Merge from local

.vimwiki_tags

@@ -4,4 +4,25 @@
 !_TAG_PROGRAM_AUTHOR	Vimwiki
 !_TAG_PROGRAM_NAME	Vimwiki Tags
 !_TAG_PROGRAM_URL	https://github.com/vimwiki/vimwiki
-!_TAG_PROGRAM_VERSION	2.5
+!_TAG_PROGRAM_VERSION	2022.12.02
+book	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+book	writing/post-self/index.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index
+dnd	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+fantasy	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+fiction	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+fiction	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+fiction	writing/post-self/index.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index
+furry	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+horror	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+poetry	writing/poetry/uvaip.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip
+polyam	writing/poetry/uvaip.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip
+post-self	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+scifi	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+scifi	writing/post-self/index.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index
+short-story	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+short-story	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+writing	writing/belek.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek\twriting/belek
+writing	writing/index.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/index\twriting/index\twriting/index
+writing	writing/poetry/uvaip.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip\twriting/poetry/uvaip
+writing	writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
+writing	writing/post-self/index.md	2;"	vimwiki:writing/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index\twriting/post-self/index

diary/2023-02-16.md

@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+# Trans Literature Now
+
+[Kay Gabriel essay about *Nevada* by Imogen Binnie.](https://yalereview.org/article/gabriel-nevada-trans-realism) --- showing trans life without making a spectacle of pain. 'minoritarian literature and outsiders feeling good about feeling bad'
+
+https://mitpress.mit.edu/9780262544894/
+
+https://electricliterature.com/
+
+https://www.littlepuss.net/
+
+

diary/2023-05-07.md

@@ -0,0 +1,47 @@
+## Notable panels from AWP
+
+As a note, I also attended [Trans Lit Now](https://protect-us.mimecast.com/s/VZTuCkRLYvFnnKQLU21UCQ?domain=bookcritics.org/), an online panel, but had so much trouble understanding what the speakers were saying on Zoom, that I don't honestly have much I can say about it, other than I agree with them that there ought to be more trans voices in literary criticism.
+
+### Queer new weird
+
+I briefly attended the Queer New Weird panel, though I only made it part of the way into it before the fire marshal kicked about half the audience out for capacity concerns. Thankfully, they also distributed their notes, both in paper and digital form. This worked well to provide an overview both of the (meta) genre and the queer takes on it. Notable points that stuck out to me:
+
+* A lot of queer narratives lack a refusal/resistance stage. Many queer characters are okay with the idea of tackling difficulties within the framework of the plot, which fits in nicely with the idea of new weird, where such difficulties are those things which both demand and resist understanding. The panelists describe this as a parallel to the queer experience of pushing away from the known and normal inherent in queerness and toward the unknown identity. They suggested that this specifically bucks the idea of anything like a hero's journey narrative.
+* Autonomy plays a role in both queer lives and new weird literature, where the engagement with both queerness and the unknown takes on an almost talismanic flavor, deeply personal to the characters, and instructions to conform to an expected mindset come off as a violation of boundaries (from my own experience, cf. both the biologist's and Control's interaction with Area X in the *Southern Reach* books, where attempts to push them into interacting with the area are met with almost revulsion).
+* The comparison with poetry was made several times, as new weird literature often focuses on the use of language to both evoke the unknown in the difficulties within the plot as well as the interiority of the characters' narratives (cf. my own goals of using language, both flower and sparse, with intentionality).
+* Several of the presenters mentioned the fact that both new weird and queer writing, as meta-genres that sit alongside or above specific genres such as science fiction or urban fantasy, invite playfulness when engaging with genre tropes, language, and form.
+* Finally, the idea that queerness as problem/queer interactions as a difficulty in and of themselves that need to be overcome seems to be falling by the wayside with the rise of new queer weird which consciously avoids the idea of being queer being the weird part.
+
+### Publishing, Editing, and Technology (multimodal writing and publishing)
+
+Boy howdy I wanted to like this project way more than I did. I've spent a lot of time reading, writing, and engaging with authors of interactive fiction. People are doing a whole lot of interesting things with tools like Inform, Twine, RenPy, and RPGMaker, not to mention coding their own interactive stuff. I've worked on [a Twine story](https://qoheleth.post-self.ink/gallery-exhibition) and a [few](https://makyo.itch.io/youre-gone) [hand-coded](https://ally.id) [interactive pieces](https://florilegium.ink/seasons), finding ways to make the act of reading a part of the story itself.
+
+However, a lot of this panel felt incredibly behind the times.
+
+Hosted by a few editors of literary magazines and poetry houses, a lot of the discussion focused on the idea of interactive writing, particularly in the realm of poetry. In particular, this seemed to come down to the idea of multimedia poetry, with examples being based around poetry readings involving projection and music, and a poetry book that used QR codes to link to illustrations (which were already in the book) on a webpage, each of which linked to other poems in the same book.
+
+I don't mean to talk down on it too much, but it felt particularly out of touch with a thriving community of authors. I did manage to ask a question about using the tools I mentioned above, but the presenters latched onto the 'game' part of game engine and it spurred a discussion about 'gamification' (as someone who worked in software, I loathe this word) rather than new takes on multimodal writing. However, talking with some other attendees afterword, we did share fond memories of [17776](https://www.sbnation.com/a/17776-football)/[20020](https://www.sbnation.com/c/secret-base/21410129/20020) and one of them told me about [The Boat](https://www.sbs.com.au/theboat/), which is on my TBR list.
+
+### Writers Centers, Conferences, and Retreats: Write, Teach, and Work after the MFA
+
+This was a really interesting panel about what to do after the MFA and gave me a lot of ideas. The presenters talked about various avenues for teaching that weren't specifically moving into academia. This was particularly interesting to me, given that I live in the middle of nowhere and getting to a college or university to teach would be a heck of a chore.
+
+I was particularly interested in the ideas of teaching writing workshops at conferences and writing centers. The two stand-out mentions were Clarion --- a science fiction workshop that invites teachers to help both as mentors and to give classes --- and Hugo house --- a writing center in Seattle. It inspired me to look up means of hosting my own workshops, both through Hugo House (which pays alright, at around $15 per student per hour) and through Catapult, an online service which has unfortunately stopped accepting new submissions for workshops.
+
+### Not Lazy and Stupid: Atypical Minds Fighting for Space on the Page
+
+This was another panel I had to leave early due to space constraints, but I very much enjoyed what I was able to hear. Several of the presenters talked about their difficulties early on in writing, and while I've always done pretty well in the subject all the way back into middle school, the issues that I've dealt with in the interim have certainly played a role. In particular, their discussion about using neurodivergence as both an inspiration and topic for writing felt very important to me, given all the times I've wound up writing about my own path.
+
+## The bookfair
+
+The book fair was honestly staggering. I've been to a lot of conventions in the past, but never one this big. I had to split my time at the fair up into several visits without getting overwhelmed, even with earplugs in. I was surprised at the number of tables advertising MFA programs, though I imagine that this basically comes down to inexperience on my part. An MFA degree feels like a relatively rare thing to me, but I also come from a background in software. The publishers were a healthy mix between friendly and quiet, and aloof and rude. The standout exception was Littlepuss, trans publisher with two trans women behind it. On seeing me, one of them called out quite loudly, "You look like the type of person that would 100% visit our table and buy our books." Which, to be fair, I did.
+
+### Books purchased
+
+* Kelly Hoffer --- *Undershore: Poems*
+* Katherine Indemaur --- *I|I*
+* Seneca Review --- *We Might as Well Call It the Lyric Essay*
+* Cecilia Gentili --- *Faltas: Letters to Everyone in My Hometown Who Isn't My Rapist*
+* Cat Fitzpatrick and Casey Plett (editors) --- *Meanwhile, Elsewhere*
+* Littlepuss --- *Littlepuss! Literary! Collation!*
+* I've misplaced it, but a copy of one edition of the Sugar House Review --- they gave it to me for free on the condition that I submit to them in the future, since I helped them out so much with getting Zoom working for their multimodal publishing panel. I considered submitting Seasons, but it's too long by far.

diary/2023-05-21.md

@@ -0,0 +1,7 @@
+# Ideas for essays
+
+1. This I Believe
+    * Go through each "in another universe, not too dissimilar from our own, ..." and tell history
+    * Discernment as a spiral with inflection points
+2. Various Quaker things
+3. Collaborative Anthologies

diary/2023-06-10.md

@@ -0,0 +1,49 @@
+I've spun myself in circles of late, trying to figure out what it is about plurality that has me...
+
+See, even here, even in the first sentence of writing about it, language fails me. Has me what? Has me so intrigued? Has me hooked? Has me flailing at the keyboard and staying up too late?  I'm feeling some sort of friction, but don't know what it is, so I'm left in the position of either holding very still and being uncomfortable or flailing out in the hope that I hit something.
+
+A lot of this has been spurred on by recent writing projects. This isn't the first time this has happened (nor will it be the last, I'm sure). It happened before with *ally* and is happening now with Post-Self. "If I had a nickel for every time I accidentally wrote something with heavy plural undertones that I hadn't intended but nonetheless made me doubt my identity," I've joked, "I'd have two nickels! Which isn't a lot, but it is weird that it happened twice."
+
+There's an interesting bit of history behind this current set of feelings.
+
+Back in 2021, I got in trouble. I had [a new book](https://wildness.makyo.ink) coming out and was reasonably excited about it. There were some parts that I was feeling a bit iffy on, since one of the stories touched on some topics that aren't common (and are in some ways very unpopular) within furry, but it was still important to me, still something that I really wanted others to read. I posted about it on the bulletin board in the Plaza on Taps. It felt natural, you know? I know most of the regulars, a lot of folks there seem to like me and are keen on seeing me writing more.
+
+Unfortunately, that was a little too close to advertising, and I was 'stockaded', given a temporary ban of one month.
+
+This proved incredibly unpopular with just about everyone. Much of the Plaza banded together to pretty much tear WhiteWizard a new one, unbeknownst to me --- after all, I couldn't see anything in the plaza, and was too busy having a panic attack besides. While White didn't budge on unstocking my character Maddy, he did let me log in as alts, so I was at least able to still get on and talk to people.
+
+However, the more I thought about it and the more I talked with others, the more it started to rankle that this thing that I was proud of was apparently perilous to talk about. I still don't talk about my writing in public on Taps.
+
+Some snarky bit of me decided, "You know what? Fine. I can't talk about my writing like it's an advertisement. I can't be proud of my stuff, I guess. Not gonna let that stop me from sneaking it in." 
+
+I created a new character based off the Ode clade in the Post-Self Cycle named Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress, a skunk with an interesting speech style and a healthy dose of snark. This went over well, both in the Plaza and within myself: I wound up pretty much becoming a skunk full time. Species shifts have always come during dramatic life shifts for me, and enough else was going on in my life that this just happened to hit at the right time.
+
+Still, even though I kept the allergy to contractions, I didn't exactly treat Slow Hours like I was cosplaying some canon character. Even when I wrote her into [*Mitzvot*](https://mitzvot.post-self.ink) (as a tiny acknowledgement of me borrowing her name, she's described as being somewhat clairvoyant in that she "has the outline of the world"), I kept how I was interacting largely separate from the story. I was a nerdy skunk, not really related to Post-Self aside from the name.
+
+Even when [Wolfery](https://wolfery.com) began to take off and I ported my usual stable of characters over, I generally kept that distance.
+
+Then books three and four in the cycle came out. More people started reading the series. The Kickstarter went well. And, crucially, I kind of fell apart. Long COVID stripped me of much of my ability to write like I used to --- even writing this is proving quite difficult --- which is a bit of a pain when one is getting an MFA in creative writing.
+
+So I found myself reaching for whatever I could to inspire me. I would fall asleep daydreaming of simple scenarios between characters. I'd write little pitches for stories. I started leaning heavily into role play. Slow Hours on Wolfery became more than just me-but-a-skunk. I wrapped myself up in Post-Self lore and dove in to interacting specifically as an Odist. It worked pretty damn well, too. I've been writing once more.
+
+However, as with *ally* before it, the Post-Self setting seemed to embody plurality without necessarily being plural. This showed from the beginning, with the collaborative nature of the setting stemming from a crowd of postfurries keenly focused on identity and liberally peppered with systems. Hell, one of the first stories written in the setting (which began as and remains open) surrounded plurality. Many of the reviews of the books discussed plurality, too, and I've gotten messages from a healthy handful of folks/systems about how meaningful [*Qoheleth*](https://qoheleth.post-self.ink) was to them specifically.
+
+Just as with *ally*, though, I wrote all that I did without any intentions of plurality. It wasn't really something I had any experience with. It wasn't an aspect that applied to my own identity, I felt. I was pleased that it was meaningful to people, of course, but it wasn't the type of thing I'd even really thought about. (Rax has mentioned that this lack of intentionality may be part of the reason for the appeal; just as with the desire for queer lit that isn't just About Queer, writing that touches on plurality without just being About Plurality can come off as refreshing.)
+
+And, just as with *ally*, this reception and association tossed me into a tizzy of struggling with my perception of myself.
+
+This has been quickly ramping up over the last few weeks as I've dived hardcore into this role play of being an Odist caught outside the System that had been their home for nearly three centuries.
+
+Well, two Odists, as Slow Hours was soon joined by Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps.
+
+And a Bălan as a fork of Ioan joined them and renamed emself Lazăr.
+
+It's all gotten a bit out of hand, is what I mean to say.
+
+One of the core ideas behind the world that lives on Wolfery is the Rift.
+((On Wolfery))
+
+((Being around people who have gotten me thinking about the whole thing))
+
+((roleplay reinforcing a sensation, a split along unexpected lines - SH vs Beholden going from "I am Beholden, she is the nice one" to Beholden being the fun one to...whatever Talon has noticed and the conversation with Echo about Dear))
+  

diary/diary.md

@@ -2,6 +2,19 @@
 
 ## 2023
 
+### June
+
+- [2023-06-10](2023-06-10)
+
+### May
+
+- [Ideas for essays](2023-05-21)
+- [Notable panels from AWP](2023-05-07)
+
+### February
+
+- [Trans Literature Now](2023-02-16)
+
 ### January
 
 - [Personal essay](2023-01-04)

index.md

@@ -1,6 +1,7 @@
 %title Home
 
 * [Writing](writing/index)
+* [Teaching](teaching/index)
 * [Work](work/index)
 * [Tech](tech/index)
 * [Food](food/index)

misc/fwg-bio.md

@@ -0,0 +1,32 @@
+* Twitter: [@makyo\_writes](https://twitter.com/makyo_writes)
+* Mastodon: [@makyo@writing.exchange](https://writing.exchange/@makyo)
+* Cohost: [makyo](https://cohost.org/makyo)
+* Telegram: [@DrabMakyo](https://t.me/drabmakyo)
+* Website: [makyo.ink](https://makyo.ink)
+
+Book links:
+
+* [The Post-Self cycle](https://post-self.ink)
+    1. [*Qoheleth and Gallery Exhibition*](https://qoheleth.post-self.ink)
+    2. [*Toledot*](https://toledot.post-self.ink)
+    3. [*Nevi'im*](https://neviim.post-self.ink)
+    4. [*Mitzvot and Selected Letters*](https://mitzvot.post-self.ink)
+* Sawtooth
+    * [*Restless Town*](https://restless-town.makyo.ink)
+    * [*A Wildness of the Heart --- Limerent Object and other stories*](https://wildness.makyo.ink)
+* [*ally*](https://ally.id)
+* [*Eigengrau*](https://makyo.ink/publications/eigengrau)
+* [*Rum and Coke --- Three Short Stories from a Furry Convention*](https://makyo.ink/publications/rum-and-coke)
+
+Short works:
+
+<ul>
+<li><a href="/publications/when-the-world-was-young">When the World Was Young</a> - <em>Unseeing</em></li>
+<li><a href="http://boundtales.storenvy.com/products/30392965-from-paw-to-print-essays-about-writing-in-the-furry-fandom">Paw to Print</a> - <em>Tracking an anthology: the steps from start to finish</em> and <em>Layout and design: reducing barriers between story and reader</em></li>
+<li><a href="#">Hot Dish vol. 3</a> (upcomming) - <em>Disappearance</em></li>
+<li><a href="http://thurstonhowlpub.storenvy.com/collections/1587098-anthologies/products/22227398-arcana-a-tarot-anthology">Arcana - A Tarot Anthology</a> - <em>The First Step (The Fool)</em></li>
+<li><a href="http://thurstonhowlpub.storenvy.com/collections/1587098-anthologies/products/21737930-furries-among-us-2-more-essays-on-furries-by-furries">Furries Among Us 2</a> - <em>Gender: Furry</em></li>
+<li><a href="https://www.weaselpress.com/product-page/civilized-beasts-volume-ii">Civilized Beasts II</a> - <em>The dogs assure me</em></li>
+<li><a href="https://www.weaselpress.com/shop/knotted-vol-ii">Knotted: A BDSM Anthology, vol II</a> - <em>Centerpiece</em></li>
+<li><a href="https://thenewstack.io/coming-out-in-tech/">The New Stack</a> - <em>Coming Out In Tech</em></li>
+</ul>

misc/index.md

@@ -7,6 +7,7 @@
 * [SummerSchool presentations](summerschool)
 * [Fonts for antho](fonts-for-antho)
 * [SL Exposition](sl-exposition)
+* [FWG Bio](fwg-bio)
 * Descs:
     * [Makyo](makyo)
     * [Maddy](maddy)

teaching/expanding-genres-voice/index.md

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+(writing genres/voices you're not used to, I think?)

teaching/haiku-x-fiction/20230401am.md

@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+
+
+## Exercise 1 
+
+* Image 1: A strawberry-colored metal box
+* Image 2: The smell of too-hot mossy tea
+
+
+## Exercise 2
+
+'''
+Steam rising from dark tea
+Lights blink on the aluminum box
+Waiting quietly
+'''
+
+## Exercise 3
+
+'''
+Steam rising from dark tea
+Lights blink on the aluminum box
+Waiting quietly
+'''
+
+The need for caffeine trumps even the need to talk. First thing in the morning, before making any sound other than a yawn, I have to get the water boiling.
+
+*Of course it's empty,* I think. My thoughts come to me as a grumble, but I'm too tired to actually form the words.
+
+Fine. Fill the pot, turn it on, slouch against the counter, and wait. Across the room, the red and green lights of the audio interface wait patiently. The microphone stand, from this angle, covers up even the blinking power light of the monitor, still in sleep mode. Everything's quiet, even the expectant hardware.
+
+The kettle starts to hiss, then murmur, then settles into a quiet rumble as the water comes to a boil. I'm sure I must have heard more that morning, but this feels like the first noise. The light surrounding the gain knob on the interface flashes with the sound of water being poured over tea.
+
+Even as I sit at my desk, I stay quiet. It can wait a little longer.

