The smell of starting over again.

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"I like the smell of rain."

"Why?"

"Because, it's the smell of starting over again."

And now the weather:

Stuntman by Danakadan

~ Stacy N.

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Why I'm a Feminist.

Note: These are my opinions about what feminism is. I'm not claiming these to be right, in fact, my opinions could be completely wrong. If so, please tell me so I could be willing to learn from it. 

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Picture reads:

Feminist: A person who believes in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.

If you asked me to define feminism, I would say that it’s basic human rights (social, economic, and political) for everyone. Whether you’re a woman, a man, a person who identifies as both male and female, a person who identifies as neither male or female, a person of color, white, lgbtqia+, disabled, able bodied, poor, middle class, rich, old, young, etc.

[But]Discrimination against homosexuals isn't a feminist problem. Yes, it is indeed a feminist problem. There are women and other people who are gay, bi, transgender, etc, and they have to deal with homophobes, misogynists, biphobes, transphobic people, etc.  In fact, any kind of discrimination is a feminist problem, because as this tumblr ask says, the category of women still includes women of color, and gay women, and women with disabilities, and trans women, and poor women, and so forth.

But feminism focuses on women, what about the men? Feminism is also about undoing the harmful effects the patriarchy. It’s about telling men that it’s okay to have emotions, to cry. It’s also about telling them, hey it’s okay to wear “girl” clothes and do “girly” things. Because being feminine does not equate to being weak. It’s also about building more shelters for men who’ve been abused. It’s about protecting those who’ve been raped and laughed at by others (usually men) because they must have wanted it. It’s about tearing down the stereotype that men are sexually hungry beasts, and more. That’s what feminism can do for men.

So all in all, to me feminism is about showing that women are humans and not sexual objects to be ogled at. It’s about letting us have the right to do almost* whatever it is we want with our body, without getting criticized for it. Whether it’s get an abortion, a tattoo, a piercing, cutting our hair short, not shaving, wearing makeup, etc.

Feminism is about being whatever we want, whether it’s masculine or feminine or both or neither.  It’s about choosing whatever we want to do without being criticized for it. Whether you want to be a lawyer who works a lot or a houseparent who loves taking care of kids. To me, feminism helps those who are disabled. And telling them, yes their views do count and that they’re not monsters.

Feminism is about letting people wear makeup, whether it’s because they want to do it for themselves or because they want to do it for other people. It’s about having the right to not shave or to shave because you want to do it.

 Feminism is about showing, hey you’re not weak for being feminine nor are you weak for being masculine either. And any kind of “feminism” which bashes femininity, disabilities, people of color, lgbtqia+ people, men, and/or the poor is not feminism at all.

In general, Feminism is human equality for everyone on all levels.

*I say almost because if it involves any kind of eating disorder, pill overdose, cutting, or self harming in general, then you (or someone you know) should stop and get help immediately. Here are a few hotlines (mainly phone numbers, with a few online hotlines, and emails) that can help you. 

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
Exhale:After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-439-4253
Child Abuse: 1-800-422-4453

UK Helplines:
Samaritans (for any problem): 08457909090 e-mail jo@samaritans.org
Childline (for anyone under 18 with any problem): 08001111
Mind infoline (mental health information): 0300 123 3393 e-mail: info@mind.org.uk
Mind legal advice (for people who need mental-health related legal advice): 0300 466 6463 legal@mind.org.uk
b-eat eating disorder support: 0845 634 14 14 (only open Mon-Fri 10.30am-8.30pm and Saturday 1pm-4.30pm) e-mail: help@b-eat.co.uk
b-eat youthline (for under 25’s with eating disorders): 08456347650 (open Mon-Fri 4.30pm - 8.30pm, Saturday 1pm-4.30pm)
Cruse Bereavement Care: 08444779400 e-mail: helpline@cruse.org.uk
Frank (information and advice on drugs): 0800776600
Drinkline: 0800 9178282
Rape Crisis England & Wales: 0808 802 9999 (open 2 - 2.30pm 7 - 9.30pm) e-mail info@rapecrisis.org.uk
Rape Crisis Scotland: 08088 01 03 02 (every day, 6pm to midnight)

India Self Harm Hotline: 00 08001006614
India Suicide Helpline: 022-27546669
Kids Help Phone (Canada): 1-800-668-6868, Free and available 24/7

