Citali's Library

Have I mentioned I love libraries?

(a joke. That's a joke. I love libraries. I say this all the time.)

Like, a lot. Unironically. Unconditionally.

SO last summer I volunteered at my city library, and to be not cliché, it wasn't exactly life-changing. But it made me think things.

I worked in the children's section, as opposed to adult or circulation. However, they don't let volunteers sit behind the reference desk and answer questions and sign kids up for summer reading. Whether or not it seems logical, you need a master's in library science for that. I also wasn't shelving books, though I feel like I'd be good at that, being a longtime patron of the children's section (the wisdom of years: that the L-M and M-R shelves are where everything that's worth anything is. Pretty much). What I did was everything else. My fellow four volunteers were almost-not-quite found family; I figure that once you pick up speech patterns from someone, you've become at least a level 2 friend (a joke. That's a joke). There was a performance series where we volunteers would help set up stages for puppet shows and jugglers and science shows, then count the attendees—adults and kids—with little clickers. Memorably, we performed in one of them, as part of an opera, albeit a 30-minute one. We stamped summer reading achievement certificates with the librarians' seal of approval. We lugged boxes of the free books given out for summer reading. Memorably, we spent one afternoon session sanitizing laundry baskets full of baby toys (yes, the ones that little kids put in their mouths. It was fantabulous //s).

But what I spent the most time doing, well... it didn't seem like a very library thing to do. For hours of those afternoons, we voided books, removing them from circulation. Some of them were ripped, drooled on, oil-stained. Some were wholesale ripped from their bindings. But others? They looked like they've been gently used, still usable. Nevertheless, they were treated all the same: their barcodes blacked out, their library labels removed. They were Tetris-ed into circulation carts. And thrown (tossed. Stacked. Fine, placed). Into. Dumpsters (garbage! Trash cans! Or at least, bins).

To be fair: 1) Since they were library property, they were government property. And that means that when they're declared void (and when the library/government has to buy new books) they have to go. Otherwise librarians could void books randomly so that they could keep them. Or sell them. 2) I guess libraries have to toss out things sometime. Some of those voided books were pretty nasty. 3) And some of the books in better (read: spotless, imho) condition were Tetris-ed into boxes, not carts, and taped up and shipped off to libraries elsewhere.

However, those didn't really change the fact that, when I came out of my summer of volunteering, I thought ever-so-slightly less of my library.

But after the summer, I spent an unusual amount of time in other people's libraries: schools, other muni libraries. Whether it was spending time in the school library studying and not touching a page of fiction, or meeting up with classmates in the teen section of their municipal library to work on group projects, or even visiting a library comic-con, it made me think things.

In the world we live in, every bit of government spending is being thrown into question. But libraries, public ones, seem like one of the best and at the same time craziest things you can do. My library isn't huge and urban, and yet I have to stop myself and appreciate what my citizenship gets me. A building with books and computers that you can use for massive blocks of time. Museum passes. Books that have come out mere weeks or even days ago. Wi-fi. Readings. Art. Summer reading. The Oxford English dictionary. An online catalog. A juggler. A Triwizard Tournament.

And that's not even counting what other libraries can do. There are libraries that lend out cake pans and shared seeds and sewing machines. 3D printers and virtual reality headsets. Hosting comic-cons.

My library is limited by the rules of a county system—it can never shut down an entire branch and host a comic-con, for example. But it's also empowered by the thousands of books it can hold in collection and retrieve from different libraries around the area. The catalogue might have been a little clunky. But the fact remains that there are so, so many books I can access with my keystrokes, even months before they're published, without the interlibrary loan. And I might have to disinfect a few baby toys. But for all those two- and three-year-olds who get to have those toys for that time while they're getting read to, sure.

I might have huge, grandiose thoughts-with-a-capital-T about libraries and sharing and whether that playtime and storytime with those disinfected toys will change a life or make a future author want to write. But honestly, even with all the slightly problematic destruction of books or the large quantities of baby saliva, libraries are so, so worth it. And I will be supporting them all the way.

Happy reading,
~Citali

Solarpunk

Hey guys! We're back from a bit of a hiatus. We're announcing a new schedule: we'll try to send out a new post to you all every Thursday (or at least once a week), even to just check in. Hope to see you all a bit more!

Can I talk about science fiction for a bit? Not the Victorian original science fiction mixed with fantasy that is steampunk. Not the robots and distant universes that is classic sci-fi. Not the artificial intelligences and spaceships that is space opera. Not the dictatorships and near futures that is dystopia. But the science fiction that is solar panels and art and rebellion in a beautiful way and in a gritty way that is solarpunk, also known as one of the leading subgenres of optimistic fiction and science fiction. 

I've written a little about solarpunk before. But what exactly is it?

It's a subgenre of sci-fi that's mostly still in ideological stages—unlike other genres who can clearly point to a founding author, the nature of solarpunk is that its inspiration comes from lots of varied authors: Nnedi Okorafor's afrofuturism, Ernest Callenbach's environmental utopia, Alaya Dawn Johnson's Brazilian monarchy, Neal Stephenson's optimistic principle-based sci-fi. A few founding anthologies such as Wings of Renewal and Hieroglyph have been produced, but not much more than that.

Personally, I see solarpunk as an optimistic, aesthetic sci-fi—not built on flat white male characters like Jules Verne's classics, not as dark or pessimistic as The Hunger Games or Divergent, and more technologically advanced and responsible than the classic '50s sci-fi of, say, Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep or the I, Robot works of Isaac Asimov. 

The idea is that it's a futuristic world that we can begin building now: embracing the valuable, diverse current cultures and the complexities of current issues and incorporating that kind of responsibility into mainstream society in a way that's still a reachable standard today. 