teaching/haiku-x-fiction/20230401pm.md

@@ -0,0 +1,84 @@
+## Exercise 1
+
+* A white cotton ball taken from a pill bottle
+* The too-sweet taste of white peach flavored Calpico
+
+## Exercise 2
+
+'''
+White cotton,
+taken from a pill bottle,
+rests beside too-sweet drinks.
+'''
+
+## Exercise 3
+
+A table set for two, plates already empty with silverware straddling the rims, napkins crumpled and resting beside them, and there, in the middle, the white cotton packing from a pill bottle sat beside the remnants of two too-sweet drinks. I didn't even need to smell or taste them to know that. The neon-yellow of what must have been a lemon drop or sidecar was enough to make my chest ache from the thought of so much sugar.
+
+That cotton, though, that took a bit more work to suss out. It wasn't a simple cotton ball, which maybe would have given the dinner's participants some other, simpler explanation. Makeup removal? Fingernail polish?
+
+But no, this hank of cotton was long, flat, slender. It had been folded in half before being stuffed into whatever bottle --- handily missing from the scene --- and removed any doubt as to its provenance. 
+
+The room was empty. Only I stood there, hovering before the table, hands stuffed deep in my pockets, as I tried to reconstruct the evening. No detective, I, but the tableau invited attempts at explanation: too drinks, far too sweet or far to strong, and a missing bottle of pills. Were the drinks strong enough to cover the taste of pills, ground up and stirred in? Or were they simply meant to wash them down? Were the pills taken willingly or not?
+
+And the diners, where were they?
+
+## Exercise 4
+
+'''
+Silverware rests on the rims
+of plates as empty as the room
+'''
+
+## Renga
+
+'''
+Torn and calloused
+Lines of age
+Made young again 
+in playful splashes
+
+Water climbs arms willingly
+no room for soap in the ocean
+'''
+
+'''
+singing insect
+weathered by the night --
+faded silence 
+
+Weathered by the night
+Shining resplendence
+To light a path home 
+
+Tired feet drag
+through tired grasses
+silent crickets wait
+'''
+
+'''
+Silverware rests on the rims
+of plates as empty as the room
+
+voided persons
+ghosts of the mundane
+hunger unsated 
+
+Passing through, no trace
+Stagnant air whipped
+By uncaring fans 
+'''
+
+'''
+Torn and calloused
+Lines of age
+Made young again 
+in playful splashes
+
+Water climbs arms willingly
+no room for soap in the ocean
+
+the age of work
+cleansed from the skin --
+plopped into depths 
+'''

teaching/haiku-x-fiction/index.md

@@ -0,0 +1,43 @@
+## Structure
+
+* Intro
+    * Introductions around
+    * Expectations
+    * Generate zine, available for free as site/pdf, or for tips
+* Lead with some haiku
+* Go into what a haiku is (not just 5-7-5)
+* Exercise 1:
+    * Show some images
+    * Attendees should pick two things they notice from each image, aim for a bit of contrast
+    * Write those two things on two lines, as much as they want
+* Images and sensations vs metaphor
+* Haiku as minimalist evocation of sensations using only images
+* More appropriate structure:
+    * About 12 stressed syllables
+    * Two images
+    * Can include a volta, often relating to seasonal imagery
+    * Minimal language usage
+    * Concrete evocation
+* Exercise 2:
+    * Turn those two images into a haiku
+    * Remember, doesn't need to be 5-7-5, though don't let that stop you
+* Evocation in fiction
+* When to use metaphor, when to use concrete evocation
+* Utility of surprise
+* Exercise 3:
+    * Leading with your haiku, write a short (<500) word scene in prose that turns this into a story
+    * Try to evoke the same sensations/moods that the haiku did
+* What can fiction lend to haiku?
+* Characters (in the loosest sense) within images
+* Directionality between two images, maintaining tension within haiku form
+* Exercise 4 (if there's time):
+    * Take two images from your scene and turn them into a haiku
+    * Pay attention to what you gain and what you lose in terms of sensations
+    * What can you bring back to fiction?
+    * Suggest that you can start this series of exercises in the other direction (fiction -> haiku -> fiction) too
+* Conclusion
+
+-----
+
+* [April 1, 2023 --- 10AM](20230401am)
+* [April 1, 2023 --- 5PM](20230401pm)

teaching/index.md

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+* Workshops:
+    * [Braiding plot threads](braiding-plot-threads/index)
+    * [Haiku × Fiction](haiku-x-fiction/index)
+    * [Expanding genres and voice](expanding-genres-voice/index)
+    * [Showing emotions](showing-emotions/index)
+    * [Cinematography in writing](pov/index)
+* Lectures/presentations:
+    * [Writing and mental health](writing-and-mental-health/index)
+    * [Book layout and design](layout-and-design/index)
+* Discussions/panels/round tables:
+    * [What makes furry writing furry?](furry-writing/index)
+    * [When is infodumping okay?](infodumping/index)

teaching/pov/index.md

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+Moving the camera/paying attn to pov

teaching/showing-emotions/index.md

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+(Showing emotions without describing them, include simple and more complex emotions)

writing/3/terrifying/assessment.md

@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+## Assessment
+
+((Getting stuck in my head))

writing/3/terrifying/blind-strife.md

@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+## Blind Strife
+
+((Struggling against expectations versus desires esp re: feeling like I deserve to take up space))

writing/3/terrifying/engagement.md

@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+## Engagement
+
+((Struggling against the instinct to escape, suicidality))

writing/3/terrifying/index.md

@@ -1,9 +1,10 @@
 %title The Margin of the Terrifying
 
-Wherein Maddy waxes rhapsodic about how love is right at the margin of the terrifying through the lens of Time War and also Rilke.
+Wherein Maddy worries about how much space she's allowed to take up and also waxes rhapsodic about how love is right at the margin of the terrifying through the lens of Time War and also Rilke. It's also kinda about suicide???
+
+* [.] [Intro](intro)
+* [ ] [Blind strife](blind-strife)
+* [ ] [Assessment](assessment)
+* [ ] [Engagement](engagement)
+* [.] [I wish I could see your triumph](triumph)
 
-* [.] [Intro](intro.tex)
-* [ ] Blind strife
-* [ ] Assessment
-* [ ] Engagement
-* [ ] I wish I could see your triumph

writing/3/terrifying/intro.md

@@ -0,0 +1,67 @@
+At the heart of so many of my anxieties lies the question of just how much space I'm allowed to take up.
+
+Do I speak too loud? Do I speak too often? Do I tread too close to that invisible line of being 'too much'?
+
+Am I too demanding? Do I need too much minding? Is the amount of attention I seem to seek above the norm, whatever that is?
+
+Do I park myself in the corner of others' minds? Do I sit cross-legged on the floor, a tripping hazard? Do I follow them around their thoughts, speaking? Or not speaking, yet nevertheless present?
+
+Is asking so many questions just feeding into that anxiety?
+
+> For we, when we feel, evaporate. Oh,  
+> we breathe ourselves out and away. From ember to fading ember,  
+> we give off a fainter scent. Oh, someone may tell us: you get in my blood, this room, the springtime,  
+> is filled with you...\footnote{\cite[23]{duino}}
+
+I have recently had several conversations about this, about how much space I take up. Almost all of them take place over text, too, as they often come with a worry that synchronous communication might be too much of a demand. Some of them take place between my partners and I speaking frankly about how we interact with each other. Others take place between other versions of me, characters I role play or those that I write, each expressing their own anxiety.
+
+Over the years, I have thankfully fallen out of the habit of asking whether or not I am a burden, of *feeling* like a burden.
+
+What I haven't done is relinquish the feeling that there are bounds around me. There is a barrier that marks the end of me, a sphere of influence that has a point where it stops. I don't know if anyone else sees it. I doubt it.
+
+I see it, though. It's always there. A little shield, a screen, a forcefield, glimmering and translucent. It's the point where the space that I take up ends.
+
+> I must tell you it gives me great pleasure to think of you reading these words in licks and whorls of flame, your eyes unable to work backwards, unable to keep the letters on a page; instead, you must absorb them, admit them into your memory.\footnote{\cite[8]{timewar}}
+
+I wish I could see triumph in this. I wish I could see victory in the space that I take up, in the way I crouch within the minds of my friends.
+
+I wish I could prowl through their memories, touching one after the other --- oh! This one! See that time we drove together, mostly in silence, maybe a little drunker than we should have been? Ooh, or this one, when we sat together outside a Friday night movie showing and you told me how you thought at one point that you were gay, but decided no, probably not.
+
+I live a sometimes apology, instead.
+
+Still, I have friends. The apology is only sometimes, and I will spend hours with them simply enjoying myself before that sometimes creeps up, a strangely-shaped piece of grit between my molars.
+
+I wish I could cast that in the sense of marvel, of wonder, of beauty, rather than terrifying that someone would perceive me.
+
+> Who, though I screamed, would hear me among the ranks  
+> of the angels? And even supposing one of them took me suddenly to his breast, I would perish within his overpowering being. For the beautiful is right at the margin  
+> of the terrifying, which we can only just endure.\footnote{\cite[11]{duino}}
+
+Ah well, if wishes were fishes, I would look into their scales and see some more perfect version of myself.
+
+And so I continue to make my way through the world. I, like Rilke's elegist, choke back the lure I would give, walking softly and keeping my arms and legs inside at all times. Or most of the time, perhaps.
+
+Sometimes my apology will fail, my graphomania will get the better of me, and I will spill my words on to pages, onto screens, into books and essays and notes.
+
+I'll litter online spaces with evidence of my presence. I'll write my missives and leave them in public for my friends to find, little notes that very carefully do not contain any I-love-yous.
+
+> Will you cut off, leaving my note to spin its fractal math inside you?\footnote{\cite[14]{duino}}
+
+I write and write and write, and then I fret and fret. My adversary, my *makyō* sidles up to me, their movements a smirk, brushes my hair out of my eyes, tuts.
+
+> Anything I make that is at all meaningful to me — that is, anything that I feel is worth sharing — is too much to ask others to engage with. “How dare you,” it says. “How dare you ask that others consider your work meaningful.”\footnote{\cite{ally-making-of}}
+
+How dare I! How dare I take up that space! And with malice and aforethought!
+
+I use my will to wedge myself into the world. I project an intent and make myself known. I speak up and then cringe at the sound of my voice.
+
+But, ah! My friends, all those who promised I wasn't a burden back when that was a thing I would ask them about, they all clap! They clap and smile and tell me that I've done a good thing.
+
+Don't they know I'm working hard at defining my boundaries? Frankly, it's quite rude.
+
+But I am working at getting better at accepting that sort of feedback. I'm trying to accept that taking up space is even allowed.
+
+> And we marvel at it so because it holds back in serene disdain  
+> and does not destroy us. \footnote{\cite[11]{duino}}
+
+I cycle through defenses. I try silence some days. Other days, as I have spent the last however many thousand words doing, as I'm still doing, I will justify my existence through words, then justify my words by leaning on those of others. "I mean what I'm saying!" I say. "And here is proof! See? There is Issa! See? There is Job! There is Rilke and El-Mohtar and Gladstone!"

writing/3/terrifying/triumph.md

@@ -0,0 +1,40 @@
+## I wish I could see your triumph.
+
+That is the thing about hate, about loathing, even of oneself. There is a certain amount of love that has to go into that struggle. There is a certain amount of need and desire, because if there is no one there to vanquish, then what are we-who-strive even to do?
+
+> I wish I could see your triumph.\footnote{\cite[128]{timewar}}
+
+I wish I could see your triumph, me. I wish I could look up at you, broken and shattered, bleeding in the dust of unknown plains, and know --- truly, utterly know --- that I have been defeated, that I have been crushed and destroyed.
+
+I wish I could see your triumph. Is that self-sacrificing of me? Of that part that loathes, that fears she is taking up too much space? I really don't know. It's not my place to know these things.
+
+I wish I could see your triumph. Maybe it's my goal to succeed, to prevail, to come out the other side and into nullity, to make it through, to win. It's my goal to come away with my own triumph, but always, always there is that niggling little doubt, that secret desire to lose, to be beaten in a fair fight and have it proven to my face that at least someone could bring me low and say, "Hey, at least she tried, right?"
+
+I wish I could see your triumph. I wish I could see elation in your eyes. I wish I could see you laugh. I wish I could see just how it looks for you to set aside that way you devote every erg of energy to struggle and give me one of those full on, deep-throated laughs from your core that I know we all hide somewhere in our bodies.
+
+I wish I could see your triumph, and I wish that, should you see mine, you understand just how much love goes into our struggle, just how much need and desire I hold for you.
+
+> Do you laugh, sea foam? Do you smile, ice, and observe your triumph with an angel's remove?\footnote{\cite[128]{timewar}}
+
+As always, Rilke dogs me, a lingering taste hidden around some corner of my mouth. Every now and then, I think, *every angel is terrifying*, and then I'll go about my day, repeating that like a mantra: *every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel...*
+
+He saw someone do that, I think I remember the story went. He was walking, perhaps out in a sulk, and saw someone face the sea, throw their arms wide, cry out to sea foam or ice or some unseen rank of angels, and...well, I don't remember if *he* heard them, necessarily, but that's how it went, right?\footnote{\cite[323]{lifeofapoet}} Who, though I cry, would hear me among the ranks of angels, and then hundreds of lines later, ten elegies.
+
+So whenever I get that awkward-shaped piece of grit between my mouth --- *every angel is terrifying every angel is* --- I think of that scene. I think of the way we elevate the unknown to some higher place that ourselves. I think of the patterns we hunt for in the sea foam, in the waves that can take us under or bash us senseless against some barnacled rock. I think about the crush of worlds implied in the calving of an iceberg and how easily that could destroy. I think about that rank of angels who, holding me to their breast, could so easily annihilate?
+
+Do they laugh, the sea foam, the ice, the angels?
+
+> I write in fire across the sky, a plummet to match your rise.\footnote{\cite[129]{timewar}}
+
+So then, my angel, she who would live, I wish I could see your triumph.
+
+I dream of it, that moment. I dream of falling to my knees, or being so badly broken that all I can do is lay there, unmoored, and look up to the way you rise above me.
+
+I strive against angels as I strove against men, against the world, against the cruel vagaries of my former self and all his countless failings. Some have left me reeling, some have left me on my knees, head bowed until it almost --- almost! --- touches the ground, and I've had to spend a day, a week, a year catching my breath.
+
+But never have I striven against angels. Never have I not striven against you, and there is sweetness in defeat.
+
+There is sweetness in defeat.
+
+I wish I could see your triumph.
+

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/1-framing-devices.md

@@ -32,7 +32,9 @@ Chief among those for our purpose is the mixed dates of composition. There appea
 
 In the Hebrew Bible, it is set in the *'Ketuvim'* (writings, the 'kh' in *Tanakh*) between Proverbs and The Song of Songs. In the Christian bible, it is set at the beginning of the poetic books, between the prophets and Psalms.
 
-In both cases, it is classified within the genre of wisdom literature. That is, its topic is one of scholarly, daily, or religious wisdom, something closer to education, rather than of origin stories (as is the case with many of the books of the Torah along with the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles) or prophecy (as is the case with *Nevi'im* and Revelation). This sets it among Ecclesiastes,\footnote{If Job is worth an essay, Ecclesiastes is worth a book. I do not yet have that in me.} The Song of Songs, Proverbs, and so on.
+In both cases, it is classified within the genre of wisdom literature. That is, its topic is one of scholarly, daily, or religious wisdom, something closer to education, rather than of origin stories (as is the case with many of the books of the Torah along with the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles) or prophecy (as is the case with *Nevi'im* and Revelation). This sets it among Ecclesiastes, The Song of Songs, Proverbs, and so on.
+
+> If Job is worth an essay, Ecclesiastes is worth a book. I do not yet have that in me.
 
 Perhaps unique among wisdom literature, however, it seems to have one core thesis. Ecclesiastes has the core theses of a life well lived, self-created meaning, and wisdom, while Psalms, Proverbs, Wisdom, and Sirach are largely compilations of vast forms of wisdom.
 
@@ -82,28 +84,30 @@ Sims's argument boils down to the fact that this framing device leads to Job bei
 
 It's a compelling argument, too. He goes on to explain that it is almost the inverse of Pascal's wager, in that it "presents a world where it is impossible to distinguish between God's wrath and God's indifference." Whereas Pascal would have it that there is no downside to believing in God as there is the possibility of infinite salvation if you do and you're right and infinite damnation if you don't and you're wrong. Here, we are presented with the fact that, whether or not you believe in God, you're equally liable to suffer.
 
-This, it should be noted, is an argument presented from a contemporary Christian perspective (Sims mentions earlier in the episode that reading the Book of Job is one of the reasons he is no longer a Christian,\footnote{Indeed, the hosts of the podcast The Bible for Normal People (tagline: The Only God-Ordained Podcast on the Internet --- what is it with podcasts and their taglines?), list the difficulty and, yes, perhaps moral failure of the Book of Job as having led to a sizeable portion of the genre of apologetics within contemporary biblically literalist Christian traditions, saying, "{[}\ldots{]} that's why you need a really hefty apologetics industry to keep {[}biblical literalism{]} intact". \parencite{b4np}} but he still speaks from the perspective of an ex-Christian). The interpretations of the same text a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago, twenty-four hundred years ago were all different. For instance, Cereno explains that the historical context of the book, written between the sixth and fourth century BCE, does not include the same context of the afterlife. The pre-biblical Jewish audience of Job when it was first penned would have had the concept of *Sheol* --- that place of of stillness and darkness where both the righteous and unrighteous wind up --- rather than than the contemporary understanding of an afterlife. This was written before the concept of the messiah, before heaven and hell and life after death.
+This, it should be noted, is an argument presented from a contemporary Christian perspective (Sims mentions earlier in the episode that reading the Book of Job is one of the reasons he is no longer a Christian,\footnote{} but he still speaks from the perspective of an ex-Christian). The interpretations of the same text a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago, twenty-four hundred years ago were all different. For instance, Cereno explains that the historical context of the book, written between the sixth and fourth century BCE, does not include the same context of the afterlife. The pre-biblical Jewish audience of Job when it was first penned would have had the concept of *Sheol* --- that place of of stillness and darkness where both the righteous and unrighteous wind up --- rather than than the contemporary understanding of an afterlife. This was written before the concept of the messiah, before heaven and hell and life after death.
 