Suicide hotlines:
Argentina: 54-0223-493-0430
Australia: 13-11-14
Austria: 01-713-3374
Barbados: 429-9999
Belgium: 106
Botswana: 391-1270
Brazil: 21-233-9191
China: 852-2382-0000
(Hong Kong: 2389-2222)
Costa Rica: 606-253-5439
Croatia: 01-4833-888
Cyprus: 357-77-77-72-67
Czech Republic: 222-580-697, 476-701-908
Denmark: 70-201-201
Egypt: 762-1602
Estonia: 6-558-088
Finland: 040-5032199
France: 01-45-39-4000
Germany: 0800-181-0721
Greece: 1018
Guatemala: 502-234-1239
Holland: 0900-0767
Honduras: 504-237-3623
Hungary: 06-80-820-111
Iceland: 44-0-8457-90-90-90
Ireland: 1800-247-100
Israel: 09-8892333
Italy: 06-705-4444
Japan: 3-5286-9090
Latvia: 6722-2922, 2772-2292
Malaysia: 03-756-8144
(Singapore: 1-800-221-4444)
Mexico: 525-510-2550
Netherlands: 0900-0767
New Zealand: 4-473-9739
New Guinea: 675-326-0011
Nicaragua: 505-268-6171
Norway: 47-815-33-300
Philippines: 02-896-9191
Poland: 52-70-000
Portugal: 239-72-10-10
Russia: 8-20-222-82-10
Serbia: 21-6623-393
Spain: 91-459-00-50
South Africa: 0861-322-322
South Korea: 2-715-8600
Sweden: 031-711-2400
Switzerland: 143
Taiwan: 0800-788-995
Thailand: 02-249-9977
Trinidad and Tobago: 868-645-2800
Ukraine: 0487-327715
Uruguay: 095 73 8483

Online hotlines:
https://www.rainn.org/
https://www.imalive.org/
https://www.safehelpline.org/
http://www.thehotline.org/
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
http://www.crisistextline.org/

And now the weather:
WHY I'M A...FEMINIST *gasp* by Laci Green

~ Stacy N.

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Words in its many different forms

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March madness, full of little sleep and a lot of tests. By now calming down because third term just ended, and fourth term is about to begin at exactly 8:30 am tomorrow. Which gives me some time to write about this month’s TCWT prompt:

“What are your thoughts on reading or writing books in non-novel formats? Are there any you’ve particularly enjoyed?”

If you asked me what non-novel formats that I’ve written in my eighteen year lifetime, I will give you a list. And on that list will contain a variety of items like blog posts, personal essays, short stories, six word stories, poetry, a script, a failed web diary for a character of mine, and more. It’s certainly not everything under the word-filled sun, but it’s enough for you to get that I’m a pretty curious writer who’s willing to try almost anything.

Now if you asked me which non-novel format that I enjoy writing the most, the obvious answer would be short stories. Because the characters just come to me, not bothering to go through the questionnaire process. The time length usually doesn’t take days and weeks for me to sift through. And it’s easier to finish writing than most of my novels. Plus, there isn’t much of a structure to it, like villanelles and sonnets, other than the typical beginning, middle, and end.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t like writing in other non-novel formats, like poetry, personal essays, six word stories, and informal essays*. But after writing a lot of poetry in my literary writing class, it’s becoming a bit tedious. While personal essays are mainly for school and looking good for colleges and scholarships, depriving me of the personal part of the essay.  However, I do admit that six word stories are fun yet hard to write, because I’ve never really been a concise writer. And writing informal essays usually takes me hours to complete. But it’s worth it, after trying to find a way to piece all the little puzzle pieces of my mind together in a more or less clear way.

*When I talk about informal essays, I mean essays that address a certain topic that isn’t my life, and uses first and second person pronouns. An example of informal essays would be the monthly critiques of Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens that I have to do for English.

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Now, let’s move onto reading non-novel formats, because that’s the fun part. Especially if it adds some deeper meaning to the book, history lesson, or television show that I’m currently reading, learning, or watching. Which happens a lot (aka all the time) in English class. In eleventh grade, before my teacher made us read any of the assigned novels, he would make us read short stories and poetry that relate to the time period of that novel. For example, when we were about to start modernism, he made us read one of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories, “Hills Like White Elephants”.

