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...for the hell of it.

getting ready for nano
Aug 2 '13

I Just Bought Two Tickets To Only Lovers Left Alive

dearmrhiddleston:

Christchurch Film Festival For The Win!

Except that it’s a whole 16 days away….

May 31 '13
dearmrhiddleston:

@twhiddleston Just so you know…shoulder freckles? Biggest. Turn-on. Ever.
Hot damn Sir.
Hot.
Damn.

dearmrhiddleston:

@twhiddleston Just so you know…shoulder freckles? Biggest. Turn-on. Ever.

Hot damn Sir.

Hot.

Damn.

May 31 '13
dearmrhiddleston:

Okay so first there’s the sweetly intense breathiness that kind of makes you breathe along with him.
Then, there is that collarbone, the lines and hollows that dare you to explore with your fingertips.
And then…there are the freckles…oh god…the freckles.

dearmrhiddleston:

Okay so first there’s the sweetly intense breathiness that kind of makes you breathe along with him.

Then, there is that collarbone, the lines and hollows that dare you to explore with your fingertips.

And then…there are the freckles…oh god…the freckles.

Mar 2 '13
Jan 11 '13
Jan 11 '13
Dec 19 '12
"

My eleventh grade English teacher was a guy named Paul MacAdam. I got a D in the class, and I only got the D because I wrote a paper about Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye over the summer. I was a crap student: I didn’t read; I didn’t participate; I didn’t turn in papers, or when I did, it was embarrassingly obvious I hadn’t read the books. I also skipped class a lot. It was in the morning, and I didn’t think very highly of morning classes.

I actually said that to him once. He took me aside after the bell rang one day and said you’ve been missing a lot of class, and I was like, “Yeah, I don’t think too highly of morning classes.” I was a real peach.

But when I did go to class, I was usually the last person to file into the room. One thing I remember about that class: Mr. MacAdam always held the door open for us until the bell rang. We’d walk in, and he’d greet each of us. He always held the door open until the bell started ringing, and I’d come in last, three seconds before the bell rang, staring at my untied sneakers, stinking of cigarette smoke, and he’d say, “Mr. Green, always a pleasure,” and then he and the class would talk about the book. Say it was Slaughterhouse Five. I hadn’t read it, of course, but they would talk about it, and MacAdam would get to talking about war and the nonlinear nature of time and how Vonnegut had stripped down the language to tell the nakedest of truths.

But the discussion was always so interesting—these big, hot, fun ideas seemed to matter so much. So I read the books. I never read them when I was supposed to read them; I’d read them a week later, after I’d already gotten an F on my reaction paper. But I’d read them. In essence, I was reading great books for fun. MacAdam didn’t know it, of course. He probably still doesn’t know it. But it didn’t matter whether I was worthy of his faith; he kept it. He still held the door open every day for me. He still treated me like I was the smartest kid in the class, still took me seriously on those rare occasions when I’d raise my hand, still listened thoughtfully to me when I’d give him my reading of a passage I could comment upon only because he’d just read it out loud. He believed I was real, that I mattered. I wasn’t yet able to understand that he mattered, but he was okay with that. He just kept holding the door open for me.

"

John Green, excerpt from his 2008 speech at the Alan Conference  (via itscandidlycara)

(via kitteh-neon)

(Source: speciousstuff)

Dec 16 '12
dearmrhiddleston:

oh, but…oh…

dearmrhiddleston:

oh, but…oh…

Dec 15 '12
sauntering-vaguely-downwards:

technically-a-principality:

jiji-is-a-bunny:


anarchivedblog:





using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go ‘oh! i’m a writer!’.





beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.










I said I would do this once and I didn’t.
I think I should start again.


Im going to do this once the new year starts.

challenge considered

This might have to wait until after December. But yeah…why not?

sauntering-vaguely-downwards:

technically-a-principality:

jiji-is-a-bunny:

anarchivedblog:

using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go ‘oh! i’m a writer!’.

beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

I said I would do this once and I didn’t.

I think I should start again.

Im going to do this once the new year starts.

challenge considered

This might have to wait until after December. But yeah…why not?

Dec 14 '12

pagalini:

I’m currently working on my debut novel with an editor, and as such I was asked to do a series of presentations to younger students who were interested in creative writing on things I wish I’d known before I got into the business. 

Hope it’s of use! :)

- willing to send it to those who want a copy