-In this context, Job's life being torn to shreds means that his brief time here on Earth, the only time he has with nothing after it, is one that divides ones life into finite fractions, into a before, a during, and an after. Job is struck for, what, two weeks? We may only guess, as the Adversary's second visit to the sons of God and the Lord. And yet those are two weeks out of a finite number of years.\footnote{A fantastic spot for the word 'intercalary', those days that fit between the years which do not fall within the calendar.
+> Indeed, the hosts of the podcast The Bible for Normal People (tagline: The Only God-Ordained Podcast on the Internet --- what is it with podcasts and their taglines?), list the difficulty and, yes, perhaps moral failure of the Book of Job as having led to a sizeable portion of the genre of apologetics within contemporary biblically literalist Christian traditions, saying, "{[}\ldots{]} that's why you need a really hefty apologetics industry to keep {[}biblical literalism{]} intact". \parencite{b4np}
 
-  \begin{verse}
-  A year starts not on January first.\\
-  \vin The days may hunder but the seasons speak\\
-  of time's long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst\\
-  \vin for "start" and "end" neglects the limen sleek.\\
-  So, why do some unsubtle sciences\\
-  \vin forget about the in-betweens? Those pure\\
-  uncolored dreams made mere contrivances;\\
-  \vin "between the years" now simply: "year, then year".
+In this context, Job's life being torn to shreds means that his brief time here on Earth, the only time he has with nothing after it, is one that divides ones life into finite fractions, into a before, a during, and an after. Job is struck for, what, two weeks? We may only guess, as the Adversary's second visit to the sons of God and the Lord. And yet those are two weeks out of a finite number of years.
 
-  \parencite[3]{eigengrau}
-  \end{verse}
-
-  Our lives as a whole --- indeed, as a spiral --- might yet have use for interstitial, intercalary days, intercalary time. An intriguing thought, is it not?}
+> A fantastic spot for the word 'intercalary', those days that fit between the years which do not fall within the calendar.
+>
+> A year starts not on January first.\\
+> \vin The days may hunder but the seasons speak\\
+> of time's long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst\\
+> \vin for "start" and "end" neglects the limen sleek.\\
+> So, why do some unsubtle sciences\\
+> \vin forget about the in-betweens? Those pure\\
+> uncolored dreams made mere contrivances;\\
+> \vin "between the years" now simply: "year, then year".
+>
+> \parencite[3]{eigengrau}
+>
+> Our lives as a whole --- indeed, as a spiral --- might yet have use for interstitial, intercalary days, intercalary time. An intriguing thought, is it not?
 
 Job having a new family (some of them even have names!) and twice the wealth before does not replace the life that he had before, does not make up for lost children, but it does at least bring some joy for those next century and a half.
 
-This centers God's response as the sticking point. He spends four chapters responding to Job the conversations that have taken place between him and his friends. While these conversations make up the majority of the book,\footnote{Which will no doubt take up the majority of this essay.} His response solely in the context of this framing device (which, we must remember, is an older folktale which has been re-cast as a framing device for the rest of the book) gives us a particular flavor of 'God works in mysterious ways' with more nuance than one commonly finds when that phrase is employed.
+This centers God's response as the sticking point. He spends four chapters responding to Job the conversations that have taken place between him and his friends. While these conversations make up the majority of the book, His response solely in the context of this framing device (which, we must remember, is an older folktale which has been re-cast as a framing device for the rest of the book) gives us a particular flavor of 'God works in mysterious ways' with more nuance than one commonly finds when that phrase is employed.
 
 God appears to Job and his friends and expounds on the fact that none of them do --- nor indeed can --- possibly understand the ways in which he works. They're not just mysterious, they're vast and incomprehensible. This makes the most sense in a panentheistic view. If He is outside time, then, from our point of view, those ways stretch both forwards and back. If they envelop and pervade all things tangible and intangible, then they are beyond even our causal domain.
 
@@ -111,19 +115,25 @@ Even in a grounded, Jahwist, immediate and physical view of God (He is, after al
 
 And if He does not exist? The folktale and the book as a whole do not depend on the existence of God in their interpretation. They still work to repudiate the idea that, if bad things happen to you, it is because you're a bad person.
 
-These interpretations are doing a lot of heavy lifting, however. They accept at face value Job's capitulation in chapter 40, where, after being thoroughly excoriated by no less than God Himself, he says, "Look, I am worthless. What can I say back to You?" (Job 40:4, Alter) and "I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further." (Job 40:5, NRSV)\footnote{Alter has, "My hand I put over my mouth. Once have I spoken and I will not answer, twice, and will not go on." This captures the poetic nature\footnotemark~of the rest of the book in a delightfully austere way, but the NRSV provides a simpler, if less poetic version, included for the sake of clarity on this point in particular.}\footnotetext{I figured I was done with Weinberger's text when I finished the previous essay,\footnotemark~and yet here I am once more, leaning on him. "In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator's ego: an absolute humility toward the text." \parencite[20]{wangwei} It does rather raise the question, though, how much reading a single-translator text such as Alter's or David Bently Hart's take on the New Testament can be an act of intent. Weinberger goes on to say, "A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator --- that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking."
+These interpretations are doing a lot of heavy lifting, however. They accept at face value Job's capitulation in chapter 40, where, after being thoroughly excoriated by no less than God Himself, he says, "Look, I am worthless. What can I say back to You?" (Job 40:4, Alter) and "I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further." (Job 40:5, NRSV)
 
-Mackenzie Morgan, however, makes the point that single-translator Bibles can offer some welcome divergence in viewpoints, as the committees that translate Bibles such as the NRSV "tend toward traditional translations; whereas a single translator can say, "Hang on, I think this actually means..."\," \parencite{maconix-bibles}
+> Alter has, "My hand I put over my mouth. Once have I spoken and I will not answer, twice, and will not go on." This captures the poetic nature of the rest of the book in a delightfully austere way, but the NRSV provides a simpler, if less poetic version, included for the sake of clarity on this point in particular.
 
-We are talking about the Bible, though. We're not talking about Wang Wei. We're not talking about Dwale. As before,
+> I figured I was done with Weinberger's text when I finished the previous essay, and yet here I am once more, leaning on him. "In its way a spiritual exercise, translation is dependent on the dissolution of the translator's ego: an absolute humility toward the text." \parencite[20]{wangwei} It does rather raise the question, though, how much reading a single-translator text such as Alter's or David Bently Hart's take on the New Testament can be an act of intent. Weinberger goes on to say, "A bad translation is the insistent voice of the translator --- that is, when one sees no poet and hears only the translator speaking."
+> 
+> Mackenzie Morgan, however, makes the point that single-translator Bibles can offer some welcome divergence in viewpoints, as the committees that translate Bibles such as the NRSV "tend toward traditional translations; whereas a single translator can say, "Hang on, I think this actually means..."\," \parencite{maconix-bibles}
+>
+> We are talking about the Bible, though. We're not talking about Wang Wei. We're not talking about Dwale. As before,
+>
+> \begin{verse}
+> I do not know which to prefer, \\
+> The beauty of inflections \\
+> or the beauty of innuendoes
+> 
+> \parencite{blackbird}
+> \end{verse}
 
-\begin{verse}
-I do not know which to prefer, \\
-The beauty of inflections \\
-or the beauty of innuendoes
-
-\parencite{blackbird}
-\end{verse}}\footnotetext{I thought I was done talking about Dwale, too, and yet here we are.}
+> I thought I was done talking about Dwale, too, and yet here we are.
 
 Who can blame Job? God is quite frankly terrifying. No matter how strongly I might call God to account, I strongly suspect that I, too, would fall flat on my face and do what I could to have so terrible a gaze move away from me.
 
@@ -135,13 +145,19 @@ Our Job, though, our poor, ruined man, has he changed? Has he grown into somethi
 
 There is a saying that, with near-death experiences, there are two likely outcomes. One is that you become a braver, more vivacious person. You live your life all the fuller because you got so close to not living at all. After all, if you have been given a second chance, why not?
 
-But still, there's that second option: you become consumed by fear. You freeze up and do not leave the house. Any potential source of death is a thing to become avoided.\footnote{It need not be permanent, of course. When the me who I was died and I lived my intercalary life, terror filled me, yes, but not for long. Matthew died, and I was nothing but fear for years, and then Madison was born, replacing fear.}
+But still, there's that second option: you become consumed by fear. You freeze up and do not leave the house. Any potential source of death is a thing to become avoided.
+
+> It need not be permanent, of course. When the me who I was died and I lived my intercalary life, terror filled me, yes, but not for long. Matthew died, and I was nothing but fear for years, and then Madison was born, replacing fear.
 
 This is no value judgement. To be consumed by fear after having your own mortality stand up before you, sneer down its nose, and give you a playful shove bears no shame. It is an honest acceptance of who you are in the face of the enormity of the universe.
 
 And sure, it might be a spectrum, and there's probably that absolute midpoint where there is no change. You make it through that brush with death and come out the other side precisely the same as you were before. There is terror in this prospect, that death might be so overwhelming that there is nothing you can do but wrap that experience up in butcher paper, tie it with twine, and set it up in the attic.
 
-Alter argues that the names that Job gives his new daughters points to a change. "The writer may have wanted to intimate that after all Job's suffering, which included hideous disfigurement and violent loss, a principle of grace and beauty enters his life in the restoration of his fortunes." \parencite[579]{alter} This is indeed a beautiful take on it, too. Job comes out the other side and names his daughters after growing things, beautiful things. Dove and Cinnamon and Horn of Eyeshade, the most beautiful in the land and a sign of Job's joy in living.\footnote{One worries,\footnotemark~however, that this is not what happened. Folktales are folktales and there is only so much we can tease out of the text itself. That Job names his daughters and lives another 140 years before dying of old age provides little enough context as to his state of mind. We, of course, have other resources. The Anglicans have their three-legged stool --- scripture, tradition, reason --- and the Methodists their Wesleyan quadrilateral --- which adds 'experience' --- and so we have at our disposal tradition, reason, and experience beyond just the scripture itself.}\footnotetext{Or, well, *I* worry. I do not think many apologists worry, and this is not a work of apologetics. I am not an apologist, and whether or not I even believe in God is up in the air.}
+Alter argues that the names that Job gives his new daughters points to a change. "The writer may have wanted to intimate that after all Job's suffering, which included hideous disfigurement and violent loss, a principle of grace and beauty enters his life in the restoration of his fortunes." \parencite[579]{alter} This is indeed a beautiful take on it, too. Job comes out the other side and names his daughters after growing things, beautiful things. Dove and Cinnamon and Horn of Eyeshade, the most beautiful in the land and a sign of Job's joy in living.
+
+> One worries, however, that this is not what happened. Folktales are folktales and there is only so much we can tease out of the text itself. That Job names his daughters and lives another 140 years before dying of old age provides little enough context as to his state of mind. We, of course, have other resources. The Anglicans have their three-legged stool --- scripture, tradition, reason --- and the Methodists their Wesleyan quadrilateral --- which adds 'experience' --- and so we have at our disposal tradition, reason, and experience beyond just the scripture itself.
+
+> Or, well, *I* worry. I do not think many apologists worry, and this is not a work of apologetics. I am not an apologist, and whether or not I even believe in God is up in the air.
 
 The Book of Job asks a question. It is the question of theodicy: "why is there suffering in the world?" How could a God who is omnicient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent allow suffering to happen? If He is all-knowing and all-powerful, can he be all-good if he allows life to suffer? If he is all-knowing and all-good, can he not stop the suffering?
 

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/1-personal.md

@@ -0,0 +1,36 @@
+All stories are perforce interpolations within real events.
+
+The story of identity, the story of coming to terms with existing in some particular way, is as a much an interpolation into the whole of us as anything. I am trans, yes, but that is not the story; that is the identity. I am who I am specifically because I did what I did, I learned what I learned, I changed how I changed. No amount of flowery language will change that, no overanalysis of this or that will make me be anything else.
+
+"If Matthew died on September 6th, 2012," I asked myself some years ago, "Was Madison born then?"
+
+That date, September 6th, had nothing in particular to do with gender. The answer was no, after all. Madison was born some two intercalary years later. Matthew's death had nothing to do with gender — he died when his friend died, when Margaras hit that barricade at fifty miles an hour.
+
+In reply to asking myself that, I say, "If Matthew died on September of that year, then he was sick long before. This was part of his long, slow death rattle."
+
+He'd been sick for months. He'd contracted something terminal, been infected with some terrible, memetic illness earlier that year.
+
+Stories are as bound to time as we are, and all we can do is steal back a bit of that memory through however many words. All we can do with these memories pinned in place is regard them from a second level of distance and make guesses. All I can do now is make guesses as to the meaning of however many conversations — those very real words lost to the whims of technology — that lead to the slow and not always but often painful death of who I was.
+
+-----
+
+The framing device for my own choice of Job is as follows.
+
+I met her through a friend, Andrew. My boyfriend at the time, actually. I'd flown down to Florida some time in 2009, I think, to visit him. A quick jaunt down to Clearwater where his ex-Scientologist mom and step-dad had set up their own business, bought some ridiculous house on the beach, and raised their only child.
+
+So much of that trip was so fun, too, even if it was the last. We drove out to some car meet-up at a strip mall. Fast car after fast car lined up in a parking lot. Men in sunglasses. Someone, years younger than I, crouching down to try and stick his cell phone, held up on its edge, under his car and showing that it had been lowered that much. "Fucking idiot," Andrew whispered. "Speed bumps would rip the shit out of that."
+
+He was the car nerd, not me. He was the one who had a black Dodge Dynasty with a red velour interior — his "mob car" — and then that terrible minivan he tried to strip and paint black by himself, and then the…was it a Passat?
+
+That last one we drove out to Orlando where one of his friends, Jill, her family the holders of a Disney pass, had procured a hotel room somewhere on the outskirts of Walt Disney World where we could have a small party — Andrew and I, her and her…was it her boyfriend? And Floe and Necco. A mostly quiet night of drinking and talking and more drinking. Andrew and I got drunk. Floe and Necco got drunk. Jill got drunk, and her boyfriend got truly wasted. He ran a bath, climbed in fully-clothed, and cried about how much he loved his friends. We sat on the rim of the tub, dangled our feet in the warm water, agreed earnestly.
+
+And I did too! I loved Andrew, of course. I still do, from however far away. We haven't talked in years, but I would not be who I am without him. I love Floe — I've worked with him on dozens of illustrations over the years. I loved Necco, even if he fills me with loathing now. I suppose I must have loved Jill and her boyfriend, too. That sort of sticky-sweet love is infectious in a vodka-tinged haze.
+
+After that, we went to some event. Another alcohol-fueled party. Another awkward night. Another drive back home and then the rest of our stay. It went less than stellar, and we broke up the day I returned home. It had been a long time coming, not least of which because, without telling me, he'd been dating Jill for months beforehand.
+
+-----
+
+Shortly after I started to realize just how ill-suited I was to music education, I went through a change of identity online. While before I had gone by the name 'Ranna', cribbed from Garth Nix's excellent Old Kingdom series, I now began to go by the name Makyo, from a zen Buddhist term which bears a similar meaning. Something about just how focused many of the general teacher education classes were on things other than education filled me with a sense that I might not actually be in any way helping students, but simply standing in their way. I was makyō. I was satan.
+
+I, at one point, was overtaken by the need to tell my story through the frame of a conversation with an ally. I described them — or perhaps they described themselves; the boundary between framing device and reality blurs — as "an ally, not a friend." Towards the end of the project, we had a 'conversation' wherein I attempt to describe their inverse. Their response: "Not your enemy, but your adversary." \parencite[25]{ally-making-of}
+

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/index.md

@@ -11,12 +11,22 @@ Something like "Seasons" except about growth through the death of the self and h
 Rewrite for side-by-side:
 
 1. [Framing devices](1-framing-devices)
-3. [Interpolations](2-interpolations)
-4. [Friends and "Friends"](3-friends)
-5. [Unknown things](4-unknown) (theodicy)
-6. [Should all things be known](5-known) (what if the pals really did solve theodicy)
+2. [Workshop notes](workshop-notes)
+    1. [Personal](1-personal)
+    2. [Academic](1-academic)
+2. [Interpolations](2-interpolations)
+3. [Friends and "Friends"](3-friends)
+4. [Unknown things](4-unknown) (theodicy)
+5. [Should all things be known](5-known) (what if the pals really did solve theodicy)
 
-[Workshop notes](workshop-notes)
+Timeboxed third attempt for academic in footnotes:
+
+* [o] [Intro](reverse/intro)
+* [.] [Background](reverse/background) --- Andrew and Jill and the fundamental unhappiness of identity
+* [.] [Younes](reverse/younes) --- Gender play and hidden selves
+* [ ] [Dysphoria](reverse/dysphoria) --- The internal side
+* [ ] [Clash with Jill](reverse/clash) --- Stopped talking, told off for Younes, told to fuck off
+* [ ] [The choice of Job](reverse/choice)
 
 Pals quotes:
 
@@ -34,20 +44,9 @@ G. K. Chesterton https://www.chesterton.org/introduction-to-job/
 On forgiving one's Elihu:
 
 ```
-\footnote{I've heard said in the past that "forgiveness is releasing the hope for a better past" \parencite{wakefield} but it's more complicated than that, isn't it? That quote itself is more complicated than that:
-
-\begin{verse}
-There are ways around being the go-to person \\
-even for ourselves \\
-even when the answer is clear \\
-clear like the holy water Gentiles would drink \\
-before they realized \\
-forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past
-\end{verse}
-
-Primed as we are to take text out of context, wrap our own needs around it, and pretend that it is in all ways applicable to all situations (for did I not already bring up mistaking accidental, individual symbols for universal ones?), it's so easy to misremember that the better past we hope for is just some dream, some thing we cling to long after the us that lived that past has died.
-
-Who knows if I was the go-to person, the punching bag for my Elihu, the object of their simple angers? Who knows if they remember me? They cut contact, without telling me, without telling me why, and who knows if they even know the reason?
-
-Who cares, other then me?}
+\footnote{}
 ```
+
+-----
+
+[theology points](theology-points)