What I find most interesting about solarpunk's emergence is that its two founding documents, so to speak, are 1) a series of images of solarpunk fashion and architecture, created by an artist and 2) a political philosophy drafted by a member of Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination. In other words, this genre is built on ideas by people from what others might call the opposite ends of the academic spectrum. 

Members of the solarpunk community now write anthologies; cosplay solarpunk fashion; make art; write fantasy and sci-fi taking place within a solarpunk world; ponder how society today would change in a more ideal solarpunk world; share experimental science that could have futuristic applications; and figure out how we can work today to make our world a little bit more optimistic and a little bit, dare I say, prettier. 

The political side of solarpunk: social justice for everyone. The world today isn't the ideal, and there are things that we can change to make it closer to one. How would whole systems change to ensure the rights of girls, the poor, the disadvantaged, the disenfranchised? How would income work in a world where robots could do the manual labor and where the sun and the wind and possibly some photosynthetic algae could give us endless energy? What about the educational system, charity work, democracy? How could the system be changed to "make scientists heroes again"?

It might seem like fluff or utopia, but solarpunk is the punk-rock response to today's world and today's fiction. In a world where the mainstream is discouraging radical diversity and love, acknowledging problems—and more importantly, their solutions—and living hopefully is the rebellion.

Solarpunk is something that I love because I can stretch it, and because there's more than just writing advice in the community. I want to read a story about a way to build a city without coal or carbon dioxide—then be directed to a link about how people are building it now. I want to read colorful stories about dragons with solar-panel wings and helicopters running on biofuel—in the same universe. I want to see characters who look like me and with backstories like my parents', written by an author who looks like me and my parents. I want to be part of a community where the #solarpunk tag has art and cosplay and photos and exposés and research and writing, whether it's fantasy or sci-fi or could take place in my neighbor's backyard right now without me having a clue. I love solarpunk because it's being built right now, and I'm having a tiny part in that.

Happy reading,
~Citali

Willow Does NaNo

So. November is coming up, and y'all know what that means.

("No, we don't, Willow. Educate us, Willow.")

NaNoWriMo is almost here!

For those of you new to this blog, National Novel Writing Month -- aka NaNoWriMo -- is a project during the month of November in which aspiring writers attempt to churn out 50,000 words within the month. I know. Yikes.

I've done Camp NaNoWriMo before, with word count goals of a meager 15,000 each time, but this is my first actual NaNo. I'm nervous and excited at the same time.

Here's the thing, though: I feel like this experience is going to be very different from my previous attempts.

Why, you ask? Well.

When I did Camp, all I had to motivate/help me were a few enthusiastic cabinmates, my own inspiration, and the ever-wonderful Citali. Amazing as they are, they weren't quite enough to catapult me to success.

This time, it's a fully fledged NaNo, and I'm in a completely different environment. I've changed schools, and the one I currently go to? Has a NaNoWriMo club, Facebook group and all.

That means: twenty-something people my age working on the same project that I am, maybe encountering the same pitfalls, always encouraging and helping each other out.

Aww, yeah. This should be good.

Having a group of people to work with-- one that encompasses more than just Citali (sorry, dear) -- is going to be immensely helpful. Already we're having meetings, discussing how to plot properly and tips and tricks about characterization.

This month, I know that if I falter, if I lose track of where my story's going, I'll have someone to back me up, get me back on track.

I have a good feeling about this.

Happy writing!
~Willow

November NaNoWriMo 2016: The Prologue

It's October which means it's almost November which means several things: it's officially fall, we can get out boots and sweaters and hot chocolate, and of course NaNoWriMo (2016) is coming up! This will be my second year and I am as excited as anything!

Good luck with final NaNo prep to anyone who's a Planner! Happy writing to everyone come November!

Happy writing,
Citali

A Writer's Descent into Intellectual Property

While I usually confine my fangirling to (relatively) normal subjects, I recently discovered something I get a great kick out of looking up: legalistic copyright issues. Okay, I'm only partially saying that for shocker value.

Recently, I've been thinking about my story planned for July Camp NaNoWriMo, and I'm thinking of reviving my last July's idea: a community that's basically one big rooftop garden, built in different levels, the plants and sod and wildflowers sprawling over the rooms in which people live. Last July, the idea was that of a girl who is approached by the fairies of the community (formerly living in secret from the humans of the community) to help them save their certain secret havens within the gardens. And this July, I'm thinking of using the worldbuilding and applying it to a spin-off of the classic story The Secret Garden (by Frances Hodgeson Burnett). All right, now I've said it, I've got to follow through! Writing shall ensue.

However, while fairy tale spin-offs are widely accepted as subjects for writers, how about spin-offs of non-fairy/folk-tale classics? Spin-offs of contemporary stories such as the Harry Potter series are certainly fanfiction, but where on the continuum is a classic story? I've read spin-offs of The Scarlet Pimpernel and The Island of Doctor Moreau, two great classics with great spin-offs: Across A Star-Swept Sea and The Madman's Daughter, respectively. However, would it be different with The Secret Garden? Each story has its own copyright.

Having realized that my big writing stumbling-block is overdeveloping worldbuilding and underdeveloping plot, I, like some of my best writer friends, am turning to fanfiction and spin-offs. Even if you tease out the plot into something different or add a whole new genre, characters, or world, the foundation is there for you to lean on.

Long story short, The Secret Garden is public domain. So is Alice in Wonderland, a story one of my writer friends is basing stories off of and that I looked up incidentally. It's wonderfully (no pun intended) easy to look up whether a story is public domain. However, said writer friend is also writing Peter Pan spin-offs. And that's a whole 'nother story, something that could make a novel plot all on its own.

