Corgi’s may become endangered. commense rioting in the streets.
The thing that irritates me about this quote is it sounds as if someone just took off to sea alone and is like, “How hard can this shit be? Illiterate morons in the 1800’s used to do this asshat-ery!”
It’s just such an idiotic quote and I don’t like it. No one says, “I’m not afraid of going to the moon, for I’m still learning that I don’t know shit about rocket science.” It’s the same goddamn thing.“When Jo’s conservative sister Meg says she must turn up her hair now that she is a “young lady,” Jo shouts, “I’m not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it in two tails till I’m twenty…. I hate to think I’ve got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China aster! It’s bad enough to be a girl anyway, when I like boys’ games and work and manners! I can’t get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it’s worse than ever now, for I’m dying to go and fight with Papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman.”
― Louisa May Alcott, Little WomenLittle Women is a beautiful book. It always makes me think of how special my sister is to me.
Sisters are the best in the world. But mostly my sister.
Government, Monty Python Style
Still brilliantly funny all these years later.
whenever i find monty python casually just on my dashboard i just blinka few times and then get super fucking excited because i don’t see them as much as i’d like to on tumblr
i’ve been waiting for this gifset my whole life
Ah, this never gets old.
"I’m in a bit of an introspective mood, because one of Ireland’s greatest poets died today. His name was Seamus Heaney."
"Do you have a favorite poem by him?"
by Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
"If you want to learn about life, watch old films from the 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s. Those will teach you to have style and class."
"I think a lot of people confuse service with servitude. I’ll bring you food, I’ll pour you drinks, I’ll make sure you have a good experience. But I’m not your bitch."
My attempt to write my novel today …
WHEN I FINALLY SIT DOWN TO WRITE A STORY
How to Survive the Internet during AWP when you’re not at AWP
think about cats in space
I am so sad I missed AWP!
When I tell people I work in publishing
At first they’re like:
and when they find out I’m in academic publishing they’re like:
(submission from BeccaTheWiz, thanks!)
This is so true!