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/background.md

@@ -0,0 +1,73 @@
+## The Fundamental Unhappiness of Identity
+
+How do we remember the past?[^background-remember] How do we remember all of those countless conversations that make up our friendships, our relationships, our enmities? How do we remember the past?
+
+I met her through a friend, Andrew. My boyfriend at the time, actually. I'd flown down to Florida some time in 2009, I think, to visit him. A quick jaunt down to Clearwater where his ex-Scientologist mom and step-dad had set up their own business, bought some ridiculous house on the beach, and raised their only child.
+
+So much of that trip was so fun, too, even if it was the last. We drove out to some car meet-up at a strip mall. Fast car after fast car lined up in a parking lot. Men in sunglasses. Someone, years younger than I, crouching down to try and stick his cell phone, held up on its edge, under his car and showing that it had been lowered that much. "Fucking idiot," Andrew whispered. "Speed bumps would rip the shit out of that."
+
+He was the car nerd, not me. He was the one who had a black Dodge Dynasty with a red velour interior --- his "mob car" --- and then that terrible minivan he tried to strip and paint black by himself, and then the...was it a Passat?
+
+That last one we drove out to Orlando where one of his friends, Jill, her family the holders of a Disney pass, had procured a hotel room somewhere on the outskirts of Walt Disney World where we could have a small party --- Andrew and I, her and her...was it her boyfriend? And Floe and Necco. A mostly quiet night of drinking and talking and more drinking. Andrew and I got drunk. Floe and Necco got drunk. Jill got drunk, and her boyfriend got truly wasted. He ran a bath, climbed in fully-clothed, and cried about how much he loved his friends. We sat on the rim of the tub, dangled our feet in the warm water, agreed earnestly.
+
+And I did too! I loved Andrew, of course. I still do, from however far away. We haven't talked in years, but I would not be who I am without him. I love Floe --- I've worked with him on dozens of illustrations over the years. I loved Necco, even if he also fills me with loathing now. I suppose I must have loved Jill and her boyfriend, too. That sort of sticky-sweet love is infectious in a vodka-tinged haze.
+
+After that, we went to some event. Another alcohol-fueled party. Another awkward night. Another drive back home and then the rest of our stay. It went less than stellar, and we broke up the day I returned home. It had been a long time coming, not least of which because, without telling me, he'd been dating Jill for months beforehand.
+
+Shortly after I started to realize just how ill-suited I was to music education, I went through a change of identity online. While before I had gone by the name 'Ranna', cribbed from Garth Nix's excellent Old Kingdom series, I now began to go by the name Makyo, from a Zen Buddhist term which bears a similar meaning. Something about just how focused many of the general teacher education classes were on things other than education filled me with a sense that I might not actually be in any way helping students, but simply standing in their way. I was makyō. I was satan.
+    
+I, at one point, was overtaken by the need to tell my story through the frame of a conversation with an ally. I described them --- or perhaps they described themselves; the boundary between framing device and reality blurs --- as "an ally, not a friend." Towards the end of the project, we had a 'conversation' wherein I attempted to describe their inverse. Their response: "Not your enemy, but your adversary." \parencite[25]{ally-making-of}
+
+-----
+
+I know, for instance, that my conversations with my husband around transition were many and scattered. We would chat over dinner, or we would talk on that horrifyingly yellow couch that he'd inherited about the fact that I was feeling strange about all these different aspects of identity. But you know what I remember? I remember sitting on that couch and talking in well-formed sentences, in paragraphs and essays, about why it was that I felt like the body I had and the body I \emph{had} overlapped incompletely, or I remember sitting on one of the dining table chairs turned to face the living room in a skirt I had made for myself, explaining to him that I felt like a part of me died when Margaras did.
+
+These were almost certainly conversations. They were full of filled pauses and the backtracking failures of speech that come with just plain chatting, but that's not what I remember. I remember discourses and speeches and prayers. I remember the way we constructed well-reasoned dialogues back and forth, with none of the doublings back or filler words, none of those pregnant silences that come with his speech impediment or my preemptive justifications that leave me gasping for air --- the need to be understood far outweighs the need for oxygen. 
+
+When I was 17, I got in my first car accident. The roads in Boulder are beholden to its landscape, the shape of the hills upon which they were built defining the curves. The entirety of the town huddles up against the feet of the Rockies, crowding against the Flatirons. Broadway, the main drag through town, carves a gentle curve steadily closer to heading truly north from its initial gentle westward bent. At one point, a sort of surface-level slip road ducks off to merge with 28th, the street on which my friend lived.
+
+Driving him home after a February rehearsal, icy and disgusting, that gentle curve of slip road relinquished its grip on the truck and we seemed to float a few inches above the pavement. It was an almost gentle sensation as we bumped against the truck beside us.
+
+Beyond that, it was all boring. Get out, exchange information, go our separate ways. I don't remember much more than that, only that I had to call my dad once I got home and tell him what happened. I don't even remember what I said to him, only that he stopped me, laughing, and told me to stop talking like a lawyer, that he wasn't suing me. My justifications for every second of that accident had to be airtight. My need for air came second.
+
+I don't imagine the same was actually true of my conversations with JD about gender. We probably just slouched on that horrifyingly yellow couch and talked about how I was feeling, how every time he got close, it felt like he was getting close to the wrong me.
+
+But that's not how I remember it. I remember it as a story. There is a linear progression from 2010 to 2015, complete with an arc, with a beginning, middle, and end, with a supporting characters and with an antagonist.
+
+Similarly, the story I remember of Jill comes with a beginning, middle, and end. I met her through Andrew, we grew close, there was that snippy message, a sudden silence, and then that final exchange, and we haven't spoken sense. Acts one through five, all told in order: introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, catastrophe.
+
+-----
+
+Andrew and I met all the way back in 2000.
+
+He went by Miro, then, a name cribbed from the surrealist painter Juan Miró. I later learned, though far before that 2009 visit, that his parents actually owned an original Miró, and that's where he'd thought of the name. This was before I was going by Makyo, too. Before I was Makyo, I was Ranna, a name stolen from Garth Nix's *Sabriel*. "Ranna the sleepbringer, the sweet, low sound that brought silence in its wake." \parencite[80]{sabriel}
+
+We bonded over being young --- we were both young, once, and dumb --- and the fact that we'd both stolen our names from elsewhere. We bonded over being gay. We bonded over being furry. It was a perfect match for early romance, for the first time we dated.
+
+I say "first time", as we eventually drifted apart in the young-love fashion: we got frustrated with the fact that we were growing into different people than then ones we'd fallen in love with.
+
+We fell into love, fell out, and then, years later, as he moved to Colorado, some strange triangle --- or perhaps quadrilateral --- formed between us.
+
+He moved to Denver while I was up in Fort Collins, working on my bachelor's at CSU, and I spent the occasional weekend with him, whether that was him driving up to our place or me heading down to visit him and Kinematics. I thought he was dating Kine, he thought I was dating my now husband, JD, and JD thought I was dating him.
+
+It wasn't until he moved out of state --- this time off to Carlsbad, CA to get a degree in gemology --- that we actually sat down to have that conversation. I hadn't started dating JD yet. He and Kine had never dated. The us who we had become fell back into love, found some new way to exist together without driving each other nuts. Not yet, at least.
+
+-----
+
+"Memory is playing tricks on me" is a phrase I'm never sure how to parse.
+
+Tricks? Is it tricking me? Is it fooling me? Is it hiding a smirk as I dig and dig to try and remember dates?
+
+I don't quite remember when this all went down. I think we had a lot of these conversations back when I was in the house on Maple Street, the one that caught fire in my housemate's room, which means that must have happened before moving out in 2006. I remember living in the apartment on Remington Street and flying out Carlsbad to visit Andrew, to meet his friends Toni and Wish, which means that must have happened sometime before 2009, back before we moved to the house on Andrea Street.
+
+Memory plays tricks on me, and perhaps that's just in us remembering through transpositions, interpositions, interpolations. That's me remembering those times with Kine and then those times we were dating in Colorado before remembering that, between those, he'd gone to school out in California.
+
+And perhaps it's just the ways in which *this* is pushed out to make way for *that*. What year did I visit Carlsbad? I don't remember. I do, however, remember --- vividly --- Toni and Wish sleeping on the floor. I remember talking about all those people we knew together in #sanefurs and #nonfurs, IRC channels of snarky assholes two steps away from the Burned Furs movement.
+
+[^background-remember]: The Book of Job remembers it through just the discourses. It remembers entire conversations, entire histories of friendship, through the lens of those two weeks Job spent in the cold fire pit, covered with ashes and sores. It remembers them all through discourses and speeches and prayers. Perhaps strangest of all, though, it remembers them disjoint and out of order.
+
+    Edward L. Greenstein discusses the transpositions, interpositions, and interpolations that go into the book of Job. Take, for instance, Job's first speech. "For many reasons," he writes, "the passage 4:12-21 should be read here, right after chapter 3, as the conclusion of Job's first speech." \parencite[16]{greenstein} In that speech, Job bemoans the horrors that have befallen him and his family, spelling out in poetic detail all of the ways he wishes he'd never been born.Where, in the traditional ordering, this would lead to Eliphaz's first speech, Greenstein instead places a description of a vision that had, in those orderings, been given to Eliphaz. He provides three reasons: in similar tales, it is the complainant who receives a vision; Job, rather than his friends, receives the theophany in this story; and both Job and Eliphaz himself refer to Job's vision in later chapters.
+    
+    I can't speak to the details beyond this and a few mentions in the Apocrypals episode on the Book of Job. Both describe the ways in which the original story would have been kept on leaves of papyrus, how easy it would have been for such leaves to be shuffled --- accidentally or intentionally --- by some time-forgotten redacter.
+    
+    The Book of Job remembers its events out of order, and attempts to fix it, whether its addressed explicitly in the text as Greenstein does or through footnotes as Alter and the NOAB editors do, cannot be done so without addressing this fact.

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/choice.md

@@ -0,0 +1,23 @@
+## The Choice of Job
+
+There is a point of least faith. This is the minimum amount of faith required to simply get by in the world. The word 'faith', here, is specifically left lowercase: faith in God, perhaps, but faith that the world will get better? Faith that the next breath will come, that you and the world in which you exist are compossible? However terrifying this large a concept may be, as True Name would have it:
+
+> But what does it mean to believe in something like [the irreversibility of time]? Or the sanctity of life or love or art? Or God, for that matter? 'Belief' as a word is a stand-in for a concept so broad as to be to be intimidating or impossible. One may say as Blake did, "For everything that lives is holy", but encompassing that within one's mind is truly terrifying. \parencite[122]{mitzvot}
+
+This point implies for some an ideal of least faith: that one should strive to live their life taking the least number of things on faith as possible, that to rely too much on faith becomes a fault. For others, it is a principle of least faith: it is an intrinsic property that we tend towards the least amount of faith required to live, as is evidenced by the ever-increasing understanding of the world around ourselves.
+
+And, perhaps because of that principle, this point of least faith is always shifting, trending usually downwards --- though some discoveries, if they are to be believed, may make that line tick upwards. Every day, we drift towards some point at which all things may be known.
+
+Or, to speak in terms of cost and benefit, that point of least faith is the point of faith at its most disinterested. It is the point at which you may hold one singular thing on faith rather than all of those countless aspects that lie within that exchange, that power dynamic. That point where, against all the world throws at us, we are still able to hold to that which we believe to be true.
+
+And that was mine. That was my point of least faith. That was the point at which I...'doubted' is not quite the right word. That was the point at which I shouted at nothing, the point at which I demanded an advocate from no one. That was the point that God, the universe, that very same no one answered my note of interrogation with one of exclamation. Instead of some explicable approach to the problem of identity, it insisted that it is much stranger than I had ever thought.
+
+That was my point of least faith, and that was my own choice of Job. That was the point at which I could have looked at the mess that had become my life and taken one of two paths.
+
+The path of Jonah lay behind me. That was the path of fear, of running away from such an overwhelming unimaginability, whether or not storm-tossed ships and all of God's biggest fish lay before me. That's the path of falling back into Matthew, of being so angry I could die.
+
+The path of Qohelet lay before me. That was the path of disinterested faith, of pushing through all that shit that the world had thrown at me. That was the path of looking back to see folly and looking ahead to find that, yes, "wisdom surpasses folly as light surpasses darkness." (Qohelet 2:13, Alter) That was accepting my birth as Madison on the grounds of that faith that I was being true to myself. Sure, I may yet hate life, might hate what choice I'd made, might hate all things under the sun because the wise, too, dies like a fool.
+
+But I would have at least done it.
+
+I was young, once, and dumb. I can hardly say I'm any smarter, now, but at least I'm Madison. At least I'm not that angsty, angry asshole who thought to himself he needed to come to terms with being a terrible person.

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/clash.md

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+## ((section title))

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/dysphoria.md

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+## Friction
+
+The elevation of unknown things is the point at which something which is not tangible, is not spatio-temporal, is not *real* somehow becomes more important than the real. It's the point at which we are overcome by the numinous and can't help but focus on unknown things. They hover over our vision, a thin overlay, coloring everything we see.
+
+Who knows how healthy this is.
+
+It certainly doesn't feel like it does much good when that unknown thing is scraping up against your identity, the worst sandpaper. It's that psychopathological friction. It's that slow silence that builds between you and your friend.
+
+It was almost unnoticeable at first.
+
+This was back in the days of AOL Instant Messenger, before Telegram and Discord --- though I think by this time ICQ had breathed its last. At this point, I had two accounts, since my boss at the time had decided to use the service for communication
+
+(...)
+
+It's the question of disinterested faith all over again. Can we maintain our faith in the divine without interest --- interest, here, in a financial sense --- such that we maintain our belief without worry of punishment or expectation of reward?
+
+It took me a long time to figure out disinterested identity