J. M. Barrie wrote novels featuring Peter Pan. These were popular, so he wrote a play, too. When he died, he made a deal with the Great Ormon Street Hospital (GOSH, an ironic acronym) so that they (a children's hospital) could be supported perpetually by the royalties. But perpetual copyrights are nearly unheard of! The rights technically expired 50 years after Barrie's death, but the UK's prime minister created a bill so that Barrie's wishes of perpetual support for GOSH could continue. But then the EU standardized copyrights, so "perpetuity" changed to 70 more years (so the copyright ended in 2007). By today (2016), the novels and the play are public domain everywhere but the US and Spain. GOSH still has copyright on the play, but the novels are public domain in the US. By 2023, it will be public domain everywhere!

Public domain is an amazing thing I've never fully appreciated more. The fact that someone can take their idea and run with it, using a great author as a role model and a support, really is a wonderful thing. J. M. Barrie, too, was an amazing author whose philanthropy continues to be talked of today! (Right in that paragraph above, folks, for one thing.) His interesting copyright is a fun story on its own.

A more in-depth analysis of the Peter Pan copyright: https://www.plagiarismtoday.com/2015/10/21/peter-pan-and-the-copyright-that-never-grew-up/ 

Happy reading!
~Citali

#SayNoToHYDRACap

It is true what they say:

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Marvel Comics knows this;

after all, it's a classic Spider-Man line, isn't it?

On the other hand, it is also true that

power corrupts, and that

absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Marvel Comics

has just proven that never

has a truer word been spoken.

I write this

Regarding the recent controversy

Surrounding the release of a new comic featuring

Steve Rogers as Captain America

(which, as you might have heard,

he has not been in a while.)

This is all well and good, only...

Plot twist.

According to the writers of this issue--

(Imagine I am reading this out loud.

My voice is heavy with sarcasm.)

--anyway, according to the writers of this issue,

Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America,

is HYDRA. And always has been.

Wow.

First of all, how dare you?

How dare you take something that was

written by Jewish writers to oppose Hitler

(in a time when it was not wise to oppose Hitler)

and say, "oh, yeah, he's been a 

Nazi all along"?

"We've been dropping hints for a while--"

No, you haven't. Please.

Spare me.

Second of all, how dare you?

Captain America, the paragon of freedom,

the very embodiment of America--

not what it is, but what it should be.

Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

How dare you take Steve Rogers

(kind Steve Rogers, humble Steve Rogers,

selfless Steve Rogers, good Steve Rogers)

and turn him into a white supremacist?

Third of all, how dare you?

How, might I ask,

am I going to explain to my little cousin

(she idolizes Cap; who doesn't really?)

how will I explain to her that the hero

she looks up to,

the person she wants to be

 when she grows up,

is a Nazi?

How dare you?

Fourth of all, how dare you?

This travesty is akin to

Bucky Barnes saying that

he consented to brainwashing.

It is like taking MCU T'challa

and forcing him to say that

his father deserved to die,

it is as if Tony Stark

set aside the suit

because,  he says, the world doesn't 

deserve protection.

It is like Natalia Romanova

confessing, a smile on her lips,

that she enjoyed the murder she was forced to commit.

(as if she would ever. no, no, Natasha could never. would never.

likewise: never could Captain America be HYDRA)

It is worse.

This is taking every Holocaust survivor,

and every Holocaust survivor's descendants,

and slapping them.

Telling them that they deserved it.

How dare you?

(This has been, lovely readers, a poem inspired by shock and disbelief and deep, deep rage.)

~Willow

April 2016 Camp NaNoWriMo: The Aftermath

From the peak of a mountain, two travelers look worriedly at the clouds rising to the summit and begin their descent. They've taken their pictures, planted their flag, and seen their sunrise. Now, it's time to go back into the world of mortals.

From the depths of the Underworld, Orpheus picks up his lyre. He's played his best music for Hades, and now the love of his life stands behind him. He plays again as he ascends.

From the depths of an ocean trench, two divers give each other the signal for ascent. They've collected specimens from the Twilight Zone and now must swim back up, quickly enough for their air supply.

From the fantastic state of novel-writing, we're back! Or as back as we can ever be on this mass of *gestures vaguely in the air in front of her* virtual air and cyberspace.

How'd it go, you ask? (Or don't ask, doesn't matter, I'm spilling anyway.)

Citali: I've written more this month than I ever have in a NaNo or a Camp. However, due to my low standards, that means I cleared 10,000 words. More specifically, 11,297, just barely above that. On the downside, I didn't finish the story. In terms of literature, I'm probably at the inciting incident/early rising action, depending on whether you'd count the multiple flashback/backstory bits. And this is probably the least stressful NaNo or Camp I'll do in a while, since July and November will be pretty busy months. I stopped writing around the twentieth because of a busy weekend that coincided with a plot pothole, and, well. On to the positivity flood! If I'd set my goal to the 10,000 words I did for the previous NaNo and Camps, I would have won, and that's making me feel good. I actually made a brainstorming document, though I don't know if it helped. I wrote mostly continuously. I read No Plot? No Problem! and followed mostly along with it (until week 3, when advice started getting less applicable because of my word slump). And lastly and most importantly (I think), I wrote with Willow for the first time (and got thoroughly beaten) and was able to be in a Camp cabin with lots of friends/acquaintances I'd like to get to know better.

Willow: Yeah. This April was actually my first time doing Camp, and I'm glad to say I enjoyed myself immensely. I made friends (!!!) in the Camp cabin, and like Citali said, I want to get to know them. If any of you guys are reading this, hi! *waves* As far as word count goes, I don't think I did too badly: 14,344 words, which while still a good few hundred away from my goal (15,000) isn't half bad. In case you're wondering, I wrote-- or started writing, anyway-- a Star Wars fanfiction-thing*. Don't judge. I can feel you judging. Stop it. *sticks tongue out* Anyhoo, it was a really great experience and I can't wait to do it again this July!

