So, I finally got off my big, pregnant butt and finished putting together the Wyrd discord server I kept meaning to. If anyone is looking for a small hub of fellow Wyrdos to roleplay with, lurk alongside, or get to know then please feel free to join!
I have limited internet capabilities in the coming weeks due to... being due. However, the other Wyrd roleplayers I know are wonderful people and I am sure there are more out there!
I cannot be on ESO much at all these days, but I can poke away at Baldur's Gate (for the fiftieth time in my life) on a tablet now!
This play through; it's Mr. Smol Knight with some good good stats. It only took me, like, 10 minutes to roll a 98 this time around!
Today marks the Armistice centenary of the First World War. It has been 100 years of a memory that once loomed o'er us, only to dwindle in recent years as the historical barriers have risen - some due to the mere nature of mortality, others as forgetfulness and cycles of ideologies turn.
Perhaps, in a way, this is partly due to how we remember the World Wars. In Canada, every child can rehearse In Flanders Fields to you. We think of the morals of nations, and the sacrifices of the incomprehensible many. And while some of us hold lost family and personal sacrifices dear, it can be hard to imagine at times.
In recent years, I have always thoughts of a letter series I had to transcribe while working in a war museum. It came in two old shoe boxes, just over 200 letters in total between a husband and wife. She wrote of their two daughters, of visiting her sister in Eastern Canada, and the washing machine breaking - but she managed to sort it out herself. He wrote of training, of men from the town sticking together - and then being split up, he wrote of France, and he wrote of nights where "the stars were blotted out by the flashes of gunfire and smoke".
I remember his letters beginning on a familiar note many times: "My Darling, I write you a line to tell you I am well..."
"My Darling, I write you a line to tell you I am safe..."
"My Darling, I write you a line to tell you I am alive..."
I remember the last letter in the series. It was the only letter that was crumpled and ripped, yet rigid in its crease from sitting unopened for so long - unlike the others. It was from a heart-broken father-in-law, begging this wife to let him keep his son's pocketwatch. He had given it to his son the last time he was on leave in London, the last time he saw him.
It was the only salvageable item left of him.
I sat there and cried for some time. It was, by and far, the most tangible moment of sacrifice I had ever borne witness to. In the years since, I think back to those letters and the simplicity of their contents. There was nothing grandiose about them. Rather, there was a sincerity and love. I still recall he wrote in purple crayon a few times, for it was all he could find. But it has always been the most important example of the consequences we face with war.
"Patriotism is the exact opposite of nationalism. Nationalism is a betrayal of patriotism. In saying ‘our interests first, whatever happens to the others,’ you erase the most precious thing a nation can have, that which makes it live, that which causes it to be great and that which is most important: its moral values ...
Old demons are resurfacing. History sometimes threatens to take its tragic course again and compromise our hope of peace. Let us vow to prioritise peace over everything.”
- Emmanuel Macron's Opening Address
This year is the 200th anniversary of Frankenstein! In honour of this splendid bicentennial, the Keats-Shelley Foundation have been churning the gears of an international event-series: Frankenreads.
I've already been to a few events myself, and they have been wonderful fun! They are putting on an international read-a-thon for Halloween as well. If you're interested at all, or want to see if there are events in your area then be sure to check it out! If anyone wants to nerd out about it, feel free to get in touch. I'll be re-reading this delightfully dreadful novel for Halloween
Mary Shelley is a woman who truly changed how I viewed literature - both of others and my own - through her works and her life. So Happy Birthday to a pinnacle of rebellious women anywhere.
"We talked of what was beyond the tomb; and, man in his human shape being nearly extinct, we felt with certainty of faith, that other spirits, other minds, other perceptive beings, sightless to us, must people with thought and love this beauteous and imperishable universe."
*sit down and try to write*
*get a few sentences in*
*have a crisis*
*get lost on pinterest*
*write a few more sentences*
"This is the best thing I've ever written!"
*get lost on spotify playlists*
*write a bit more*
"This is the worst thing I've ever written!"
*have another crisis*
*plant head against desk*