This was a particularly frustrating story to read because the characters are intentionally vague about what they’re talking about. Which fits the title of the story, because they’re talking about the white elephant in the room. So it makes you feel like you’re intruding on something private. And it isn’t until a lot of guessing that you later find out that the white elephant is abortion.

And it was clear from the start that they were talking about a white elephant, because the setting continually mentions the hills as being white. Which ties back to the title, “Hills Like White Elephants”. The setting also ties to how modernism uses setting as a symbol, a lot, especially seen in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (the book we read for that unit).

Now in my senior year of high school, my English teacher is making my class read various essays, to help us understand the books that we were reading. And some dealt with nineteenth century attitudes towards race, which made my stomach churn, threatening to make me vomit at what I was reading. However, this helped me better understand Joseph Conrad’s novella, Heart of Darkness. Other essays talked about Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s novel, Crime and Punishment. And another one was about “The Composition, Publication, and Reception of Our Mutual Friend”, which was by Robert L. Patten.

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(The Boofer Lady is one of the
illustrations found in Our Mutual Friend)

Speaking of Our Mutual Friend, it’s by Charles Dickens. And back in his time, he would publish his books in monthly serials. Which was basically much one literary comic book** put out each month, for so and so months till that whole book was finished. And for Our Mutual Friend, he would publish roughly thirty-two pages each month from May 1864 to November 1865. And each monthly dealt with a variety of subjects from social commentary about the poor to the harmful effects of money. Which Dickens deftly writes about, by using a variety of techniques, like word choice and occasionally going into second person. Easily twisting my emotions and thoughts into this giant tangled web filled with frustration for certain characters and a small hope for others.

**It was more words than illustrations.

Now, I could continue on talking about other kinds of non-novel formats, like how it’s frustrating to read Shakespeare’s plays because of the confusing language. Or how I used to read a lot of graphic novels and manga when I was growing up, particularly Babymouse and Kitchen Princess. Because the pictures were well drawn, food was involved, and it had a good story to it. Or how beautiful some poems are because it’s about the experience, with no special meaning added to it.

But then there would be no ending.  And as L. Frank Baum once said, “Everything has to come to an end, sometime.”

P.S. Don’t forget to check out the other lovely bloggers who are also participating in the blog chain:

6th – http://ch1con.tumblr.com

7th – http://www.kirabudge.weebly.com/

8th – http://irisbloomsblog.wordpress.com/

9th – http://rcubedreadsreviews.blogspot.com/

10th – http://ramblingsofaravis.wordpress.com/

11th – http://arielkalati.blogspot.com/

12th – http://semilegacy.blogspot.com/

13th – http://musingsfromnevillesnavel.wordpress.com/

14th – http://abookishflower.wordpress.com/

15th – https://erinkenobi2893.wordpress.com/

16th – http://theedfiles.blogspot.com/

17th – http://butterfliesoftheimagination.wordpress.com/

18th – http://whileishouldbedoingprecal.weebly.com/

19th – http://jasperlindell.blogspot.com.au/

20th – http://allisonthewriter.wordpress.com/

21st – http://unikkelyfe.wordpress.com/

22nd – http://from-stacy.blogspot.com/ [You’re currently here]

23rd – http://miriamjoywrites.com/

24th – https://introspectioncreative.wordpress.com/

25th – http://nasrielsfanfics.wordpress.com/

26th – http://stayandwatchthestars.wordpress.com/

27th – https://teenscanwritetoo.wordpress.com/ 

[They'll announce the topic for next month’s chain.]

And now the weather:
Clint Eastwood by Electronic Swing Orchestra

~ Stacy N.

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I used to rescue myself from dragons with evil breath, but now I breathe those evil breaths myself.

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Their breath stank up the stale room
Offering no chance of escape
I found escape anyways

In little ways
The light of a flashing alarm
The dripping of a broken fountain
The smell of burnt paper

But that all went away
As I breathed their very stank
Offering no one a chance of escape

And now the weather:
This is My Paradise by Bridgit Mendler

~ Stacy N.

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The day she left, my heart was still in my chest

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The day she left

The dishes were resting in the sink

And my heart was still in my chest

The house was in quiet unrest

And the cat couldn’t sleep a wink

The day she left

The books were still blessed

The clock still guessed

And my heart was still in my chest

The bedroom is in detest

And the dog couldn’t think

The day she left

The bird was still in its nest

The door still pink

And my heart was still in my chest

It was all for the best

Breaking off the link

The day she left

And my heart was still in my chest

And now the weather:

Yêu Xa by Vũ CátTường

~ Stacy N.