*if anyone's curious, it's a what-if story about Ahsoka Tano after the events of The Clone Wars Season 5 finale.

Happy reading, writing, and Camping!
~Willow and Citali

Just So You Know...

We won't be updating as often this month. Both Citali and I have Camp NaNoWriMo going on right now, so in the rush to get our stories done, we're kinda neglecting the blog. But that doesn't mean we've forgotten about it! Quite the contrary; we've actually got a TON of posts planned for the future. Just... the future after April. :-) Bear with us, please!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a couple thousand words to write.
~Willow

Steampunk Library: Library Series

Citali again with another library! This library is a steampunk vehicle-house! This, I guess, is the first installment... I might add more to the Athenaeum's story later.

Steampunk

She pulled the lever, and the Athenaeum Airship began jolting forwards on its large velocipede wheels. The open windows clattered in their frames and let in a wind that whipped her braids back along with her scarf. Steadfast, nowhere did the pilot's eyes wander until she grabbed the throttle and pulled it farther back, tipping the Airship back on its oversize wheels and setting its batlike wings flapping as the Athenaeum lifted up into the sky. Stepping out of the controls area, the pilot yanked sharply on a bellpull. A horn let out a loud, comical squawk and a boy wearing airship goggles and a mischievous expression popped his head down the skylight. The girl snatched the goggles off his head. "That's where my goggles got to?"

The boy grinned and hopped down from the skylight, bowing a bit. "Isn't that what your little-brother-librarian-sidekick is for?" Turning serious, he continued, "What's our next city? Did you see the trunk of books I managed to get at that antique shop in that last town? A steal! They're really good too; some of them actually aren't falling apart at the bindings."

The pilot-girl rolled her eyes halfheartedly. She might never let her little brother see it, but he really was a good librarian-sidekick. "Yes, we've got to sort out those books you found. Come on, the Airship can fly itself for a few hours, and we must get those books on the shelf before we get to the next town." Turning, she gripped the railing of an old iron spiral staircase and descended to a lower floor. Here, below the deck where she piloted and her brother kept watch over the wings and the steam engine, was the Athenaeum itself: the library. Leather poufs filled the space between half-full bookshelves. The girl opened the window seat between two bookcases and pulled a needle and thread, as well as a bottle of glue, from the repair kit she kept there. As her brother descended into the library with a battered trunk, she opened it to reveal even more stacks of books. "It was a good find," she admitted. "But like all good things, it can always be better if we make it so." He rolled his eyes at her waxing philosophical, but took the glue bottle she offered him and sat down on his own pouf, checking book spines and applying glue.

A steam horn squawked. "Come on, we're almost to the next city." Her brother tumbled the unfinished books into the window seat's storage and scrambled up the spiral stairs behind her. As he climbed to the rooftops to sight the town through the clouds, she pulled down her goggles. Before her, clouds scudded past as she lowered the Airship down into a field. Before she could stop her brother, he'd given an ear-piercing whistle and sounded the squawky horn of the Airship again. Children and adults spilled out of the town buildings towards the airship taking up the town common, holding baskets full of books.

Children tugged at their mothers' skirts as they waited their turn in the "magical house" of the Athenaeum. The girl had thrown open the windows, and shouts of the children running around the commons followed her down the stairs to the Athenaeum floor. As her brother set the last books on the shelves in order, she threw open the doors. "Come one, come all! Visit the Athenaeum Airship, home of books you need! We fly from city to city to bring you from your world to a world far away!"

And as her brother, swarmed by little boys, went over to find some serial novels for his flock (though closely watched by slightly disapproving parents' eyes), the pilot-girl took a basket of books and wandered out onto the common.

"Come one, come all. I'm here, the Athenaeum girl, with books for those who don't want to venture from your world; books that are here, right now."

Happy reading!
~Citali

After

I sense a disturbance in the Force: Spoilers!

Luke gives him a Jedi's funeral, for which he is impossibly grateful. (You don't deserve it, says a voice in his head. It sounds like Palpatine's. He pushes the thought aside.)

No, the important thing right now is: where is he? He's fairly certain he's dead. Wait. If he's dead, how is he thinking? He lets out a huff, then another thought occurs to him. His breathing is... silent. For the first time in twenty-six years, he can exhale without the accompanying whoosh of his suit. Slowly, not daring to believe it, he looks down.

Hands, both flesh. Feet intact. He reaches up, trembling, to touch his head, and feels-- hair? Yes, hair, the roguish curls he last remembers having during the Clone Wars.

Nope. Impossible. He's hallucinating. (You can't hallucinate if you're dead, Ani. This voice sounds like Padme, and it's equally soothing and heartbreaking.)

How is this happening? He was a Sith for close to thirty years; shouldn't he be burning in some Force-forsaken netherworld?

"Always so dramatic, Skywalker."

The voice is not his; he has not heard it in decades. (There is a lump in his throat. It was not there before.) He looks up and there they are, alive and well-- well, not alive, but standing there in front of his eyes is the Council: Mace Windu, the one who spoke to him. Plo Koon. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Depa Billaba. Kit Fisto. Even Piell. Adi Gallia. Saesee Tiin. And standing in the front, green-gold eyes filled with liquid wisdom, Master Yoda.

