Rose Writes Prose

Y E S

🎵Dear Council, what a charming gala

(Y/N) was, in a word, sublime.

You were hardly bereft when Heimerdinger left.

On that note:

Remember to be humble while you bumble, and that idea theft is crime.

🎵 Jayce Talis, just a brief reminder,

My salary has not been paid

Send it care of the ghost, by return of post, 

Machine Herald!

Which Hairshirt is Best? Our Experts Weigh In.

Wow! You Won't Believe This Man's Incredible Penitential Routine

Turn those old pilgrimage badges into a cute craft!

Dry Lent Doesn't Have to Be Dull: 11 Tasty Vegan Treats

And yes, on some levels, being able to prioritize theoretical or moral good above personal wants is extremely important. It's important to save some food for winter instead of eating it all now, or to let someone else have something you like because they need it more.

But asceticism often ends up not being about the theoretical good your self-denial will achieve, but about the self-denial being good in itself. It is more moral to eat a restricted diet than a permissive one.

I was taught that exercise has to be painful, and so it always was for me. I've been trying to teach myself how to ask things of my body without punishing it.

Gym teachers always said, "Keep up that stretch until you can really feel it," so I always pulled on my arms and legs until my muscles started to screech and contract in horror, and I'd finish a "warmup stretch" tenser than I began it.

We were told, "No pain, no gain," and taught how the right amount of exercise creates tiny tears in your muscles and aches the next day, but that's how your muscles grow stronger. I wanted to be good and strong and moral and get an A in gym, so I had a specific bush I'd hide behind during cross-country runs to cry.

It was halfway through the 2km route. I'd drop to the ground and massage a knee that felt like it was on fire, calf and hip muscles that were solid as rock and tender to the touch. I used that bush because if I stopped out in the open, the gym teacher would come back from her 7k run and tell me to get up and keep going when I was still in agony. She would dismiss the gym class early on those days, but only if everyone was in from their runs, so before I turned the last corner I stopped to wipe the tears and snot off my face, so I could face the stares of a gym full of people who'd been irritatedly waiting for me for the last 20 minutes.

I thought I'd done so good, even if I didn't get the results I wanted. I'd had the right attitude.

I've had to teach myself how to adjust every exercise I do around the abnormalities in my skeleton. To recognize which parts of my everyday pain are unusual and medically worrying, and to figure out when I might be damaging my joints or overstressing my immune system. To relax inside of a yoga pose instead of straining every muscle in my body towards it. To stretch within my body's limitations instead of beyond them. To pace myself in my exercise, understanding that "110% effort" isn't a reasonable expectation, especially not when you're disabled.

And also

There's an element of asceticism that disdains vanity, pride, and avarice. Of classic discourses about women that say the worst thing you can be is a vain, silly, coquettish, capricious, demanding, greedy, decorative, useless, dependent, attention-seeking trollop. Church fathers and radical feminism both agree: Whatever you do, don't be like her.

So what I learned was to be the opposite of that. Don't ever want to be pretty or try for it; accept that people will judge you on your looks and find you wanting. Don't ever want to be liked or respected; don't be angry when people treat you badly; don't ever demand things of other people for something so selfish as your little ego. Don't chase after boys or think you'll ever be able to expect one to take care of you emotionally.

I tried to live by those rules, and for my pains, I got... royally fucked up in ways that are still affecting me 20 years later.

So I've been trying to navigate a world that wants to tell me, every time I turn around, how good and right and healthy it is to deny myself things. Building elevators chide me for not taking the stairs. Financial advisors admonish me to give up the $5 latte I apparently drink every day. Billboards tell me how happy I'd be if I gave up every food except some new juice cleanse. "Pain management" clinics insist I'd be in less pain if I learned to embrace it.

Diverse Tolkien Week day one:

The movie is captivating, but the book is twenty kinds of terrifying, even now, ten years after I first read it. As disturbing as the movie may have been to some, the things Selick added really serve to cushion just how horrific the story really is.

First of all, the character of Wybie does not exist in the book. Coraline is facing all of this nearly alone, with her only help coming from the sly comments of the cat, a warning from the circus mice, and the stone given to her by her neighbor, presented with no comment but that it “makes the unseen seen.”

