case platforms become unsafe.

We can’t stress this enough—support tools and platforms that prioritize creative freedom. The systems we rely on are being rewritten in real time, and the future of writing spaces depends on what we build now. We at Ellipsus will continue working to provide space for our community—one that protects and facilitates creative expression, not undermines it.

Above all—keep writing.

Keep imagining, keep documenting, keep sharing—keep connecting. Suppression thrives on silence, but words have survived every attempt at erasure.

Hi!! From this ask meme

5: things you didn't say at all

Some pre-relationship pinning

"This suit is too tight," Sam griped as he turned in the mirror again to examine the way the material pulled across the back of his thighs.

Bucky didn't think this was an issue, but he understood why Sam took offense to the fit. He'd learned over the past year that Sam was something of a man of taste and he liked to look a certain way. Bucky, on the other hand, thought Sam looked good in damn well everything.

"We don't exactly have time to go find a new one," Bucky pointed out drily. Because he couldn't actually say any of that. He wasn't allowed to and he was too chickenshit to do it anyway. He heaved himself off of the couch and came over to Sam. He took Sam's hand in his and gently did up the cufflink he was struggling with. "The sooner you get this taken care of, the sooner you can take it back off."

"Don't sound so eager, Barnes," Sam teased. There was still something of an irritated edge to his voice but he looked up at Bucky and his eyes weren't so tight. Bucky wanted to brush away the lingering stress line at the corner of his eye.

"Everything is going to be fine," Bucky repeated for the umpteenth time. He tilted Sam's face up with two fingers and reached over his shoulders to smooth, first, the collar of his suit coat, then the lapels. Sam shivered and Bucky made a note to hand him a jacket when he walked out the door. "You're Sam fucking Wilson. You're gonna go out there, charm every one of those bureaucratic assholes, then we'll go out for ramen after. I'll pay for that ginormous bowl you like."

Sam snorted softly and rolled his eyes. "Why aren't you going again?" he asked, fiddling with the hem of Bucky's t-shirt. They were so close, Bucky almost felt like he should stop breathing.

"I'm on the shitlist again," he reminded Sam. "The whole ferrying statuses and reports to Wakanda instead of the government."

"Right, right," Sam agreed, like he'd actually forgotten that. Like some of his intel wasn't what Bucky had been passing on. He let go of Bucky's shirt and looked up at him.

They were very close.