He does not hesitate before dropping to his knees and prostrating himself in a full kowtow. "My masters," he manages to choke out, "I am so, so sorry." It is an incredibly inadequate apology, he knows. "I... failed you. I failed the Order, I surrendered to the Dark. I have done such horrible, horrible things, and I am so sorry."  Words cannot express his guilt. He hopes they understand that. Even so, he does not dare to raise his eyes from the ground. Cowardly to the end, Skywalker.

"Anakin." This voice (one more familiar to him than any other in the galaxy) is rich with warmth, with kindness. "Anakin, get up."

And oh, if anyone could ever break him, it was Obi-Wan. The sound of his voice shatters Anakin's resolve; suddenly there are hot tears rolling down his face, and Obi-Wan is helping him off the ground and embracing him. (He is sobbing like a youngling now, because this is Obi-Wan, and Force, he has not seen him for so long...)

After a minute or so, Obi-Wan holds him at arm's length and examines him."No, Anakin. You did not fail me."

"Master, I killed you."

At this there is a ripple of amusement in the Force. "Only because I let you, my young friend. Only because I let you."

Anakin smiles through his tears. Typical Obi-Wan. "Where am I, Master?" he asks.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow in an all-too-familiar expression. "I would have thought that was obvious, Anakin. You're dead."

"I know that, Master. But where am I?"

It is Master Windu who replies. "You are one with the Force, young Skywalker."

"Or," supplies Obi-Wan helpfully, "rather colloquially, you are a ghost. A Force ghost, to be precise."

"That doesn't make sense, Master. I was Dark. How am I one with the Force?"

Master Yoda steps forward, and Anakin kneels to face him. "The Chosen One, you were. Jedi you were; Sith you became."

"I know, Master. I am so sorry." He is a rather tongue-tied ghost, it seems, only able to repeat one phrase of apology.

Yoda waves his gimer stick."Know this I do! Interrupt me not!"

Anakin bows his head in acquiescence.

The diminutive master harrumphs, then continues. "In the end, bring balance to the Force, you did. Die a Jedi, you did." He chuckles. "Only thirty years too late were you!"

Anakin winces. "Yes, Master."

"A joke it was, Skywalker. Bear no ill will, do we."

"I am responsible for so much death and destruction, Master. How can you just forgive me?"

"Jedi we are. Hate we do not, young one. At peace be. Your fall, the will of the Force it was."

He rises from his kneeling position and addresses the whole Council. "Thank you, my masters. I do not deserve this... but thank you."

"There is nothing to thank us for, Anakin," replies Obi-Wan. "Now come. Qui-Gon's been waiting for you a very long time. And Anakin?"

"Yeah?"

Obi-Wan smiles. "Welcome home."

FINIS

Hope you enjoyed! *hands you a tissue box*

~Willow

Does loving pens count as a fandom?

Okay, I'll admit it, I don't really think of pens as a fandom. But in the same vein as writers loving concept art or playlists, I really love having fancy tools with which to write. Exhibit A: fountain pens.

I'll also admit that said fancy tools aren't my first choice when I'm working. I write on Google Docs so that I can put comments all over my work and insert said concept art for inspiration. I brainstorm on my phone. But a few years ago, my brilliant cousin, who counts jetpens.com among her favorite stores, gave me a fountain pen and a tube of refills, among other things, for a Christmas present. I don't quite use it on a normal basis, as pink ink isn't the most practical all the time, but I really love it and as something I wouldn't buy for myself, it really is amazing.

The fountain pen I have is the Pilot Petit1, which is a tiny mini pen that's about four inches when it's got its cap on and about five inches when its cap is stuck to the back (in other words, when I'm actually writing). I got pink ink for it and have gone through three cartridges in the couple of years since I got it.  You can see a few pictures of the pen, first capped and then uncapped, with a U.S. quarter for scale.

This here is how the pen looks like when I take it apart. The lid comes off, of course, and you can unscrew the bottom to expose the... nib section? Pure pen? I have no idea how to express the object on the left. Anyway, you can see the nib at the top and then the ink feed in the middle (that's where you hold the pen) and finally the almost empty cartridge (I'm holding out). Isn't it beautiful how you can take things apart and put them together? You can take the cartridge out, too, but then ink drops splatter and you don't want that. I'm being really nerdy, amn't I?

In actuality, I really love this pen, even if I wouldn't have bought it for myself. I've been wasting way too much time on jetpens.com which has much better pictures than I do and has tons of superspecialized data about tons of pens like these! They've also got a blog to let you in on some of their superspecialized secrets of the pen fandom (penners? pen snobs?) I'd definitely recommend this if you have any writer friends you want to give a gift to! They've got a pack of eight for $3.75 each, so you can give them out to all your friends! I just think fountain pens are such a sophisticated and nerdy (at the same time) gift.

Happy writing!
~Citali

P.S. This is a picture from the JetPens website of the set of pens. They're slightly different from mine in that its cap is transparent and not colored, since mine is an earlier edition (hear that pen-snobbery? Someone better stop me before I go too deep into this fandom). I wish I owned all of these; I've just got the pink one for now, with a blue cartridge and a black bottle of ink I'll refill my existing cartridge with. So I'll have a pink pen with black ink (or blue). 

Camp NaNoWriMo (Reprise)

Who'd have thunk it? Well, by the picture you can probably tell... I'm doing Camp again! I can't say I like the logo for Camp as much this year as last April's, but I do like that it has a fountain pen! I recently re-found my own fountain pen, and I've got to say that those and typewriters are about the most writerly (sure that's a word, spellcheck, don't underline it) things in the world! All the better for some inspiration!

To summarize Camp: NaNoWriMo is a project where you write a novel (50,000 words) in a month in November. YWP is a project for anyone under 13 where you write a novel (you chose the word count) in a month in November. Camp NaNoWriMo is a project where you write a novel in a month in April or July with twelve friends in a cabin. This way you get to see your friends' projects and celebrate with them when they reach their goals! Sadly, Camp is only for those 13 and up, though you can unofficially join in and write, of course, anytime! I'm overusing exclamation points!