Second, the Other Parents are never quite as warm (and, dare I say, normal) as they are in the gifs above. They’re described as having paper-white skin and the Other Mother’s hair is said to move on its own, and her long, red, claw-like nails don’t ease any uncertainty that she is absolutely, positively up to no good. The first time Coraline meets them, they (and the rest of the Others) seem to be playing roles (for whatever reason, Coraline does not seem to pick up on this), like they all know what to say and what to do and are simply waiting for Coraline to make her move in their terrifying play world. This is shown to be partly true when the Other Parents tell her they know she’ll be back soon after she refuses the buttons - this time, to stay.

Third, the Other Mother commits atrocities that really should not have been in a book for anyone not fully grown up. She physically deforms the world around Coraline to slow her progress in their game beyond any mild traps the movie portrays, and, instead of turning the Other Father into the wandering pumpkin-thing seen in the film, she simply ceases to use him and throws his body away in the cellar, leaving him to rot with whatever bit of sentience he has left. She begins to lose her touch, as Coraline gains the upper hand. Her world doesn’t just become a nightmare - it falls apart completely. No creepy but oddly cool bug furniture here, just the house that now appears to be a child’s drawing. Whatever the Other Mother is (a beldame, but something tells me she’s much more ancient and powerful than that), she does not give half a hump about what she has to do to ensnare Coraline. Destroy the supporting characters of her twisted creation? Done. Allow herself to be dismembered to ruin Coraline’s life in the normal world? Not even gonna bat an eyelash.

On a final, personal note, imagine eight year-old me, ignored by my parents, absorbed in the story and identifying with Coraline from the start. Imagine me finishing this bloodcurdling book and immediately thinking of my basement, where there is still a locked door that my grandmother swears up and down is nothing more than a storage room, but has not once in my (or my mother’s) lifetime unlocked.

A decade later, at the Opening Night of the Coraline musical, I was sitting next to Morgan, Merilee’s youngest daughter, and told her how her not being scared had made the book happen. And she said “I was terrified. But I needed to find out what happened next. So nobody knew.”

I recently got a copy of Gustav Holst’s The Planets, and felt compelled to do a set of compositions based on each movement. The music for Jupiter especially always makes me Feel Some Kind Of Way, but I really love the whole suite!

Kind of played with anthropomorphising the appearance of the actual planets as well as capturing the mood of each movement. And had fun with researching historical costume here and there, of course.

ISFJ: Cleric (Probably good but has just enough potential to become a super-villain too, undoubtedly interested in health, even if it’s more on the necromancy side. Whatever their moral alignment, they see in black and white.) 

ESFJ: Monk (Traditional fighting with a little bit of religion and very detailed backstories? Sign them up!)

ENFP, ISFP, ESFP: Bard (Whether they be drawn to lutes or bucket drums previously holding leeches, they know they’re talented in the entertainment industry. Now hopefully they can sing better than a leech, because you’ll be hearing a lot of their voice.)

INFP, INFJ: Druid (Morals and fluffy animals? That sounds like a nat. 20 to me.)

ENFJ: Paladin  (Yes, not all ENFJs are knights in shining armor, but let’s pretend for a moment that they are. They are known far and wide for their courage and chivalry. I’m sure they’re more than a few bards’ muse.  Their oaths flood their veins, don’t make them break their bond.)

INTP: Ex-wizard, has since retired and become a bard. (What can I say? They may be famous for their strange brain but they’d rather tell bad jokes and befriend goblin kings.) Most likely to multi-class. 

ENTP: Rogue (C’mon, did you think I would say that they aren’t going to try to steal your stuff? I bet they have a pet wyvern working for them too.)

INTJ, ESTJ: Warlock (Probably the most powerful of the group, or at least, they will be, or at the very least, they think they are. Unlike the wizard, they put a lot of effort into being smart. Knowledge and control is the name of the game, afterall.)

ENTJ: Fighter (Picture a romanesque gladiator. Bloodshed, passion, and a balanced mix of book and street smarts, they’re some of the most formidable opponents without magic. They’re jack-of-all-trades yet specialize too, making them the natural choice for leadership.)

ISTJ: Ranger (They don’t necessarily have to play with the party and they get to think the most about strategic placement. It’s fancy chess as far as they’re concerned.)

ESTP: Barbarian (Enough said. Extended edition: they may use brute force but they do it so the ones they love don’t have to.)

au where spencer is a feared vampire hunter & the volturi’s biggest threat

Noldor, Teleri, and Sindar elves