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A battle of the heart

As I was looking through my drafts folder, I stumbled upon something that I've written a year ago. Reading through it, I felt the anger, the conflict flowing through this. And it's funny how that anger is gone by now. How one simple event can change all of that.
Your feelings will change. And everything in life is temporary. So try to make the best of it.
Now let's go see what my seventeen year old self was thinking of. With a few edits, of course.

Everything is dark, black, silent.
The only exception being a spotlight that shines down on a long metal tightrope. The ones that you would see in circuses, as people held their breath wondering if the performers were going to make it out whole again.
It is hard to see how high up the tightrope is. But from the vast emptiness that surrounds it, you can perceive that it is dangerously high. And from your spot on the floor, that is nothing but air, you cannot tell how many inches, feet, miles it stretches to and fro. But the only thing that you can tell is that the tightrope is very long indeed.
It’s cold and empty. Bitter words starts to enter your thoughts. Yet, they don’t stay for long, when something almost unusual starts to happen.

~.~.~

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down the confusing th-thump, th-thump, th-thumping of my heartbeat. But it’s hard when everything around me is so… distracting. Another step forward, another deep breath. Glad that I didn’t stumble and fall into this gaping darkness. If it weren’t for this balancing pole, I would have fallen long ago.

Another step and a gasp of surprise, when my body starts to lean towards one side of the gaping darkness. For something was grabbing at my stick. But the funny thing was, in that moment, and that moment only, I felt almost free. For when I was close to plummeting to my death, I felt a delicious amount of evil creep up my spine. It wraps me in its cold, sweet embrace. Whispering in my ears. Encouraging me to do something quite evil for once. To feel smug when someone else starts to suffer. To see the hurt that binds itself to their eyes. As they slowly realize that there truly is a monster found inside of me.

Another gasp, another tug, but this time it was on the other end of the stick. My legs are the air, trying to regain some kind of balance. Only it was hard when I find myself feeling so confined.  Some kind of light washes over me. Begging me, forcing me to continue doing good. To help others freely, even though it knows that I won't receive the same help if I asked for it in return. It asks me to love others just as much as I love myself, even though it knew that some of them did not deserve it. And throughout it all, it yells at me to keep my anger. To hold it all in, and to continue being the "sweet" little angel that I was supposed to be.

Little realizing that I’m actually a volcano, just waiting for the day when it all blows over. And all the people around me are nothing more than glass. Easily broken. Easily cracked. And easily thrown away.

And now the weather:

On Your Porch by The Format

~ Stacy N.

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A day at the park

Ants, big and black, crawl onto the black and white picnic blanket. Birds sing their annoyingly, cheerful songs. Cats dream of lazy things. Dogs bark and play, despite the afternoon heat. Eugene and I read, letting sweat gather onto our backs.
Families with tiresome kids, play their tiresome games in the distance. Guys giggle. Hell whispers that it wants its heat back. I start to wonder about Gaffer Hexam’s death. Jitters start to arise within Eugene.
Kites refuse to lift up and perform their graceful dances. Light, twinkling bells, indicating the ice cream cart’s presence, arrive just in time. Me, me, me’s soon replace them. Nauseousness starts to settle in the pits of my stomach.
Oak trees wither. People burn underneath the afternoon sun. Quietness is nowhere to be found. Red stains the pages of my book. Sadness edges its way to my eyes. The tears disappear as soon as they come.
Uneasiness soon captures Eugene in its terrible grasp. Very gently, he pushes it away and continues on reading. Words are not passed between us.
Xanadus whispers to those that are willing to listen. Yells begin again. Zorbing goes on nearby. 

~.~.~.~.~

This was my second attempt at an ABC story. And an ABC story is peculiar prompt that:

• Must contain exactly 26 sentences. 
• Each sentence must begin with a letter of the alphabet. 
• It must go in order. 
• It has to be a story. 

For example: A dog barks. Bees swim. Cats meow. Deer roam the story. Elephants gather. F... and so on.
It gets harder as you get farther into the story, especially when you try to find words that start with the letter X. But, that's the fun part of it. This prompt really forces you to use your creative juices. And I can now see why, my literary writing teacher decided to give it to my class, on that bright winter morning.

And now the weather:
How We Love by Ingrid Michaelson

~ Stacy N.

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