Anyway, I'm writing a bit of a continuation/remake of the steampunk library I'm writing! I really ended up liking the idea, and I read a lot more steampunk besides The Inventor's Secret after I wrote that, so now I really like the genre and am going to try to devote myself to that! If not, though, I might write a friendship-based realistic flash fiction thing (wow, that sounded weird) just to get words in. I don't really write except for Camp and NaNo, so if I get stuck then I'll just make more projects and keep going so that I'm doing something.

Camp is how I got started with NaNo and it's my third one (second year)! I'd really recommend it to anyone and everyone. Here you go! http://campnanowrimo.org/news/welcome-to-the-camp-nanowrimo-creativity-garden

Happy writing, WriMos!
~Citali

High Fantasy Library: Library Series

A troll meditating on the meaning of life wasn't something you saw every day, even in the city of Elyka. But if any elvin gondolier had poled his boat beneath the rightmost arch of the Twilight Bridge, he'd have seen exactly that. The troll in question had made his home there; most of the gondoliers took their business passengers looking for fast, skillful transport through the middle arch, which was the cleanest and most direct, while they took the tourists looking to admire the mosaic masonry of Elyka through the left arch, where colored glass formed a runic pattern. The troll didn't care for speed: he was part rock, after all. And the ragged trousers he wore with dirty, grey-toned patches showed a disregard for art and beauty probably equal to his love for solitude, hence the camp under the rightmost arch.

Today, he was meditating on the meaning of life as he sat, legs up to his knobbly knees in the grey water, trousers hiked up to mid-thigh, back up against the piers of the bridge. A troll shouldn't think about the meaning of his life, he thought. But while I'm at it... what do I want to do with my life? I have the whole city of Elyka ahead of me to use. A single elvin gondolier poled his boat past the bridge, not going under it into the Twilight canal, as the troll thought. Elves are gondoliers, he thought. Mages are writers. Centaurs are blacksmiths, fae are goldsmiths. But no one thinks of the trolls. I could be anything, if I wanted. 

Like the gondoliers that traveled the tourist routes all day, his thoughts meandered, but always came back to that thought: I could be anything. Not a troll under a bridge, but what? As the sun set, he lumbered up from his spot and waded through the water, which at its deepest was merely knee-high for him, to the banks. Easily stepping out of the water to drip onto the path, he clumped up and through the streets.

Finally he arrived in the center of the city. Gaping down the narrow street at the many lit lanterns, he noticed a tall, tall building with the marks of all trades: fae gilt made lanterns shine even more brightly than normal; elvin gondolas were docked in front of this clearly popular stop. Elyka's famed mosaics made a round stained glass window of a mage holding an orb of light blossom like a star. For this was a mage's building: centaur wrought iron supported a hanging sign over the street reading, "The Library of Elyka."

A centaur holding an iron poker glanced at him curiously as the troll began walking forwards, almost transfixed. Two fae bending over a lantern in the street flitted out of his way. An elf walking down the street with a mug of some hot drink in hand almost dropped his mug at the sight of a troll coming towards him, eyes lifted and seeing the window and only the window.

Two mages at the front door stood in the circle of light cast by a lantern. Though they did not move at the sight of the rocky troll, one said in a surprisingly soft voice, "May we help you?"

"I... am a troll. And I would like to learn to... to... write." Perhaps it was the mage's voice, the only voice directed at specifically him in such a long time. Had he ever been spoken to in Elyka? Directly? His voice seemed soft to him. Soft, not like a troll.

"A library is a mage's place," the other mage quoted. Her eyes seemed like the white glint of stars on the canal: much farther and colder than the lantern light from buildings.

"Who says it cannot be a troll's as well?" the troll found himself saying. It wasn't soft now, but the grating tone he'd always thought he spoke in. The arguing seemed to smooth the lump that was in his throat into something he could work around. Arguing and riddling were a troll's native ground, after all. That was why they lived under bridges, for passers-by had to solve a troll's riddle to get by. That was in the old days, before the cities had grown up and there was more than one bridge to get over a canal. Perhaps what the mages called "rhetoric" was not so much his gift, but he could understand arguing in riddles.

The glint-eyed mage frowned, then smiled. Then she extended an arm and barely trembled as the troll rested his rocky arm as gently as possible on hers.

"You know, mages are not only writers. To write, you must adventure. I lived under a bridge, myself, when I was younger," she said. To the look on his face that must have been skeptical, she flexed her robed arm slightly, surprising him with her strength. "A pen is a weapon of its own, beyond strength," she said, quoting again.

And the people of Elyka's library were pleasantly surprised by the elderly librarian who escorted in a troll to a private table, set a quill before him, and directed him slowly in forming his letters.

Happy reading!
~Citali

Willow's Library

Bonjour! C'est moi, Willow. (Translation: *Adele voice* Hello... it's me...) :-)

You've all probably already seen Citali's wonderful worldbuilding library posts, and I thought I'd just hop on her bandwagon like the unoriginal copycat I am. She's written about libraries in different alternate universes, but I'm going to write a short piece on my school's library, which, honestly, has become my home away from home in these two years. It's cozy and inviting, and the librarian is absolutely brilliant. If you're reading this right now, Ms. N-, this one's for you.