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/intro.md

@@ -0,0 +1,106 @@
+> Job puts forward a note of interrogation; God answers with a note of exclamation.[^intro-approaches] Instead of proving to Job that it is an explicable world, He insists that it is a much stranger world than Job ever thought it was.
+>
+> \parencite{intro-to-job}[^intro-thesis]
+
+I've heard it said that "forgiveness is releasing the hope for a better past," \parencite{wakefield} but it's more complicated than that, isn't it? That quote itself is more complicated than that:
+
+'''
+There are ways around being the go-to person
+even for ourselves
+even when the answer is clear
+clear like the holy water Gentiles would drink
+before they realized
+forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past
+'''
+
+Primed as we are to take text out of context, wrap our own needs around it, and pretend that it is in all ways applicable to all situations (for did I not already ramble about mistaking accidental, individual symbols for universal ones?),[^intro-symbols] it's so easy to misremember that the better past we hope for is just some dream, some thing we cling to long after the us that lived that past has died.
+
+Who knows if I was the go-to person, the punching bag for my Elihu, the object of her simple angers? Who knows if she remembers me? She cut contact, without telling me, without telling me why, and who knows if she even knows the reason?
+
+Who cares, other than me?
+
+All stories are perforce interpolations within real events.
+
+The story of identity, the story of coming to terms with existing in some particular way, is as much an interpolation into the whole of us as anything. I am trans, yes, but that is not the story; that is the identity. I am who I am specifically because I did what I did, I learned what I learned, I changed how I changed. No amount of academic language will change that, no overanalysis of this or that will make me be anything else.
+
+"If Matthew died on September 6th, 2012," I asked myself some years ago, "Was Madison born then?"
+
+That date, September 6th, had nothing in particular to do with gender. The answer was no, after all. Madison was born some two intercalary[^intro-intercalary] years later. Matthew's death had nothing to do with gender — he died when his friend died, when Margaras hit that barricade at fifty miles an hour.
+
+Matthew died and then I don't remember what happened. I suppose there was a few years of fumbling around, poking and prodding at various parts of his body in the hopes that something could be salvaged. The hair, maybe? Or the softness of skin? Perhaps he could simply be recycled into something new, the same lump of clay molded and remolded into something new until some fresher breath of life was breathed into it.
+
+If Matthew died in 2012 and Madison wasn't born until a few years later,[^intro-fractions] if I don't remember those in-between years, then I keep questioning whether or not I actually existed then. I suppose 2013 involved dealing with the tic, and I guess we moved in 2014, but both of those stand-out events feel as though they happened to someone else, someone not Madison.
+
+If Matthew died in 2012, why was I not born then?
+
+In reply to asking myself that, I say, "If Matthew died in September of that year, then he was sick long before. This was part of his long, slow death rattle."
+
+He'd been sick for months. He'd contracted something terminal, been infected with some terrible, memetic illness earlier that year. Words had been whispered, implications, innuendo, little hints in growing silence and distance. These drilled their way into him, teased out an immune response in the form of defensiveness, then left a husk behind.
+
+Some long winter followed. He had died and crumpled to the ground. He mouldered a while before decomposing into the soil. He lay dormant beneath the earth, waiting for a thaw. Madison began to grow[^intro-grow] during that false spring that hits at the beginning of March, those two weeks of warm weather that convince you that winter must be over, it must have passed and it was time to air out the house, to wash your jackets and hang them up for the year. We always forget about the second winter, but false spring is enough for the buds to peek out.[^intro-change]
+
+Stories are as bound to time as we are, and all we can do is steal back a bit of that memory through however many words. All we can do with these memories pinned in place is regard them from a second level of distance and make guesses. All I can do now is make guesses as to the meaning of however many conversations — those very real words lost to the whims of technology — that lead to the slow and not always but often painful death of who I was.
+
+-----
+
+[^intro-approaches]: The Book of Job, out of all of the books in the Hebrew bible, is buried deepest under layers of guesses. Even in the Christian bible, the only book that comes close is Revelation. Perhaps it is the dire nature by which both approach the world. Job takes a look at the world, heaves a weary sigh, and says, "I suppose this is it. This is the lot we have been given in life." While Revelation looks at the world and growls deep in its throat, a sound coming from the belly, and says, "This must not be it. This cannot be the way in which the world works."
+
+    Or perhaps it is the way in which they view death. While Job looks on death almost fondly, Revelation reiterates the Christian sentiment that death has been defeated using the genre of apocalypse (that is, a revealing, a pulling back of the curtain). The world that was is no more, and as there is everlasting life beyond it, it is worth considering only in that context and otherwise only worth discarding.
+    
+[^intro-thesis]: Gustavo Gutiérrez, in his investigation into the Book of Job *On Job: God-Talk and the Suffering of the Innocent*, posits that Job exemplifies *disinterested religion* --- that is, a non-transactional faith that holds even when there is not a direct benefit or punishment. "[The author of the Book of Job] believes it to be possible, although he undoubtedly knew the difficulty that human suffering, one's own and that of others, raises against authentic faith in God. Job, whom he makes the vehicle of his own experience, will be his spokesman." \parencite[1]{onjob} I find this argument extremely compelling as a way to describe the entirety of Job and its role in both Judaism and Christianity, my own thesis does not necessarily have anything to do with theodicy.
+
+    Rather, I'd like to posit that there are at least two possible outcomes for Job *after* the events of the book. On the one hand, Job might follow the path of Qohelet in the eponymous book (called Ecclesiastes in Christian bibles), or he can follow the path of Jonah. That is, he can maintain his disinterested faith, or doubt can overtake him. He can become the wise, if perhaps jaded, author of a text that argues "there is nothing better for people under the sun than to eat, and drink, and enjoy themselves, for this will go with them in their toil through the days of life that God gives them under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 8:15, NRSV) Or he can become the reluctant prophet who says to God that he is "angry enough to die." (Jonah 4:9, NRSV)
+
+[^intro-symbols]: The framing for The Book of Job takes the form of a fable, a set of universal symbols designed to instruct as well as entertain. The structure is as follows: 
+
+    Job is a prosperous and pious man living in the merry old land of Uz. He is wealthy in livestock and in family, with his 7,000 sheep, his 3,000 camels, his cattle and she-asses, his slaves and his ten children. His seven sons love and respect each other, and he loves them all in turn (though he does seem a tad suspicious of their piety, making sacrifices in their names on their appointed days).
+
+    God, holding court with the sons of God, greets the Adversary[^intro-adversary] and asks where they have been. They respond that they have been roaming the Earth, to which God replies, "Have you paid heed to My servant Job, for there is none like him on earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and shuns evil?" (Job 1:8, Alter)
+
+    And here is where we first run into trouble, for now is when the Adversary, the Accuser, shoots back, "Does Job fear God for nothing? Have You not hedged him about and his household and all that he has all around? The work of his hands You have blessed, and his flocks have spread over the land. And yet, reach out Your hand, pray, and strike all he has. Will he not curse You to Your face?"
+
+    And God does it. He does it! He gives Job up to the Adversary, and of course, all that Job has, all that he's gained and all of his offspring, are destroyed. Cattle and she-asses? Felled by the Sabeans. Camels? Stolen by the Chaldaeans. Sheep? Burnt up by none other than the fire of God Himself. His men are dead. His sons and daughters are dead, crushed beneath the walls of a house torn by a sudden wind.
+
+    Job, pious as he is, does not curse God. He tears his clothes, bows down, and blesses Him.[^intro-bless]
+
+    Once more, God says to the Adversary that there is none more pious than Job, and once more the Adversary jeers, "Skin for skin! A man will give all he has for his own life. Yet, reach out, pray, Your hand and strike his bone and his flesh. Will he not curse You to Your face?" (Job 2:5, Alter)
+
+    Yet again, God gives Job up to the Adversary — "Only preserve his life" — who strikes Job with a rash from head to toe, leaving him to sit among the ashes and scrape at his flesh.
+    
+[^intro-adversary]: This is the translation of the phrase in Hebrew, *ha-satan*. Alter notes that it wasn't until much more recently that this was refigured as specifically Satan: "The word *satan* is a person, thing, or set of circumstances that constitutes an obstacle or frustrates one's purposes." \parencite[466]{alter} The Jewish Publication Society concurs. (Job 1:6, JPS) It is a job title more than it is identity. In fact, the transition from the Adversary to Satan himself is fraught. The specifically academic New Oxford Annotated Bible (NOAB) retains the New Revised Standard Version translation as Satan qua Satan, but acknowledges in translation footnotes each time the term *ha-satan* shows up that this is "Or the Accuser; Heb. *ha-satan*". \parencite[736]{noab}
+
+[^intro-bless]: Even Job's wife seems to sigh: "Do you still cling to your innocence? Curse God and die." (Job 2:9, Alter)
+
+    There is a difference in interpretation, here. On the one hand, Alter suggests that Job's wife is being sardonic here, saying, "Job's wife assumes either that cursing God will immediately lead to Job's death, which might be just as well, or that, given his ghastly state, he will soon die anyway" \parencite[469]{alter}. Might as well curse anyway, eh?
+
+    The editors of the NOAB take a more sympathetic view of the exchange. Job's wife is seen as far more sympathetic: "The outcome of all Job's piety has been to rob his wife of her ten children, her social standing, and her livelihood." \parencite[737]{noab} Curse God, then. Who else could be responsible? How can you continue to praise after our ten (admittedly unnamed) children have died?
+
+[^intro-intercalary]: Between the two halves of the fable --- Job's fall and God's reinstatement of him --- lies an intercalary period of at least a week wherein his friends,[^intro-friends] Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar[^intro-elihu] commiserate with him, sitting silent for seven days and nights, before the last chapter of the book with the conclusion of the framing device. God commands that Job's friends offer up sacrifices on his behalf, and when they do, all of Job's wealth is restored twice over. 14,000 sheep, 6,000 camels and so on, down to seven more sons and three more daughters (which he gives the delightful names Dove, Cinnamon, and Horn of Eyeshade). Job lives another hundred and forty years, long enough to see four generations of offspring, until he dies "aged and sated in years." (Job 42:17, Alter)
+
+[^intro-friends]: Though perhaps this ought to be put in qualifying quotes: "friends".
+
+[^intro-elihu]: There is also Elihu, but more on him later.
+
+[^intro-fractions]: Job's life being torn to shreds means that his brief time here on Earth, the only time he has with nothing after it, is one that divides one's life into finite fractions, into a before, a during, and an after. Job is struck for, what, two weeks? We may only guess, as the Adversary's second visit to the sons of God and the Lord. And yet those are two weeks out of a finite number of years.
+
+    This centers God's response as the sticking point. He spends four chapters responding to Job the conversations that have taken place between him and his friends. While these conversations make up the majority of the book, His response solely in the context of this framing device (which, we must remember, is an older folktale which has been re-cast as a framing device for the rest of the book) gives us a particular flavor of 'God works in mysterious ways' with more nuance than one commonly finds when that phrase is employed.
+
+    God appears to Job and his friends and expounds on the fact that none of them do — nor indeed can — possibly understand the ways in which he works. They're not just mysterious, they're vast and incomprehensible. This makes the most sense in a panentheistic view. If He is outside time, then, from our point of view, those ways stretch both forwards and back. If they envelop and pervade all things tangible and intangible, then they are beyond even our causal domain.
+
+    Even in a grounded, Jahwist, immediate and physical view of God[^intro-exist] (He is, after all, there in the form of a whirlwind), his entrance comes off as bizarre and unnerving. He passes through the physical plane as the Sphere does through the Square's planar existence. Even in so physical a form, He proves His very incomprehensibility.
+
+    These interpretations are doing a lot of heavy lifting, however. They accept at face value Job's capitulation in chapter 40, where, after being thoroughly excoriated by no less than God Himself, he says, "Look, I am worthless. What can I say back to You?" (Job 40:4, Alter) and "I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further." (Job 40:5, NRSV)
+    
+[^intro-exist]: And if He does not exist? The folktale and the book as a whole do not depend on the existence of God in their interpretation. They still work to repudiate the idea that, if bad things happen to you, it is because you're a bad person.
+
+[^intro-change]: Our Job, though, our poor, ruined man, has he changed? Has he grown into something new? Has he integrated who he was during those weeks or months of grief with who he was before that? Has he built for himself a new identity? Has he become braver? More fearful?
+
+    There is a saying that, with near-death experiences, there are two likely outcomes. One is that you become a braver, more vivacious person. You live your life all the fuller because you got so close to not living at all. After all, if you have been given a second chance, why not?
+
+    But still, there's that second option: you become consumed by fear. You freeze up and do not leave the house. Any potential source of death is a thing to be avoided.
+    
+    This is no value judgement. To be consumed by fear after having your own mortality stand up before you, sneer down its nose, and give you a playful shove bears no shame. It is an honest acceptance of who you are in the face of the enormity of the universe.
+
+    And sure, it might be a spectrum, and there's probably that absolute midpoint where there is no change. You make it through that brush with death and come out the other side precisely the same as you were before. There is terror in this prospect, that death might be so overwhelming that there is nothing you can do but wrap that experience up in butcher paper, tie it with twine, and set it up in the attic.
+    
+[^intro-grow]: Alter argues that the names that Job gives his new daughters points to a change. "The writer may have wanted to intimate that after all Job's suffering, which included hideous disfigurement and violent loss, a principle of grace and beauty enters his life in the restoration of his fortunes." \parencite[579]{alter} This is indeed a beautiful take on it, too. Job comes out the other side and names his daughters after growing things, beautiful things. Dove and Cinnamon and Horn of Eyeshade, the most beautiful in the land and a sign of Job's joy in living.

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/reverse/younes.md

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+## Gender Play and Hidden Selves
+
+I was young, once, and dumb.
+
+Which is not to say that I'm not, now, of course. I certainly feel it sometimes. Even the young bit: Madison is, what, eight now? Not many eight year olds are smart. I still fumble. I still seem to create those humiliating moments that stick in the memory and make me wince whenever they come up, though they've changed in tenor over the years.
+
+But I was young and dumb and desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on with my identity, this awkward pile of senses and sensations that were causing so much friction in my life. 
+
+An aside: "Identity is psychopathological," my first psychologist said. "You only feel it when there's friction."[^younes-interpolation1] I'm not totally sure that I agree --- trans joy is as much a thing as trans pain --- but, as a statement, it's true enough, most of the time. Something about the way my life was built such that the smallest things, coarse as sandpaper, would brush up against something integral, and scrape away at its surface, leaving tracks colored cherry.
+
+It's strange to think back to those early discussions with him, too. That insight hit at such a strange time in my life. It came up in a discussion about my stresses around work. I think I said something like, "I've wrapped up my need to be productive as part of my identity." I had been talking about the burnout I felt looming on the horizon. I had been expecting some discussion of how to tackle the concept of burnout (something I struggle with bad enough that I quit my job in tech to focus on an MFA), but instead, I had that simple phrase thrown at me, and I was left scrabbling after truths.
+
+That wasn't the only bit of identity I was feeling acutely either, after all, was it? I'd felt that before, back when I first came out as --- at the time --- gay. I felt it with work and how it was grating at me. I'd felt the way it ground up against me, skinning my elbows and knees, a sort of road rash of the self.
+
+But now I was feeling it in some new, far stranger way, though I couldn't put my finger on just how, exactly. I was feeling *something*, but heaven knows what. Something deeper, far more integral.
+
+There must be some way of debriding that scuffed and stripped self-stuff, I thought, so that what you're left with is some purer version of yourself, something all the more whole for what was there now being gone. There must be some way to pare that cruft away. There had to be, right? If one was to live happily, there had to be.
+
+Years later, one job and one house and one more dog and one more self later, I called him to ask if he would be willing to write a WPATH letter for me so that I could start HRT, and he said, "I don't think I can. I don't know enough about it, and you don't want to know how I feel about it."[^younes-interpolation2]
+
+I never talked to him again.
+
+All the same, I was young, I was dumb, and I was flaking away at the edges of that more fundamental identity. I was making use of the space I had to explore in clumsy, gangly ways. I was building up new versions of myself, one after another, to search for the smallest bit of relief[^youness-unknown] from that friction.
+
+An aside: furry is a notably queer space. It's a subculture in which you present to others a new version of yourself; not always better, but almost always more earnest. You provide an avatar, a front-stage persona, that everyone simply takes at face value. There is no unwinding, no translation[^younes-translation] of the front- to the backstage version of you. We commission art and ignore the names on the PayPal invoices. We meet each other at conventions, share rooms with each other, and still never learn each other's real names. We refer to each other by species, a cute way to reinforce the idea the ostensibly human being in front of us is not what we're seeing.
+
+There's no reason that such a space would not attract a queer crowd, yes? Some of it is doubtless the sense of safety that fandom has always provided to gay and lesbian people as well as a place where gender-bending is welcome. Still, in a place where our own original characters are normal (as opposed to a fandom centered on canon, where canonical characters are the norm), where we become those characters, one is primed to play with identity.
+
+So I did.
+
+I was going by Makyo at that point, had been for a few years. Those around me, those within furry spaces at least, saw me as that well-dressed arctic fox, the one in the subtly pinstriped suit based off my old suit from jazz choir. It was the most comfortable performance of masculinity that I could manage: one based off looking good. Not looking masculine, per se, just looking good. Looking nice. A focus on clothes, on looking good with the knowledge of how to look good. There was, in retrospect, a desire for some shallow interpretation of femininity involved in this.
+
+It wasn't enough, though. I needed something more. More explicit. More integral.
+
+Enter Younes.
+
+Looking back, coming up with a character that looks male, has that plausible deniability of masculinity, yet could engage with femininity on his own terms in more intimate settings was the perfect vessel for exploration. There are many terms for such a bodily configuration, one with both masculine and feminine primary sexual characteristics. Most of them are awful, but the one that many have landed on, purpose-built to be affirming rather than denigrating, is 'altersex'.
+
+I can't even seem to write about this without leaning heavily on the clinical. Something this fraught, this embarrassing, is difficult to write about, but it remains integral to the story. How can I possibly put something like this down on paper? How can I possibly admit to something like this, after the fact? How can I– but that's the me of today writing. That's the me who went through this whole series of events, who decided to toy with the form she presented to that particular segment of the world, to feel tentatively around the edges of gender and search for the tender spots. I was young, once, remember? And dumb.
+
+And that isn't to say that I disrespect those for whom this is their own lived identity, or those for whom this is their own lived experience. Plenty who aim for this altersex goal do so because that's how they see themselves.
+
+I don't remember if that's how I saw myself. I just remember I certainly no longer saw myself as Matthew.
+
+-----
+
+[^younes-interpolation1]: It is important to reckon with two interpolations within the text that appear to be later additions, and it would be nice to address these before coming to the text that they interrupt.
+
+    The first interpolation is that of a poem that comprises the entirety of chapter 28. The poem takes the form of a Hymn to Wisdom that Alter describes as "a fine poem in its own right, but one that expresses a pious view of wisdom as fear of the Lord that could scarcely be that of Job." \parencite[458]{alter}
+
+    The NOAB, however, suggests an additional interpretation of the Hymn to Wisdom, which is that it may have originally been the conclusion of Elihu's speech. For evidence, they mention that this topic, the elevation of wisdom, feels familiar to those chapters of Elihu's, wherein the youngster harps on the topic of wisdom and knowledge at length. Additionally, the editors note the similarity in the final verse of the Hymn, "And he said to humankind, "Truly the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding"" (Job 28:28, NRSV) closely echoes Elihu's final words as they stand: "Therefore mortals fear him; he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceit." (Job 37:24, NRSV)
+
+    The hymn itself is a respectable piece of poetry. It begins in a roundabout way, discussing the acquisition of physical wealth. It describes the ways in which gold and silver are extracted from the earth and copper smelted from ore. It describes paths unseen by beast, ones that require work to acquire. Throughout these few verses (1--11) runs a very clear directionality. From the start, they are heading *towards* something. They are pointing *at* something. Verse 12 illuminates: "But wisdom, where is it found, and where is the place of discernment?" (Job 28:12, Alter)[^younes-qohelet]
+
+[^younes-qohelet]: Certainly not beneath the earth! If Qohelet has taught us anything, it is that. Wisdom abides despite toil, despite merriment, despite even riches.
+
+    In fact, though many of the same ideas within the hymn are also there in Ecclesiastes, those in the latter tend to be more refined, more fleshed out. This might be due to the later date of composition of the former, but may also be due to the context of the book and the interpolated nature of the hymn. The author of the hymn views wisdom as an ephemeral concept. It is not something that can be held or perceived by man, or, indeed, life itself: "It is hidden from the eye of all living" (Job 28:21, Alter). Even other abstract (though often personified) concepts seem to have difficulty with it: "Perdition and Death have said, "With our own ears we have heard its rumor."" (Job 28:22, Alter)
+
+    Qohelet, on the other hand, has a much more grounded view.[^younes-qohelet-interpolation] He says that wisdom is one of those things that you gain by experiencing, something that abides through all of the ups and downs in your life and is only ever strengthened. This is not to say that he is in any way upbeat, however. Wisdom, folly, riches, merriment, these all will go with you to the grave. They, too, will be meaningless.
+
+[^younes-qohelet-interpolation]: That is, until, one gets to the end of Ecclesiastes. The second half of chapter 12 is, per Alter, likely an interpolation of its own, where an epilogist rounds out the remainder of the book with some sounder, more conventional piety. "The last word, all being heard: fear God and keep His commands, for that is all humankind. Since every deed will God bring to judgment, for every hidden act, be it good or Evil" (Job 12:13-14, Alter) echoes the end of the hymn, which puts it, "Look, fear of the master, that is wisdom, and the shunning of evil is insight."
+
+    Both of these interpolations seem to be taking the raw feelings of the authors of Job and Ecclesiastes and trying to soften them, shaving off all those coarse edges. In Job we have a man striving to be heard by God Himself, and in Ecclesiastes, we have a teacher who is bordering on nihilism,[^younes-choice] yet both of these editors are trying to fit these texts into the context of a tradition that, while it does include (and even encourage) the capacity to call God to account and to feel that certain sense of nihilism, would still appreciate a somewhat more positive view within its scripture.
+    
+[^younes-choice]: And though even this discussion of interpolations may feel like an interpolation itself, here is where it ceases being such: One possible outcome of Job's travails is that *he* becomes Qohelet. Can one imagine going through the experiences that Job went through and not coming away with at least a little bit of that nihilism? Your family dies. Your livelihood is stripped away. You sit in the bit of ashes with lesions all over your body, and then God comes down in his whirlwind and fixes it all for you. You look back on all of your piety, you look back on all of your wealth, and suddenly yes, it is all a chasing after the wind.
+
+[^younes-interpolation2]: The second of these interpolations is the Elihu's[^younes-elihuintro] speech --- and, indeed, the entire character of Elihu, who is never mentioned outside his own chapters --- in chapters 32--37. Alter holds a particularly dim view of Elihu, stating, "At this point, in the original text, the Lord would have spoken out from the whirlwind, but a lapse in judgment by an ancient editor postponed that brilliant consummation for six chapters in which the tedious Elihu is allowed to hold forth." \parencite[460]{alter} Few seem convinced that the character and his speeches are from the original text. The NOAB, notably bearish on the whole Bible, agrees that this may indeed be the case, though it does so with a sigh and a tone of resignation, adding, "In any case, the Elihu speeches are part of the book we now have", \parencite[767]{noab} with Greenstein echoing that sigh: "Even if, as most scholars think today, the Elihu chapters were added belatedly, they form part of the biblical book." \parencite[22]{greenstein}
+
+[^younes-elihuintro]: Job and his friends have three rounds of arguments, which shall be covered soon, and then, beginning in chapter 32, Elihu is introduced out of nowhere.[^younes-shuffling] "So these three men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes."[^younes-eyes] (Job 32:1, NRSV)
+
+[^younes-shuffling]: The editors of the NOAB offer additional insight, that Elihu's speeches may have simply been shuffled out of order (a problem elsewhere in the text) and that his speeches may have originally come after the final of Job's three friends' speeches after chapter 27. This both lends credence to the Hymn to Wisdom in chapter 28 being the conclusion of his own speech and ensures that God replies to Job immediately after *his* final speech rather than after Elihu's, which would better fit the structure of the book. There is no reason it cannot be both, of course; the two additions could have been both interpolations and inserted out of order through some mix-up or whim in an early editor's haste.
+
+    Indeed, Greenstein suggests that this goes even deeper: that much of the text from chapter 24 through chapter 28 may be jumbled due to this process of interpolation. This would include the Elihu interpretation around the Hymn to Wisdom."I would explain this phenomenon by observing that toward the end of chapter 24 is a later insertion and that a roll of papyrus pages would have had to have been taken apart in order to insert the Elihu discourses, which include, I am convinced, chapter 28." \parencite[28]{greenstein} In the connection of the Hymn to Wisdom to Elihu, he is of one mind with the NOAB; indeed, in his reordered translation of the Book of Job, the Hymn is placed at the end of Elihu's speeches. He, however, disagrees with the potential interpolation of Elihu before Job's final speech, saying, "The motive for inserting Elihu into this point in the dialogues, just preceding the deity's speeches (chapters 38--41), is apparent. The divine discourses dwell on God's power and majesty, not on his justice or concern for humanity---which are the elements Job has been seeking."
+    
+    All this to say that Elihu presents a departure from the rest of the book.    
+
+[^younes-eyes]: It is interesting to note the differences in tradition, here. Alter has "because he was right in his own eyes" but offers no note as to why, which is a little disappointing. JPS ("for he considered himself right" (Job 32:1, JPS)) and Greenstein ("since in his own eyes he was right and just" (Job 32:1, Greenstein)) agree. All three of these are Jewish sources.
+
+    Christian sources, however, all lean on 'righteous', while the HCSB, NIV, and KJV having identical wording for that phrase. This colors the meaning, does it not? Alter, JPS, and Greenstein describe Elihu as being angry because he is declaring himself more right than God, whereas the Christian sources all interpret the text as Job justifying himself *rather than* God. Interestingly, the 2001 translation of the Septuagint has Elihu upset that Job is "declaring himself righteous before God" (Job 32:2, Septuagint 2001\nocite{septuagint}), a sense of uncolored plainness that is missing from the other translations. In this case, Elihu is seemingly upset at Job for being upset.
+  
+[^younes-translation]: The next verse is all over the place in translation. KJV and NIV suggest that Elihu is upset at Job's friends because they couldn't find any fault in Job but still condemned him. JPS agrees, but uses 'merely' before 'condemn' which adds a value judgment. Alter has him upset because Job's friends couldn't show Job to be guilty. Though it is difficult to pin down why, Alter posits that Elihu is angry at Job's friends because they just couldn't actually find a way to condemn him: "because they had not found an answer that showed Job guilty" (Job 32:3, Alter) (a sentiment echoed in the footnotes for verse 13: "In attributing this statement to the three reprovers, Elihu shows them admitting the failure of their own arguments." \parencite[548]{alter}), while the NRSV walks the middle path with "because they had found no answer, though they had declared Job to be in the wrong." (Job 32:3, NRSV)
+
+    Weinberger continues to be relevant: "[...] translation is more than a leap from dictionary to dictionary; it is a reimagining of the poem." \parencite[46]{wangwei}
+
+    This is where we leave off, and then this youngster, this whippersnapper, this upstart Elihu picks up.
+
+    "I am young in years, and you are aged. Therefore I was awed and feared to speak my mind with you," (Job 32:6, Alter) he begins, and we are off to the races, or at least some brash exhortations to wisdom. Job's friends may have left off on their attempts to convince him of some perhaps-guilt, but Elihu does not: "And I attended to you, and, look, Job has no refuter, none to answer his talk among you." (Job 32:12, Alter) Were it not for the (admittedly quite beautiful) poetic form of Elihu's speeches, he would be beyond tiresome. He goes on for more than a chapter simply talking about how he is going to answer Job before he actually does so. He is going to talk. He is going to get there eventually. He will speak.[^younes-alien] Verse after verse of promises.
+
+    Tiresome as he is, and despite the non-sequitur nature of his speeches, his language remains beautiful, and he does at points reinforce the point mentioned in the epigraph: Job questions God as to why it is that his world has become so miserable, and God cannot but reply with an exclamation that this world is far stranger, far worse and far better, than any man, no matter how righteous could hope to understand:
+    
+    > Why do you contend with Him,  
+    > \vin if He answers not all of man's words?  
+    > For God speaks in one way  
+    > \vin or in two, and no one perceives Him:  
+    > In a dream, a night's vision,  
+    > \vin when slumber falls upon men,  
+    > \vin \vin in sleep upon their couch  
+    > Then He lays bare the ear of men,  
+    > \vin and terrifies them with reproof,  
+    > to make humankind swerve from its acts
+    >
+    > (Job 33:13--17, Alter)
+    
+[^younes-alien]: The NRSV has the unique wording "See, I open my mouth; the tongue in my mouth speaks." (Job 33:2, NRSV) In a post-*Alien* world, this brings to mind some smaller mouth[^younes-shallower] rebuking him.
+
+[^younes-shallower]: Or, to look at it more seriously, a shallower voice. Perhaps that internal Elihu we all have within us doing its best to convince  us that we have, at some point, lacked the wisdom required to have kept us from our current predicament. Perhaps I'm taking up too much space here, though.
+
+[^younes-unknown]: This unspoken and unspeakable, unknown and unknowable language is the only way we can possibly move within the world under the guidance of God. Here, however, he falls back into the common theme of Job's reprovers, that he surely must have done something wrong that he feels the need to call for an advocate before God --- an ally rather than an adversary, perhaps --- "For a man's acts He pays him back, and by a person's path He provides him," Elihu reasons.
+
+[^younes-wisdom]: Strangely, Elihu, for all his talk on wisdom, seems to lack the wisdom required to understand the first part of his proposition, that the workings of God are so far beyond human understanding that we cannot know them well enough to call Him to account for his actions. He immediately falls back on the comforting assertion that cause must precede effect. Of *course* Job is experiencing such hardships! If he is experiencing such effects, then there must be a cause, and that cause must be the most rational one: an offense against God.
+
+    *We* know that it's much more complex. We have the benefit of the framing device to keep in mind. Elihu speaks of wisdom yet lacks the knowledge. He can claim to have one and yet still not know that he lacks the other.

