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Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers. ~ Margaret Atwood

You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars (via bookmania)
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Hank, writing is something you do alone; it’s a profession for introverts who want to tell a story but don’t want to make eye contact while telling it. And on some level, writing is the exact opposite of this. [x]

(Source: chronicallyannoyed, via effyeahnerdfighters)

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fishingboatproceeds:

As you may know, I am suspicious of epiphanies, but I can never quite reject the possibility of lasting epiphany. 

I was thinking about this today while rereading a book by Richard Powers, one of my favorite novelists. Powers was working as a computer programmer in the early 1980s when he saw this August Sander photograph, Young Westerwald Farmers on Their Way to a Dance, 1914. (The dance in question, of course, turned out to be World War I.)

Powers’s first novel, Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance, was published in 1985. Powers said this about encountering the photograph in a 2003 interview with Powers in The Paris Review:

“I had this palpable sense of recognition, this feeling that I was walking into their gaze, and they’d been waiting seventy years for someone to return the gaze. I went up to the photograph and read the caption and had this instant realization that not only were they not on the way to the dance, but that somehow I had been reading about this moment for the last year and a half. Everything I read seemed to converge onto this act of looking, this birth of the twentieth century—the age of total war, the age of the apotheosis of the machine, the age of mechanical reproduction. That was a Saturday. On Monday I went in to my job and gave two weeks notice and started working on Three Farmers.”

fishingboatproceeds: As you may know, I am suspicious of epiphanies, but I can never quite reject the possibility of lasting epiphany.  I was thinking about this today while rereading a book by Richard Powers, one of my favorite novelists. Powers was working as a computer programmer in the early 1980s when he saw this August Sander photograph, Young Westerwald Farmers on Their Way to a Dance, 1914. (The dance in question, of course, turned out to be World War I.) Powers’s first novel, Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance, was published in 1985. Powers said this about encountering the photograph in a 2003 interview with Powers in The Paris Review: “I had this palpable sense of recognition, this feeling that I was walking into their gaze, and they’d been waiting seventy years for someone to return the gaze. I went up to the photograph and read the caption and had this instant realization that not only were they not on the way to the dance, but that somehow I had been reading about this moment for the last year and a half. Everything I read seemed to converge onto this act of looking, this birth of the twentieth century—the age of total war, the age of the apotheosis of the machine, the age of mechanical reproduction. That was a Saturday. On Monday I went in to my job and gave two weeks notice and started working on Three Farmers.”

The feeling of loving her and being loved by her welled up inside him, and he could taste the adrenaline in the back of his throat, and maybe it wasn’t over, and maybe he could feel her hand in his again and hear her loud, brash voice contort itself into a whisper to say I-love-you in the very quick and quiet way that she had always said it. She said I love you as if it were a secret, and an immense one.

An Abundance of Katherines (Green, 2006)

(Source: theewhutnot, via effyeahnerdfighters)

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Nerdfighters: A Twitter Rap Battle

Scarlett (me): I'M A REAL GANGSTA-ASS NERDFIGHTER, YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME. I DOWNLOAD SONGS FROM DFTBA RECORDS IN THE FORM OF MP3s
Susan: I HANG OUT WITH MY HOMIES IN MY FAVORITE LIBRARY. WHEN I'M WITH MY BOY SHAKESPEARE, YOU AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' ON ME
Scarlett: YOU SAY HANGING ON THE INTERNET CAN'T BE NO FUN, BUT I CAN'T GO OUTSIDE 'CAUSE I'M ALLERGIC TO THE SUN
Susan: WEASLEY IS MY KING, AND JO IS MY QUEEN. BUT I TAKE MY LIFE ADVICE FROM THE TWO BROTHERS GREEN
Scarlett: TO TRAVEL WITH THE DOCTOR IS MY ONE TRUE DREAM, WITH SO MUCH NERDY IN ONE PLACE THE STARS ARE SURE TO GLEAM
Susan: I NAMED MY KID STORMAGEDDON, MY BEST FRIEND'S A BABY SHARK. YOU DON'T WANNA MEET MY BRO STREET SWEEPER AFTER DARK
Scarlett: I'LL BE EATING NUTELLA ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT, BITCH DID YOU JUST TRY AND STEAL SOME? YOU DON'T WANT A FIGHT
Susan: I SPEND MOST OF MY DAYS ONLINE TROLLIN' AND TUMBLIN'. AIN'T GOT NO IRL FRIENDS, BUT I SURE AIN'T GRUMBLING
Scarlett: I'M ON THE YOUTUBES, MAKING VIDEOS FOR FUN. IT'S REALLY COOL WHEN PEOPLE WATCH YOU DO THE DUMB
Susan: I GOT A PUPPY NAMED BUBBLES, TINY CHICKENS IN MY BRAIN, AND A LITTLE ELEPHANT... HELL NO I'M NOT INSANE!
Scarlett: I BOUGHT ALL THESE SHARPIES 'CAUSE I'M USING SO MANY AND ON THE TOPIC OF U.S. CURRENCY, DOWN WITH THE PENNY!
Susan: I CONCEDE, SCARLITA, YOU'RE THE ULTIMATE NERD. NOW I GOTTA GO DO HOMEWORK. THURSDAY OUT! WORD.
Scarlett: AWW YEAH THAT'S IT, THIS BATTLE IS WON. I'M GONNA READ LORD OF THE RINGS AND HAVE SOME MIDDLE EARTH FUN. PEACE.
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Harry Potter isn’t real? Oh no! Wait, wait, what do you mean by real? Is this video blog real? Am I real if you can see me and hear me, but only through the internet? Are you real if I can read your comment but I don’t know who you are or what your name is or where you’re from or what you look like or how old you are? I know all of those things about Harry Potter. Maybe Harry Potter’s real and you’re not.

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