Here we go:

My library is a good-sized room, with several aisles of bookshelves, the books themselves ranging from biographies to graphic novels. I wander through the fiction section, pinpointing my favorite authors with practiced ease. Brightly lit, the library also hosts a set of tables and several computers. These are perpetually occupied by students reading, doing homework, or just chatting. There's a buzz of conversation throughout the room; never is there pin-drop silence. The TAs behind the counter work steadily, checking books in and out. The librarian herself ambles through her domain, stopping to greet students, to recommend books, and, occasionally, to shush an overly noisy group of kids. She'll direct you to books and authors you ask for with a smile and a pointed finger. Always helpful, always polite, and always friendly, Ms. N- is half the reason the library is always crowded. Enthusiastic about books and her job, Ms. N- is always willing to give you book recommendations, discuss books or movies in detail, or even just give you directions to anywhere on campus.

The last few years have been tough for my family. We've gone through a lot, and I've had to deal with it in the one way I know how: bury myself in fiction. Read book after book after book until the future seems a little less bleak. Laughing about jokes in movies, analyzing minor details in my favorite volumes, discussing character development throughout a series-- these things have kept me going. I owe a lot of that to the library. It has given me the opportunity to read, reread, and discuss the books I love. So to my library and everyone in it: thank you.

*Fin*

Okay, so maybe I'm not as good at Citali at this whole "describing libraries" thing, and this got a little more personal than I originally intended it to be. But I really do mean every word. My library means the world to me; I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't there.

Au revoir!
Willow

Snowy Vault: Libraries Series

Hiya from Citali. I'm not so sure how this libraries writing thing will go, but here's my second one. It's a bit longer and different, but... more libraries and writing!

Snowy vault

"Ugh." She finished the energy bar and stood up, immediately feeling the blast of cold, snowy air as she poked her head out of the small rocky crevice that had been protecting her from the cold. "Almost there." Gripping her backpack straps, she tested the slope with her boot before taking each step, struggling to dig her foot first out of the snow, then into it for a grip as she moved the next step. Dig in, lean forwards, dig out. Dig in, lean forwards, dig out. She kept her gaze downwards, focusing on her steps so she would never fall. Never, she promised herself. Suddenly instead of the hard slickness of frozen-together snow, which would give if she pushed hard enough, she felt the hard solidity of metal. Using her boot, she brushed aside more snow to find a metal grate packed with ice. But it was metal nevertheless. Continuing to brush aside snow, she followed the path and was suddenly stunned at a sight she'd never expected to see in the wildest of places: a building of concrete and metal, rising at sharp angles from the soft curves of frozen water. She trudged to the front door and found it open as she brushed fingertips over a sensor. Somehow it had been frozen shut, but by giving it some good old pounding with her boot, the ice broke, shattering into a treacherously clear mound in front of the door. The big step she took over the threshold was hindered by her many layers of clothing, but once inside the blast of warm air felt like a zephyr of life. Shoving with her shoulder, she closed the front door. Now she was safe from the cold, inside this... vault. A counterlike ledge jutting from the wall was the perfect place for her to shed her waterproof gloves in favor of simple, warm wool ones under a round lantern. She hesitated just a bit before shrugging off her heavy backpack, but something about the lamp and the warm air made her feel secure after the day of trekking through treacherous snow. She brushed the snow from her boots and the folds of her jacket, then took the lantern carefully to explore the rest. Later, she realized she hadn't had to, as more lanterns were somehow lit inside. Instead of eerie isolation, the vault was filled with a cozy sense of comfort in solitude as she passed shelves. Unlike the concrete and steel exterior amidst black rocks and white ice, the shelves were full of color; books with spines of bold illustrations and fine embossed words, boxes of documents tabbed in bright plastic. She could imagine someone else here, someone like her, enjoying being alone; but she could also imagine many others here, filling this place with even more warmth and light, sharing in this color.

Happy reading! I'd love feedback or comments.

~Citali

Solarpunk Library: Libraries Series

Hello, it's Citali here, with my first post in the libraries series: a solarpunk library.

Solarpunk

The library had been the first thing the city rebuilt after the apocalypse, by unanimous vote of all the citizens. Standing outside, he always took a moment to look up at the building. Seemingly squeezed onto a street corner, the former apartment building now had its balconies, fire escapes, and even its roof glassed in. Through the colorful stained-glass-like mosaics created by the solar glass, he could see the library already humming with life, even at this time in the morning. Quickly, he locked his bike into one of the colorfully painted racks and entered the library. Inside, he immediately started hunting down his favorite reading nook. Passing an end table with a whimsical sign saying Leave your favorite book, take someone else's as your own, he took a look at a dark blue hardcover with a graceful, cherry-red high heel. With a grin, he took the book, taking one out of his backpack to leave, a silver-and-blue book probably about two inches thick and yet one of the greatest stories he'd ever read. Next to the end table lay a pile of colorful beanbags with a lanternlike stained glass lamp hanging above, casting a warm glow. Letting himself fall onto the beanbags, he put his feet up and opened the new book. A few minutes later, a boy in walked by with an overstuffed backpack and a tiny kitten following at his heels. Pausing at the end table, he thoughtfully flipped open the cover of the book he'd left and scanned a page or two. Deciding to take it, he pulled a thin yellow paperback out of his backpack with difficulty and left it on the table. The boy would have walked on, probably to find an armchair for himself and his comical kitten, but something about the other boy made him pause. "Nice book," he said. The kitten padded up to the beanbag boy and patted his shoe.

Happy reading!

~Citali

Perfect Libraries: Libraries Series

Heya, it's Citali!

If you're a book lover who doesn't love libraries... well. I do believe you have a few issues, though I'll try not to judge. But libraries seem to embody the best of not only a love of books but also, well, everything. Where else is a sanctuary, a meeting hall, a place to receive knowledge for free, a place that's equally fun and interesting by yourself or with a book-loving friend?