writing/3/unknown-things/iyov/theology-points.md

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+Some points brought up by asking ChatGPT about various things about the book of Job:
+
+-----
+
+Liberation theology is an approach to theology that emphasizes the liberation of oppressed people from social, political, and economic injustice, and the belief that God has a preferential option for the poor and marginalized. The Book of Job is a complex and nuanced text that has been interpreted in a variety of ways from a liberation theology standpoint. Here are a few possible interpretations:
+
+1. The suffering of Job can be seen as a metaphor for the suffering of oppressed people. Just as Job loses everything he has, oppressed people can experience loss of their homes, their livelihoods, and their dignity. The story can be read as a call to solidarity with those who suffer, and an affirmation that God is with those who are struggling.
+
+2. The character of Job can be seen as a model for resistance against oppression. Despite his suffering, Job refuses to curse God or give in to despair. Instead, he questions God's justice and demands an explanation for his suffering. This can be seen as a call to question the systems of oppression that cause suffering, and to demand justice and accountability from those in power.
+
+3. The speeches of Job's friends can be seen as representative of oppressive theological systems. Job's friends insist that his suffering is a result of his sin, and that he must repent in order to be restored to favor with God. This can be seen as an example of victim-blaming, and a critique of theological systems that blame the poor and marginalized for their own suffering.
+
+4. The character of God can be seen as a source of hope and liberation for the oppressed. In the book of Job, God ultimately appears to Job and restores him to health and prosperity. This can be seen as a symbol of God's ultimate triumph over oppression, and a call to trust in God's justice even in the face of suffering.
+
+These are just a few possible interpretations of the Book of Job from a liberation theology standpoint. Each interpretation reflects a different approach to understanding the text and its implications for social justice and the liberation of oppressed people.
+
+-----
+
+Feminist theology is an approach to theology that seeks to examine religious beliefs and practices through the lens of gender, and to explore the ways in which religious traditions have perpetuated patriarchal systems of power and oppression. The Book of Job can be interpreted from a feminist theology perspective in a number of ways, including:
+
+1. The role of women in the story: Although the character of Job's wife is often overlooked, she is a significant figure in the narrative. Her brief appearance in the story, where she urges Job to curse God and die, can be seen as a reflection of the limited options available to women in patriarchal societies. From a feminist theology perspective, this can be seen as a critique of the ways in which women's voices and experiences have been marginalized within religious traditions.
+
+2. The theme of suffering: The Book of Job is often seen as a meditation on the problem of evil and the nature of suffering. From a feminist theology perspective, this theme can be seen as particularly relevant to women's experiences, given the ways in which women have historically been subject to various forms of oppression and violence. The story of Job can be seen as a way to explore questions of why innocent people suffer, and to challenge the idea that suffering is always a result of personal sin.
+
+3. The character of God: The character of God in the Book of Job can be seen as a reflection of patriarchal power structures. God is portrayed as powerful, distant, and unresponsive to human suffering. This can be seen as a reflection of the ways in which patriarchal societies have historically valued masculine traits such as strength and independence over feminine traits such as nurturing and compassion. From a feminist theology perspective, this can be seen as a call to reimagine the nature of God and to explore new ways of understanding the divine.
+
+4. The voice of Job: The character of Job can be seen as a model for resistance against oppression, and his cries of protest can be seen as an important expression of dissent. From a feminist theology perspective, this can be seen as an affirmation of the importance of women's voices and experiences, and a call to listen to those who have been marginalized and silenced within religious traditions.
+
+These are just a few possible interpretations of the Book of Job from a feminist theology perspective. Each interpretation reflects a different approach to understanding the text and its implications for gender and power.
+
+-----
+
+Queer theology is an approach to theology that seeks to explore the intersections of religion, sexuality, and gender identity, and to challenge traditional heteronormative and cisnormative interpretations of religious texts and traditions. The Book of Job can be interpreted from a queer theology perspective in a number of ways, including:
+
+1. The fluidity of gender and identity: The character of Job can be seen as a complex and multi-dimensional figure whose identity shifts throughout the course of the narrative. From a queer theology perspective, this can be seen as a reflection of the fluidity of gender and identity, and as an affirmation of the idea that our identities are not fixed or predetermined.
+
+2. The limits of binary thinking: The speeches of Job's friends, which insist on a binary understanding of good and evil, can be seen as a critique of rigid and exclusionary systems of thought. From a queer theology perspective, this can be seen as a call to embrace diversity and complexity, and to challenge the idea that there are only two ways of being in the world.
+
+3. The theme of suffering: The Book of Job is often seen as a meditation on the problem of evil and the nature of suffering. From a queer theology perspective, this theme can be seen as particularly relevant to LGBTQ+ experiences, given the ways in which LGBTQ+ people have historically been subject to various forms of oppression and violence. The story of Job can be seen as a way to explore questions of why innocent people suffer, and to challenge the idea that suffering is always a result of personal sin or deviation from societal norms.
+
+4. The character of God: The character of God in the Book of Job can be seen as a reflection of heteronormative and cisnormative power structures. God is portrayed as a masculine figure who upholds traditional gender roles and punishes those who deviate from them. From a queer theology perspective, this can be seen as a call to reimagine the nature of God and to explore new ways of understanding the divine that embrace diversity and reject exclusionary binaries.
+
+These are just a few possible interpretations of the Book of Job from a queer theology perspective. Each interpretation reflects a different approach to understanding the text and its implications for sexuality, gender, and identity.
+
+-----
+
+Yes, there are other examples of disinterested religion in the Hebrew Bible, including:
+
+1. The story of Ruth: The book of Ruth is often seen as a powerful example of disinterested religion, as Ruth's decision to stay with her mother-in-law Naomi and adopt Naomi's faith is not motivated by a desire for power or material gain, but rather by a deep sense of loyalty and devotion.
+
+2. The prophet Micah: The prophet Micah speaks out against the use of religion for personal gain, and advocates for a form of worship that is disinterested and focused on justice and compassion. In Micah 6:8, he says, "He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"
+
+3. The story of Joseph: The story of Joseph, which is told in the book of Genesis, can be seen as an example of disinterested religion in the sense that Joseph's faith remains strong even in the face of extreme hardship and injustice. Despite being sold into slavery by his own brothers and falsely accused of a crime, Joseph remains faithful to God and ultimately rises to a position of power in Egypt, using his influence to help others rather than seeking personal gain.
+
+4. The prophet Amos: The prophet Amos criticizes the use of religion as a tool of oppression and calls for a form of worship that is disinterested and focused on social justice. In Amos 5:21-24, he says, "I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies...But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."
+
+These are just a few examples of disinterested religion in the Hebrew Bible, but they demonstrate the importance of seeking a form of faith that is focused on justice, compassion, and service rather than on the accumulation of power or material gain.
+
+-----
+
+There are also examples of disinterested religion in the Christian New Testament, including:
+
+1. The story of the Good Samaritan: In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan, in which a man is beaten and left for dead by the side of the road. A priest and a Levite both pass by without stopping to help, but a Samaritan - who would have been considered a social outcast in Jewish society - stops to assist the man. The story illustrates the idea that true faith is demonstrated through acts of compassion and service, rather than through adherence to religious laws or rituals.
+
+2. The Beatitudes: In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus outlines a set of teachings known as the Beatitudes, which emphasize the importance of humility, compassion, and service. For example, in Matthew 5:3-5, Jesus says, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth." These teachings prioritize inner spiritual qualities and a humble attitude over material wealth or status.
+
+3. The life of Jesus: Throughout the New Testament, Jesus is portrayed as a figure who prioritizes service to others over personal gain or power. He teaches his followers to love their neighbors, to forgive their enemies, and to care for the poor and marginalized. His ultimate act of service is his crucifixion, which he undergoes willingly in order to save humanity from sin and death.
+
+4. The writings of Paul: The apostle Paul emphasizes the importance of faith as a transformative experience that leads to a life of service and selflessness. In his letter to the Galatians, he writes, "For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself'" (Galatians 5:13-14).
+
+These examples demonstrate that the idea of disinterested religion - that is, faith that is not motivated by a desire for power or material gain - is a central theme throughout the New Testament. The teachings of Jesus and the writings of his followers emphasize the importance of service, compassion, and humility as key aspects of a faithful life.
+
+-----
+
+In the book of Job, Sheol is a term used to refer to the realm of the dead. It is often translated as "the grave" or "the pit." In the context of the book of Job, Sheol represents a place of darkness and emptiness, where the dead are separated from the living.
+
+Job himself makes reference to Sheol on several occasions, expressing his desire to go there and escape the suffering he is experiencing. He sees Sheol as a place of rest, where he will be free from the pain and anguish of his earthly life.
+
+At the same time, Sheol is also seen as a place of judgment, where the wicked are punished for their sins. Job's friends, who believe that his suffering is a punishment from God for some sin he has committed, warn him that if he does not repent, he will be condemned to Sheol along with the wicked.
+
+Overall, Sheol in the context of Job represents a complex and multifaceted concept, encompassing both the idea of a restful afterlife and the notion of divine judgment and punishment.
+
+In the book of Qohelet (also known as Ecclesiastes), Sheol is also used to refer to the realm of the dead. Qohelet's perspective on Sheol is similar to that of Job, in that he sees it as a place of darkness and emptiness, where the dead are cut off from the living.
+
+Qohelet reflects on the fleeting nature of human life and the inevitability of death, and suggests that death is the ultimate fate of all human beings. He writes, "For the fate of humans and the fate of animals is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and humans have no advantage over the animals; for all is vanity" (Ecclesiastes 3:19).
+
+Like Job, Qohelet also sees Sheol as a place of rest, where the dead are free from the toils and troubles of their earthly lives. However, he is also somewhat pessimistic about the prospects of an afterlife, suggesting that in death, humans are cut off from any further participation in the world.
+
+Overall, the concept of Sheol in the book of Qohelet serves to underscore the transitory nature of human existence and the ultimate futility of human endeavors.

writing/belek.md

@@ -1,134 +1,148 @@
 %title The Presence Between the Pages
 :writing:fiction:short-story:horror:fantasy:furry:dnd:
 
-"Every five years we must take down every scroll, stack by stack, and replace the rugs beneath them. We must also unroll the scroll and make note of its condition," the monk rasped. "The latter will not be your responsibility, young one, but we are happy to provide you with a cot in the dormitory, and you will be welcome at the refectory during your stay here. Can you eat our food?"
+"Every five years we must take down every scroll, stack by stack, and clean the rugs beneath them, replacing those which are too worn to use. We must also unroll the scroll and make note of its condition," the old monk rasped. "The latter will not be your responsibility, young one, but we are happy to provide you with a cot in the dormitory, and you will be welcome at the refectory during your stay here. Can you eat our food?"
 
 Belek bowed politely to the monk. "I will eat what I am able, grandfather, and I will work."
 
-The monk smiled faintly at the honorific and gave a subtle nod in return. "We do not interact much with the cat people. Too stationary for your kind, perhaps. The khiidiin nomyn san does not move, after all. We will do what we can to provide for you in exchange for your labor within the limits of our strictures. On completion of the task, we will be able to pay you for your time here, though you must understand that the monastery is not wealthy."
+The monk smiled faintly at the honorific and gave a subtle nod in return. "We do not interact much with the cat folk. Too stationary for your kind, perhaps. The khiidiin nomyn san does not move, after all. We will do what we can to provide for you in exchange for your labor within the limits of our strictures. On completion of the task, we will be able to pay you for your time here, though you must understand that the monastery is not wealthy."
 
-*Within the limits of their strictures* proved to be plenty within Belek's. While they could not eat the monks' tsampa during lunch, they would take butter in their tea and fill up with steamed balls of the filling the monks had within their momo at dinner.
+*Within the limits of our strictures* proved to be plenty within Belek's. While they could not eat the monks' tsampa during lunch, they would take butter in their tea, and then they would fill up with steamed balls of the filling the monks had within their momo at dinner.
 
-They kept to themself, bowed at anyone in a robe, and worked quietly. In the morning, they would let the younger monks lade a frame pack with scrolls and books and move them to the hall where the older monks toiled, checking for silverfish and signs of rot.  In the afternoon, they would roll up the rugs and take them to a patio where they would be inspected and cleaned and repaired if possible, or set out for the beggars if they were too worn.
+They kept to themself, bowed to anyone in a robe, and worked quietly. In the morning, they would let the younger monks lade a frame pack with scrolls and books and move them to the hall where the older monks toiled, checking for silverfish and signs of rot. In the afternoon, they would roll up the rugs and take them to a patio where they would be inspected, cleaned, and repaired if possible, or set out for the beggars if they were too worn.
 
 And at night, they would run through the list of items they had carried throughout the day and consider which would be a more appropriate payment than simple coin.
 
 -----
 
-When Belek worked - and work they did! - they would search for jobs offered by those with big hearts.
+When Belek worked --- and work they did! --- they would search for jobs offered by those with big hearts.
 
-The empire was not fond of cat people, and their family moved often enough with the others of their tribe when they were young, so they were used to finding work where they could and drifting from town to town, job to job, never staying anywhere long enough to raise suspicions.
+Their family moved often enough with the others of their tribe when they were young, so they were used to finding work where they could and drifting from town to town, job to job, never staying anywhere long enough to raise suspicions. The Empire was not fond of cat folk.
 
 As it was, they were unfailingly polite and always appeared to work within law and custom.
 
-They had worked during shearing season with a small family for a spot on the floor and food for two weeks, and had come away with a small official payment, and a larger unofficial one of an entire sheep slain in the quiet of the night and expertly skinned, the dried meat and hide folded away into a pack they had hidden in the rocks, collected on the way to the next job.
+They had walked the streets of the city with a family as a porter and made a pittance for their labor --- and a far larger sum by pickpocketing the crowds around them, as well as the father.
 