Whether you love sci-fi or fantasy, I've always been fascinated by the idea of worldbuilding including libraries. Futuristic libraries? Cozy libraries? Flying island libraries? Underground vault libraries? Robot librarians? Elf librarians? As public buildings, they can embody the entire vibe of whatever world the library belongs to; as a storehouse for knowledge, they can be as open or as secure as you wish.

So I'll be starting a bit of a series, composed of different short stories I've written about libraries of different possible genres. I guess I've talked about me writing on here a bit, but I've never really shared any of it. Hope you enjoy!

Happy reading,
~Citali

Worldbuilding: How I Write

I've been reading fanfiction lately, and often think about wanting to write some of my own... but I realize that a big part of what I love about writing, I can't do if I write fanfiction. What is this part? Worldbuilding. Here's why.

I think that writing is an amazing way to help get amazing ideas out into the world, to change the world that by no means is perfect but also by no means is terrible, that we live in.

Some writers focus on the characters they write: they change the world by breaking stereotypes, by having characters that reflect all of us. They write about tough fairies who are more macho than eighteen-year-old Irish geniuses; monsters who run fast-food restauraunts and sculpture gardens, girls who wear radish earrings. And while breaking stereotypes and making characters who are hilarious, brave, and all-around amazing is a truly powerful way to use writing, there's more than one way to change the world with authorial genius.

When I write, I base my stories on ideas. I've written (or attempted to write) about fairies dancing through interconnected rooftop gardens, young artists defending their solar-glass solarpunk city, girls finding a secret in a library that helps them block the storm that ravages their city. Even if there are no cities with bicentennial storm cycles, even if fairies don't exist, I believe that ideas of rooftop cardens and libraries with power and treetop solar-glass photosynthetic urban-architecture treetop optimistic-future cities... they're all possible. Possible and beautiful and goals that we should reach for. Even if we never can make it to the moon, we'll land amongst the stars.

Wonder -- that's what I want to write and read for. A school for magic, in an ancient castle? A kingdom on the moon while cyborgs and spaceships exist down below on Earth? A girl living among embassies, where next door can be Russian soil or German, and the Iranians have the best beachfront access? A secret steampunk society hiding from the floating cities? One has to be filled with a child's wonder at that. And I hope that we can build worlds and have ideas that continue this wonder and let us have fun while doing so.

P. S. I mostly talked about why I love worldbuilding. However, some of the awesome blogger/authors over at the blog Inkdrops and Raindrops have written an amazing post on worldbuilding you can read here.
P. P. S. Here's an amazing quote by Rase McCray on wonder in writing! This is a large part of my inspiration for this post.

"As readers, artists, creators, and dreamers there's still hope you will be ambassadors for wonder as a narrative force, making it not only a reason why you write, but also a technique for how you write.

Wonder’s haughty sibling, “conflict,” usually gets the acclaim, with many writers insisting that conflict is the essential ingredient to an engaging story. But consider the magical school. Whether Hogwarts or Brakebills, in the city of Ankh-Morpork or on the island of Roke, the magical school is narrative wonder writ large. We chuckle when the Weasley twins sprout beards after cheating the Goblet of Fire’s age line; we long for a Marauder’s Map that can lead us toward butterbeer.... My point is that wonder is the fun stuff, the stuff written because why shouldn't it be written? In fact, wonder often infuses the moments remembered most fondly, regardless of genre—it’s Hazel and Gus drinking champagne at Oranjee.... I write to give readers the wonder I experienced in these scenes."

Read, write, and wonder!

~Citali

Camp NaNoWriMo

I (Citali) mentioned this earlier in my introduction, but while Willow and I both love to write as well as read, I'm actually (without you, sorry, Willow) participating in a writing challenge this month (July)! 

This challenge is known as Camp NaNoWriMo: NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. At Camp, participants sign up, challenging themselves to write a novel in a month. The "novel" is defined by word count: at Camp, participants can set their word goals to anywhere from 10,000 to 1,000,000 words in a month. 

The organization NaNoWriMo hosts three writing events per year: November is the "actual" NaNoWriMo, where the word goals are 50,000 words in a month for everyone. In April and July is Camp, where word goals are set by the "campers" themselves, projects don't have to be novels (poetry, short stories, or nonfiction are all perfectly fine!), and campers get to work as a community in "cabins" where the campers can see each other's current word count progress as well as chat with each other. 

As NaNoWriMo itself says, 

"Throughout the year, National Novel Writing Month welcomes nearly 500,000 writers to start creative projects. They value:

• Diversity. They support writers of all ages and backgrounds, from over 200 countries around the world. 
• Empowerment. Their projects help people learn what they can accomplish when they're determined. 
• Community. They encourage participants to form and sustain creative communities, both on-and off-line."

What's not to love? If you didn't know, several "actually" published books, including one of my favorite series, The Lunar Chronicles (the books Cinder, Scarlet, and Cress), were written during NaNoWriMo, which makes it even more special for me: walking in the footsteps of amazing authors! I got started with NaNo in April at the first Camp session of the year with a (wimpy) word goal of 10,000. I'm doing it again with a "much higher" (ha!) goal of 10,500 words. This time, I'm more than 3,000 words in! (That's a lot for me. Come on, give me some slack here.) I'm terrible at actually starting any projects, or finishing them, as Willow can tell you. NaNo has really helped with that... at least for now. I'd encourage any word lovers to join this! For Camp in April or July, go to campnanowrimo.org. In November, students or kids up to age 18 can join the Young Writers' Project at ywp.nanowrimo.org, or anyone over 13 can use the "actual" NaNo website by going to nanowrimo.org. (yes, I know, extremely subtle plug. Oh well.) 

Happy writing, everyone! 

~Citali