-They had worked as a midwife, helping to brew the groaning beer and ferry hot water before purring gentle reassurances into the lady's ear as she screamed and cried. They had curtsied to the men and averted their eyes, and come away with a handsome sum in coins, a glowing recommendation, and two small jade statues.
+They had worked during shearing season with a small family for a spot on the floor and food for two weeks, and had come away with a small payment of a few coins --- and a larger, unofficial payment of an entire sheep, slain in the quiet of the night and expertly skinned, the dried meat and hide folded away into a pack they had hidden in the rocks, collected on the way to the next job.
 
-They had walked the streets of the city with a family as a porter and made a pittance for their labor, and a far larger sum for pickpocketing both the crowds around them as well as the father.
+They had worked as a midwife, helping to brew the groaning beer and ferry hot water before purring gentle reassurances into the lady's ear as she screamed and cried. They had curtsied to the men and averted their eyes, brushed the lady's hair, and come away with a handsome sum in coins and a glowing recommendation --- and two small jade statues.
 
 They were always careful. They were never caught.
 
-They were always Belek, or mister or miss Oorzhak, the polite young cat with no family or friends, the one who was slight and feminine enough to be a midwife, and boyish enough, deceptively strong beneath that gray fur, to be of help with the men. They were hard working, and quiet on the job, but friendly to their employers during downtime, really opening up and telling stories of their adventures, never wholly true, but never, ever false.
+They were always Belek, or mister or miss Oorzhak, the polite young cat with no family or friends, the one who was slight and feminine enough to be a midwife, and boyish enough, deceptively strong beneath that gray fur, to be of help with the men. They were hard working, and quiet on the job, but friendly to their employers during downtime, often opening up and telling stories of their adventures; never wholly true, but never, ever false.
 
-Somehow, one of two things would happen before they left. Either something terrible would happen - a sheep would go missing, howls in the night and blood on the grass; a poor father pickpocketed while in the market, the porter hunched under his load - or the employer would find themselves entranced by this worldly feline - here, take these figures with our blessings, may they bring you good fortune, my dear Oorzhak.
+Somehow, one of two things would happen before they left: either something terrible would happen --- a poor father pickpocketed while in the market, the porter hunched under his load; a sheep missing, howls in the night and blood on the grass --- or the employer would find themselves entranced by this worldly feline --- here, take these figures with our blessings, may they bring you good fortune, my dear Oorzhak.
 
 The size of their employers' hearts would cover any payment beyond mere coin.
 
-And then they were off to the next city, with a kind wave or a sad bow, to sell their was real gains at market and look for the next big-hearted rube.
+And then they were off to the next town, with a kind wave or a sad bow, to sell their *real* gains at market and look for the next big-hearted rube.
 
 -----
 
 "Grandfather, I thank you for your kindness," Belek said. They had introduced themself as male for the monastery job by necessity, but found that some aspect of feminine grace and vocal mannerisms went quite a ways with the old monk. "May I eat with you?"
 
-The skin around the monk's eyes crinkled in a smile and he patted the mat next to him. "Please, young one, sit."
+The skin around the old monk's eyes crinkled in a smile and he patted the mat next to him. "Please, young one, sit."
 
-The cat did so, settling down cross-legged with their bowl of steamed dumpling-filling and buttered tea. They smoothed out their deel, removed their cap, and popped a meatball into their mouth, chewing thoughtfully and waiting for the monk to begin talking as he always did.
+They did so, settling down cross-legged with their bowl of steamed dumpling-filling and buttered tea. They smoothed out their deel, removed their cap, and let their tail lay behind them. They popped a meatball into their mouth, chewing thoughtfully and waiting for the monk to begin talking as he always did.
 
-"Tell me, Belek, where will you head next?"
+"Tell me, Belek, where will you travel next?"
 
-They swallowed their mouthful before giving a noncommittal shrug. "Perhaps I will head North. I once worked for an empire wheelwright for a month. They are very skilled, and usually one must apprentice for years before working as one, but this man's apprentice was a, well," the cat leaned in conspiratorially. "He was one of the men who shifted."
+They swallowed their mouthful before giving a noncommittal shrug. "Perhaps I will head North. I once worked for an Empire wheelwright for a month. They are very skilled, and usually one must apprentice for years before working as one, but this man's apprentice was a-- well," the cat leaned in conspiratorially. "He is no longer human. He is probably no longer among the living."
 
-The monk nodded solemnly. "I know of these only through tales. Was he as dreadful as they say, young Oorzhak?"
+The monk hesitated, old hand trembling, then nodded solemnly. "I know of these shifters-of-shape only through tales. It is a curse, I have read in our books. A curse, or a demon bound to small statues or fetishes. Was he as dreadful as they say, young Oorzhak?"
 
-Belek's tail tick-tocked in amusement before adding in the more human smile. "Very few of them are terrible, grandfather, but sometimes they do not shift well and wind up mad with rage or stuck in agony. This young apprentice wound up in the latter, so he begged a sword from a friend and fell on it."
+Belek's tail tick-tocked behind them in amusement before they remembered to add the more human smile. "Very few of them are terrible, grandfather, but sometimes they do not shift well and wind up mad with rage or stuck in agony. This young apprentice wound up in the latter, so he begged a sword from a friend and fell upon it."
 
-The monk covered his mouth, aghast. "His soul! His soul will wander forever."
+The monk covered his mouth, aghast. "His soul! His soul will wander forever!"
 
-Nodding sadly, the cat finished another few meatballs before continuing. "This wheelwright, he was crushed, both emotionally and with his labor. While I could do nothing to help him of his loss of a friend, I was at least able to run the treadle of his lathe and carry wood for him. The empire does not care for my kind, and many find us untrustworthy - I think because we do not have the same faces and expressions as them - but some in the north have kind souls, as do you here at the monastery."
+Nodding sadly, the cat finished another few meatballs before continuing. "This wheelwright, he was crushed, both emotionally and with his labor. While I could do nothing to help him of his loss of a friend, I was at least able to run the treadle of his lathe and carry wood for him. The Empire does not particularly like my kind, and many find us untrustworthy --- I think because we do not have the same faces and expressions as them --- but some in the North have kind souls, as you do here at the monastery."
 
-The monk paused while rolling a ball of tsampa to smile widely at Belek.
+The monk paused while rolling a ball of tsampa to smile at Belek.
 
-"He could not pay me much, but he gifted me a fine awl. It was well worn, of course, and he had taken delivery of a much finer replacement during my stay, but he was a generous man. Perhaps I shall find such generosity up there again." The seed was planted. Before the monk could respond, however, Belek, pulled the conversation suddenly in another direction. "You said 'his soul will wander,' grandfather. What did you mean?"
+"He could not pay me much, but he gifted me a fine awl. It was well worn, of course, and he had taken delivery of a much finer replacement during my stay, but he was a generous man. Perhaps I shall find such generosity up there again." There. The seed was planted, the beginnings of an idea for the monk to ponder. Perhaps a gift for this kind young cat...
 
-The monk chewed thoughtfully, then washed the tsampa down with water. "Some walk in dream even while awake. When they die, we say their soul will walk still in dreams. Some, however, walk in unceasing nightmare. Perhaps, when they die, that is when they wake up, but should they take their own lives, their soul cannot awake, and will continue to wander forever, living in a nightmare. They become demons or wicked spirits."
+Before he could respond, however, Belek pulled the conversation suddenly in another direction, saying, "You said 'his soul will wander,' grandfather. What did you mean?"
+
+The monk chewed thoughtfully, then washed the tsampa down with water. "Some walk in dream even while awake. When they die, we say their soul will walk still in dreams. Some, however, walk in unceasing nightmare. Perhaps, when they die, that is when they truly wake up." He bowed his head, looking down at his still-trembling hands. "But should they take their own lives, their soul cannot awake, and will continue to wander forever, living in a nightmare. They become demons or wicked spirits. Perhaps even those same demons of which our books speak."
 
 -----
 
-After a week of work, the direction of scrolls, books, and manuscripts began to reverse. The cataloging complete, Belek began hauling loads of materials back into the library, helping the younger monks to place them back on their shelves according to some system the old monk - the cat supposed he must be the librarian - held within his head.  There was a small celebration when the last of the shelves was emptied, and the monks pulled out thin beer, sparing a small lump of sugar for Belek to add to their tea in lieu. From then on, it was a task of re-loading the library and finishing the last mending of mats.
+After a week of work, the direction of scrolls, books, and manuscripts began to reverse. The cataloging had been completed and Belek began hauling loads of materials back into the library, helping the younger monks to place them back on their shelves according to some system the old monk --- they supposed he must be the librarian --- held within his head. There was a small celebration when the last of the shelves was emptied, and the monks pulled out thin beer, sparing a small lump of sugar for Belek to add to their tea in lieu. From then on, it was a task of re-loading the library and finishing the last mending of mats.
 
-Three days later, and the work was finished.
+Three days later, the work was finished.
 
 "Grandfather, I thank you again for the kindness you have showed, and for the chance to work here," Belek said while fingering the spines of a few books. "I have never been surrounded by such knowledge in my life"
 
-The old monk nodded absently as he worked on filling in some final notes. "Thank you, young Oorzhak. You have shortened our labor by days."
+The old monk nodded absently as he worked on filling in some final notes on a scrap of parchment. "Thank you, young Oorzhak. You have shortened our labor by days."
 
-Still running their fingerpad along the spines of books, the cat paused, feeling a sudden chill against the coarse skin there. They hesitated, then carefully drew the leather-bound book from the shelf. It was not just cool, but cold. Actively cold, as though it strived to be so. They could read the language of the empire - slowly, to be sure - but the writing on the cover of the book was of some other tongue.
+Still running their fingerpad along the spines of books, Belek paused, feeling a sudden chill against their coarse skin. They hesitated, traced their way back across the books, then carefully drew the leather-bound volume from the shelf. It was not just cool, but cold. Actively cold, as though it strived to be so. They could read the language of the Empire --- slowly, to be sure --- but the writing on the cover of the book was of some other tongue.
+
+They felt their tail bristle, their hackles raise. That chill, those letters, both felt intent in some way they could not place. Intent and striving. It needed something, and within their breast, a need of their own sparked to life.
 
 "Belek."
 
-The cat jolted and whirled around. The voice had seemed to come from the book itself, an echo or a whisper or perhaps only the suggestion of a voice, but there was the old monk staring at them, a strange glean in their eye. "My apologies, grandfather, I-"
+They jolted and whirled around. The voice had seemed to come from the book itself, an echo or a whisper or perhaps only the suggestion of a voice, but there was the old monk staring at them, a strange gleam in his eye. 
+
+"My apologies, grandfather, I--"
 
 "You have done such wonderful work for us, young one, would you accept this book in exchange for your labor? In addition to your wages, of course."
 
-The cat blinked. There were other books they had their eye on. Gilt, illuminated, fancy ones. Still, now that they held this one in their hands and they were growing used to the cold weight of it, there was suddenly nothing more precious. "Surely this book is too much," they stammered.
+The cat blinked. There were other books they had their eye on. Gilt, illuminated, fancy ones. Small enough to smuggle, pretty enough to sell. Still, now that they held this one in their hands and they were growing used to the cold weight of it, there was suddenly nothing more precious. "Surely this book is too much," they stammered.
 
-"You have provided us with a service," the monk said. His voice was eager, his brown skin stretched perhaps a little too tight with some hidden exertion. "Please, I would be honored if you would accept this small tome of knowledge in exchange."
+"You have provided us with a service," the monk said. His voice was eager now. Excited. His brown skin stretched perhaps a little too tight across his brow in some hidden exertion. "Please, I would be honored if you would accept this small tome of knowledge in exchange."
 
-Belek bowed low, finding themself unable to say anything other than, "I accept."
+Belek bowed low, finding themself unable to say anything other than, "I accept freely."
 
-The words were stilted, unnatural. They felt oily in their mouth, leaving behind a thin sheen of premonition. They hung in the air, vibrating with anticipation.
+How did they know what to say? The words were stilted, unnatural. They felt oily in their mouth, leaving behind a thin sheen of premonition. They hung in the air, vibrating with anticipation. Where had they come from? How did they bear such weight?
  
-"I, Otgonbayar, give this book to you, Belek Oorzhak, in free exchange. It is now yours."
+The old monk gripped the edge of a lectern by which he had been standing. His expression was beyond tense. His skin was taut, his eyes overwide, his gaze wandering beyond sanity.
 
-The monk's equally stilted words clashed with Belek's in the air, and suddenly, the book began to warm in the cat's paws. There was a scent of ritual to the exchange, of power of choice and bargain and deals accepted. Deals beyond just a gift to go with one's wages.
+"I, Otgonbayar, forty-fifth librarian of the khiimiin nomyn san, give this book to you, Belek Oorzhak, in free exchange. It is now yours."
+
+The monk's equally stilted words clashed with Belek's in the air. They rang together like bells, tolled some untold hour, twined around each other, then around Belek, and suddenly, the book began to warm in the cat's paws. There was a scent of ritual, a tang of omen, an acrid whiff of power of choice and bargain and deals accepted. Deals beyond just a gift to go with one's wages.
 
 And then the moment passed.
 
-"I must...I must rest, young Oorzhak. I thank you once more for your labor. Your wages...your wages will be in the refectory... Ah, preserve my soul." If the monk had looked crazed before, now he looked truly on the verge of madness. His eyes no longer tracked Belek, but seemed to be reading something written on the ceiling. His muscles are rigid. Sweat stood on his brow, and spittle clung to his chin.
+"I must...I must rest, young one. I thank you once more for your labor. Your wages...your wages will be in the refectory... Ah, preserve my soul." If the monk had looked crazed before, now he looked truly on the verge of madness. His eyes no longer tracked Belek, but seemed to be reading something written on the ceiling, juddering boustrophedon. His muscles were rigid. Sweat stood on his brow and spittle clung to his chin.
 
-"I...yes, grandfather," Belek mumbled. "You look unwell. Please rest well, and perhaps I shall see you again soon.
+"I...yes, grandfather," Belek mumbled. "You look unwell. Please rest, and perhaps I shall see you again soon.
 
-The monk only moaned in response. After a moment's silence, he toppled to the floor, falling as would a tree, rather than crumpling.
+The monk only moaned in response. That tension in his face finally broke free and he let out a strangled cry of pain, his form shifting beneath coarse robes, skin rippling into some thicker hide, horns cresting from his brow. Then, after a moment's agonized silence, he toppled to the floor, falling as would a tree, stiff and straight, rather than crumpling.
 
-Belek skittered from the library and down the long hall towards where the other old monks were packing up their pens and scrolls.
+Belek yelped, then skittered from the library and down the long hall towards the scriptorium where the other monks were packing up their pens and scrolls.
 
 "The old monk!" they shouted. "He has fallen in the library!"
 
-The other monks dropped their materials and lept to their feet, hollering. One of them dashed up to the cat and opened his mouth to speak before noticing the book clutched in their paws. His look of worry turned into one of dawning horror, then of sadness. "I see you two reached a deal."
+The other monks dropped their materials and leapt to their feet, hollering. One of them dashed up to them and opened his mouth to speak before noticing the book clutched in their paws. His look of worry turned into one of dawning horror. "I see you two reached a deal."
 
-Dumbstruck, Belek looked down at the book, then back up to the scribe, holding out the book. "He offered me this in exchange for my efforts. If he was mistaken-"
+Dumbstruck, Belek looked down at the book, then back up to the scribe, holding out the book. "He offered me this in exchange for my efforts. If he was mistaken--"
 
-The monk shook his head and pressed the book forcefully back into the cat's paws. "The deal has been made. Your wages are in the refectory, please take them and your belongings and leave."
+The monk quickly shook his head and pressed the book forcefully back into their paws. "The deal has been made. Your wages are in the refectory, please take them and your belongings and leave."
 
-"Leave? But I-"
+"Leave? But I--"
 
-"Leave. The monastery thanks you for your work but you must leave at once. You must be away by nightfall. Perhaps the librarian shall recover, then." And with that, the monk rushed off.
+"Leave. The monastery thanks you for your work but you must leave at once. You must be away by nightfall. Perhaps then the librarian shall recover, but..." And with that, the monk rushed off.
 
-Belek stumbled numbly to the refectory and picked up the small bag of coins left atop their cap and cloak. The whole monastery seemed to be rushing to the library, and suddenly the advice to leave seemed extraordinarily prudent. They ran to the dormitory to shoulder their pack, and were on the road away from the monastery before the sun began its long, slow decent toward evening.
+Belek stumbled numbly to the refectory and picked up the small bag of coins left atop their cap and cloak. The whole monastery seemed to be rushing to the library, and suddenly the advice to leave seemed extraordinarily prudent. They continued on to the dormitory where the rest of their belongings lay, shouldered their pack, and were on the road north before the sun began its long, slow descent toward evening.
 
-They bivouacked in the lee of a patch of scrub and it was by the rude light of a small, dry fire that they read the book. They did not rightly know why they decided to remove the book from their pack and opened the cover. Perhaps it was another whispered 'Belek', and perhaps it was something more akin to a compulsion.
+They bivouacked in the lee of a patch of scrub and it was by the rude light of a small, dry fire that they read the book that was their gift.
 
-More, they did not know how they were able to read the book. The language, when they focused their eyes, was not one that they could read, but were they to let their eyes drift just out of focus, the meaning came to them. It came in waves, in gusts, in inexorable currents. It washed over Belek and left their stomach rolling and their eyes watering.
+They did not rightly know why they decided to remove the book from their pack and open the cover. Perhaps it was another whispered *Belek*, and perhaps it was something more akin to a compulsion.
 
-At the turning of the final page, there sounded a distant blast of horns, a low, sustained note from the direction they had come.
+More, they did not know *how* they were able to read the book. The language, when they focused their eyes, was not one that they knew, but were they to let their eyes drift just out of focus, the meaning came to them. It came in waves, in gusts, in inexorable torrents. It washed over Belek and left their stomach rolling and their eyes watering.
 
-"Belek," came the voice, now more than simply echo. "Do you hear that, Belek? The horns to announce the death of a monk. What better way to forget me than through death?"
+At the turning of the final page, there sounded a distant blast of horns; a low, sustained note from the direction they had come.
 
-The cat could manage no more than a groan. The meaning of the text was clear.
+"Belek," came the voice once again, now more than simply echo. "Do you hear that, Belek? Horns to announce the death of a monk. He has shifted for the last time, and now...well, what better way to forget than through death?"
 
-"Belek, Belek, Belek. The deal has been made."
+"F-forget?"
 
-"I'm...I am a drifter," they muttered. "I walk the steppes for work. What could I possibly hope to offer, lord?"
+"Belek, you read my words. You remember. I am with you now. You are mine now. So long as you remember me, I will live within you." The whisper of words slipped into a silky purr. "And you will never forget me."
 
-"The deal has been made," the presence between the pages purred. "And now you will go North."
+They could manage no more than a groan. The truth wrapped itself around them, tightened, squeezed. The meaning of the text was clear. They could not force themself to unbelieve the book's words. They would never forget. They would remember every time they shifted --- for now, more than ever, they were a shifter-of-shapes.
+
+"Belek, Belek, Belek." The words came as a contented sigh. "The deal has been made."
+
+"I...I am a drifter," they gasped. "I walk the steppes for work. What could I possibly hope to offer, lord?"
+
+"The deal has been made," the presence between the pages repeated, comforting in the most unnerving of ways. "And now you will go north."

writing/ghost-of-dog-2023.md

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+Memories unspool from the top down, unwinding in successive coils, each tracing scintillating scotomae through my field of vision. They tease along my sight with fractal depth, and now, with all the time in the world, in this unending instant, I can revel in their imperfections and then let them go.
+
+No, *must* let them go. I have no choice in the matter. I can cling to them and cry, I can beg the universe for one last moment of mind, but 
+
+(MC tried to travel time to save partner, messed up, long-term memories are unwinding, knows they're going to lose the memory of their partner at some point?)

writing/index.md

@@ -12,11 +12,8 @@
 
 ## Current
 
-* [-] [BS and conducting](bs/conducting)
-* [.] [Heresiarch](heresiarch) (Antiquity anthology)
-* [.] [Saint](saint) (Medieval anthology)
-* [o] [Rex and Jerry](workshops/fc23-braiding)
-* [ ] [Marsh](post-self/marsh/index)
+* [.] [Saint, Heresiarch](saint) (Medieval anthology)
+* [.] [Marsh](post-self/marsh/index)
 
 ## MFA
 
@@ -26,7 +23,7 @@
 * [ ] [OCWW](ocww/apply)
     * [ ] [Intro letter](ocww/intro)
 * [ ] [FCWW](fcww/index)
-* [ ] [Running writing workshops in fandom- and subculture-specific spaces](workshop-packet/index)
+* [o] [Running writing workshops in fandom- and subculture-specific spaces](workshop-packet/index)
 
 ## Paused
 
@@ -39,21 +36,14 @@
 * [X] [Rum and Coke](rum-and-coke/index)
 * [o] [On Furry](on-furry/index)
 * [O] [Sawtooth Universe](sawtooth/index)
-* [.] [No Thoughts Our Own](no-thoughts-our-own/index)
-* [o] [Jaroudi](jaroudi/index)
-* [O] [ally](ally/index)
+* [X] [ally](ally/index)
 * [O] [Post-Self](post-self/index)
-* [.] [*untitled surgery novel*](surgery-novel/index)
-* [.] [It's Not About The Dishes](its-not-about-the-dishes/index)
-* [o] [On Writing](on-writing/index)
 * [o] [Various fanfic](fanfic/index)
-* [o] [A Time Approaching](ata)
 * [o] ~[On Music (Redux)](on-music/redux)~ [Sonata (WT)](sonata/index)
-* [.] [Seasons](3/seasons/index)
+* [X] [Seasons](3/seasons/index)
 * [.] [3](3/index)
-* [ ] [Videos](videos/index)
-* [-] [Crooked Cross (WT, podcast)](crooked-cross/index)
-* [ ] [Quaker/spiritual pamphlets, blog entries, etc](quaker-ephemera/index)
+* [.] [Quaker ephemera](quaker-ephemera/index)
+* [.] [Collaborative Anthologies](collab-anthos)
 
 ## Poetry
 
@@ -82,12 +72,13 @@
 * [X] [Paw to Print](paw-to-print)
 * [X] [The Presence Between the Pages](belek)
 * [X] [Where do you you see yourself](where-do-you-see-yourself)
-* [ ] [*Post-op erotica piece*](post-op-erotica.md)
 * [X] [Unseeing](unseeing/index)
 * [X] [The Hand of God (defanfic)](hand-of-god)
 * [X] [The Hand of God (furry)](hand-of-god-furry)
 * [X] [Meeting of one](meeting-of-one)
 * [X] [Please Look Up](dont-look-up)
+* [X] [All of the places I'll never go](never-go)
+* [ ] [Ghost of Dog story](ghost-of-dog-2023)
 
 ## Abandoned
 
@@ -102,3 +93,15 @@
 * [-] [Consequences of Dissonance](consequences-of-dissonance/index)
 * [-] [Inner Demons](inner-demons/index)
 * [-] [The Life of St Dog](st-dog)
+* [-] [Rex and Jerry](workshops/fc23-braiding)
+* [-] [BS and conducting](bs/conducting)
+* [-] [Heresiarch](heresiarch) (Antiquity anthology)
+* [-] [Crooked Cross (WT, podcast)](crooked-cross/index)
+* [-] [Jaroudi](jaroudi/index)
+* [-] [*untitled surgery novel*](surgery-novel/index)
+* [-] [It's Not About The Dishes](its-not-about-the-dishes/index)
+* [-] [*Post-op erotica piece*](post-op-erotica.md)
+* [ ] [Videos](videos/index)
+* [-] [No Thoughts Our Own](no-thoughts-our-own/index)
+* [-] [On Writing](on-writing/index)
+* [-] [A Time Approaching](ata)

writing/never-go.md

@@ -0,0 +1,86 @@
+%title Tea
+
+## All the places I'll never go
+
+> [Skip every other shot, no matter how alluring.](https://cohost.org/victoria-scott/post/1079705-all-the-places-i-sti)
+
+I will freely admit that I am a digital packrat. It's not something that I'm proud of, though neither is it something that I'm ashamed of. That's not to say that it's value neutral — I certainly have feelings about it, most of which are tied to the importance of words (99% of what I keep are words, though there are a few A/V things that will touch a nerve for me) — just that there's no particular judgement involved.
+
+The one thing I do keep around like a packrat, however, is tea. I'm a *huge* fan of pu'er, oolong, black (or "red") tea, and even if I don't I don't drink it every day, it's always a large part of my life in terms of seeing it, smelling it, simply being near it. There was a brief period where I thought I might get into collecting teaware, but eventually, I settled down into a few pieces that I use often and then a bunch I wound up with and never use. You can see a few above.
+
+
+<div style="font-weight: bolder; opacity: 0.75; width: 33%; position: relative; float: right; font-style: italic; padding: 0.5rem; margin-left: 0.5rem; background-color: #00000011;">a friend asked maddy: why do you drink tea?<br>maddy said: i like it. it's tasty, it makes me feel good.<br>the friend said: well, that's dumb.</div>
+
+Included in the first two two pictures are two ceramic animals, both with a head in raw pottery and a matte glaze body. These are called tea pets, and for a lot of folks, they're merely a curiosity. For some, if you soak them in cold water before your tea session, pouring a bit of hot water or tea on them will cause them to spout a thin stream for a moment as the air temperature within raises.
+
+These are pertinent to tea drinking mostly when it comes to *gong fu* style, wherein one brews tea in several small steeps, perhaps 10-15. The proportion of tea to water is much higher, and as such, steep times are much shorter, ranging from ten seconds at the beginning of a session to a minute at the end. The amounts of tea produced are also much smaller: the *gaiwan* shown above in the picture on the left, the one with the lid, is maybe 110ml, much of which will be taken up by tea as it expands, and thus each of the cups on the left hand side, will contain maybe 20-40ml of tea.
+
+<div style="font-weight: bolder; opacity: 0.75; width: 33%; position: relative; float: left; font-style: italic; padding: 0.5rem; margin-right: 0.5rem; background-color: #00000011;">maddy went and drank tea.<br>the friend asked: why do you drink tea?<br>maddy said: i don't know<br>the friend said: well, that's dumb</div>
+
+The benefits of this are not only that one gets to experience the tea over time — with each steep, the profile will change, and what may start out astringent with plenty of *huigan*, that bitterness that transmutes into sweetness, may open up into a smooth, comforting, caramel-y humus — but it also turns the act of drinking tea into part of the experience.
+
+You lift the kettle and pour the hot water into the *gaiwan* sit and think while it steeps for however long, then you hold the lid of the *gaiwan* just slightly askew with the knuckle of your index finger while you hold the rim with thumb and your other fingertips and pour it into the *chawan*, the fairing glass that allows the tea to mix. This is because the tea at the top of the *gaiwan* will be weaker than the tea at the bottom, and you want each pour to be fair. Then you smell the *gaiwan*, or perhaps just the inside of the lid, and then pour the tea into the cups to drink.
+
+<div style="font-weight: bolder; opacity: 0.75; width: 33%; position: relative; float: right; font-style: italic; padding: 0.5rem; margin-left: 0.5rem; background-color: #00000011;">maddy went and drank tea.<br>the friend asked: why do you drink tea?<br>maddy said: i know: i don't know<br>the friend said: well, that's dumb</div>
+
+Or, well, you pour *most* of the tea into the cups. The last few milliliters are poured out over the tea pet. Maybe you do so because you like to see that thin stream of water jetting out, or maybe you like to let the dark tea form a patina on that glaze — the nice glazes will crack or "craze" under the temperature difference, which is not to say that they break, but the darker tea will stain along those lines first and leave a pleasing pattern in the porcelain.
+
+Me? I pour tea over the tea pet because not all of this is for me. It is my little vanity. It is my little *memento mori*. It is a reminder that the world, the universe, that all of life and all of *things* are limitless and not all of that is for me. It's not even about keeping for myself what others might experience, but that my time is short, and even if my time were infinite, I could not see what others do because I cannot see from where they stand, and even if I were omnipresent, I could not experience what they feel, and even if I were omniscient, I could not know the feeling of not being omniscient in that moment.
+
+<div style="font-weight: bolder; opacity: 0.75; width: 33%; position: relative; float: left; font-style: italic; padding: 0.5rem; margin-right: 0.5rem; background-color: #00000011;">maddy went and drank tea.<br>the friend asked: why do you drink tea?<br>maddy said: i like it. it's tasty, it makes me feel good.<br>the friend laughed and clapped delightedly and said: perfect<br>then sat to drink tea with maddy.</div>
+
+Even when  drinking tea "grandpa style", where a large glass contains whole tea leaves floating around in the hot water, one drinks only until the water reaches the top level of the leaves. Ostensibly, this is to keep the tea from drying out on top while the rest gets progressively more bitter. For me, though, it is one more way of knowing that not all of this is for me. I can't go back and drink the tea I left in the glass or that I poured over the tea pet.
+
+This drives my mom batshit (ditto several commenters when I post about this, apparently). She's a boomer (a lovely one, granted!) and is quite taken by the idea that, should one make tea, one ought to be able to drink all the tea. It's a very contemporary mood, which is okay. That's not for me.
+
+Not all of this is for us; some of it is just for you. We will doubtless do the same, because not of this is for you.
+
+Not all of this is for me.
+
+## On imperfections
+
+This is a "cake batter ruyao" teapot. You can see the crazing I mentioned before, where the drop in temperature after firing leads to fine cracks forming within the glaze. It's still well-fired, it's not going to come off any time soon, but as the piece cools down after firing, the underlying porcelain and the glaze cool at different speeds, leading to these subtle imperfections. Cake batter glazing involves using a lot of glaze and applying it liberally and incautiously, leading to the effect of a pot that looks like it's been dipped in, well...cake batter, rather than glaze.
+
+I struggle a lot with perfectionism. I just got out of therapy a bit ago, and a lot of that was spent discussing how perfectionism has overwhelmed me when it comes to school work in a way that it hasn't when it comes to writing about skunks or teapots.
+
+It's strange, really! I spend a lot of time talking about writing versus editing, dealing with writing block, cognitive distortions that lead to perfectionism, and all sorts of related topics when I'm teaching writing, but this ✨very clearly✨ applies to people who aren't Maddy. If others experience writers block, they should keep in mind that going for a walk is writing, that writing shitty flash fiction and then closing the file and never looking at it again is writing, that reading is writing. If I experience writers block, I am failure and disgrace.
+
+![Is it me? Am I the drama?](https://meme.makyo.io/burnout.jpg)
+
+Tea, though. Tea is a celebration of imperfection. It's finding the beauty in the lack of perfection, the sweetness after the *huigan*, the patina on the teapot. Dale Pendell calls this "A celebration of imperfection."
+
+> One time Hideyoshi tried to trap Rikyū with a seemingly impossible task. Hideyoshi filled a large bronze bowl with water and placed it in an alcove. Beside it he placed a plum branch with crimson blossoms, and ordered Rikyū to make the flower arrangement [for the tea ceremony]. Without hesitation Rikyū held the branch upside down over the bowl and stripped off the flowers by lightly pulling his hand down the branch. The open blossoms and buds floated together on the surface of the water. Hideyoshi appeared delighted, confessing that he had tried to embarrass Rikyū, but that the man could not be flustered.
+
+(Dale Pendell in *Pharmako/dynamis*, p. 59)
+
+The key shared factor in overcoming a writing block, the crazed glaze of the pot, and the answer to the koan presented by the flower arrangement story is intentionality. Despite my struggles with perfectionism — or maybe because of them — it shows up all over in my own writing. From [*Mitzvot:*](https://mitzvot.post-self.ink)
+
+> “[...] I like being what I am. Short, soft, furry, chubby,” she said, poking at her belly. “It is just that these are all things that are disarming to a great many people. Even skunks, despite their reputation for smelling bad, are often seen as bumbling, stupid creatures.”
+> “I wouldn’t call you stupid, May. Bumbling, though…”
+> She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, I think? But yes, even bumbling is a calculated gesture to be inoffensive.”
+> “End Waking said similar.” Ey dug through eir exocortices until ey came up with the memory of the conversation, “He said it was a matter of intent.”
+> “It is, yes. I am sure that some of the wider clade who remain skunks do so without a second thought, but that is not how True Name worked, and so it is not how we work.”
+
+Imperfection is there in all its wondrous glory. It can be the beauty of the glaze. It can be the act of stripping flowers. It can be the shitty flash fiction you write and never look at again. It can be an art. It can be a tool.
+
+The one thing it can't be, though, is inescapable. Might as well own it.
+
+## Translating spirals
+
+I have a small stable of books that I pull quotes from essentially every chance I get. For those who have read the [Post-Self cycle](https://post-self.ink), you can probably guess that one of them is a copy of Emily Dickinson's poetry, and for those who read ["Seasons"](https://florilegium.ink/seasons), you'll know that another is Eliot Weinberger's excellent [*19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei (with more ways)*](https://www.betterworldbooks.com/product/detail/-9780811226202) — and if you've read both, plus [*ally*](https://ally.id), you've definitely seen "The Poet" from Emerson's second series of essays. I'm pretty selective with each when it comes to quoting, but, at least in the case of the latter two, the whole theme of the work lends itself to being particularly quotable.
+
+*19 Ways* in particular follows a thread that I can't seem to escape from, which is the act of reading being an act of translation. Any reading that we do — particularly reading where we approach the text critically — is an act of translating the text from static words on a page (or screen) into the experience that we have. Of course, the original book focuses on the act of translating a single poem from Tang dynasty China, so much of the discussion about literal translation. However, at one point, he drops the following:
+
+> [...] every reading of every poem, regardless of the language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different — not mearly another — reading. The same poem cannot be read twice.
+
+(Weinberger p. 46)
+
+This wound up becoming the basis of "Seasons", which describes the year as a spiral, just as the act of reading (and thus translating) a poem is a spiral: Not only is it a retranslation, but it's something that takes place over time.
+
+Similarly, a *gong fu* tea session is a spiral, an act of translation of tea leaves into the soup, the soup into you, the compounds into flavors into sensations into feelings. You boil your water, perhaps give your tea a quick ten-second rinse, pour the thin and dusty rinse into your *chawan* and cups to warm them, then over your tea pet. You run the first steep hot and fast. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds at a full boil, then pour and drink. Second steep, same thing. Third, bump it up to 20 seconds. On through ten or more steeps.
+
+And through it all, each steep is different. The soup color lightens. The sweetness ramps up and the bitterness starts to fade. The grassy notes are softened towards hay, or perhaps sharpened to something greener. The mouth-feel swells. The energy of the session shifts through comfort to energy to euphoria.
+
+You, tea-drunk Heraclitus, drink cup after cup of the same tea, the same leaves and the same water, and it's never the same. You put the tea away, clean out all of your teaware, empty your tea tray, and go about your day, somehow both lighter and fuller than you were before.
+
+And then, the next day, a different you retranslates that tea over the course of a different hour. A year spirals. A poem spirals. A tea spirals.

writing/poetry/uvaip.md

@@ -435,3 +435,72 @@ To wit, to see you wake and meet a mind
 For we exhaled when you breathed in that breeze,
     And flowers wreathe your sleeping form.
 '''
+
+-----
+
+<!-- Echo -->
+<!-- Ey sent:
+
+Duas coisas amorosas e astutas
+Dê as mãos por um momento breve mas amado.
+Ambos doem enquanto anseiam por coisas;
+Eles querem amor mas provam o medo.
+
+Alguém estende a mão oferecendo algo novo
+Outro dá um passo em direção à linda luz.
+O amor gira e vai de um para o outro
+Até que seu abraço os transforme em uma cruz.
+-->
+
+'''
+Restadi, tuŝi, karesi,
+ŝajni tro dolĉa por gustumi,
+paroli, demandi, kunsidi
+tro malfrue por dormi sufiĉe,
+ekflami, bruli, baki,
+rosti en la karboj,
+rondiri ĉiam pli proksime,
+restadi, restadi ĉiam pli longe...
+
+-----
+
+To while away, to touch, to kiss,
+to seem too sweet to savor,
+to talk, to ask, to sit together
+too late to sleep enough,
+to flare, to burn, to bake,
+to roast amid the coals,
+to circle around ever closer,
+to linger, to linger ever longer...
+'''
+
+-----
+
+'''
+Take in hand the cup and bowl,
+hold them to your lips and drink.
+In your mouth you hold the coal
+    that lights the fire to weld the link
+    to bind, to seal, to ring the brink
+    and hold the words we've said in sync
+    despite the lack of pen and ink.
+Take in hand the sword and staff,
+hold them to the sun and speak
+words to form an epigraph:
+    no need to trawl the waves and seek
+    for knowledge of what makes us weak;
+    there's time enough that we bespeak
+    that no two hearts can be unique.
+'''
+
+-----
+
+'''
+Daily we perform our ablutions,
+washing away the grime of existing apart,
+that thin film of not being together.
+Our prayer is one of apophasis,
+an inside-out hesychasm
+defining the undefinable
+by walking its muddy shores.
+'''

writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md

@@ -1,50 +1,54 @@
 %title Après un rêve
 :writing:fiction:scifi:post-self:book:short-story:
 
+Echoes of Grace singing, memories and emotions, clashed with the doctor's words.
+
 > *Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image  
-> Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,  
-> Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,  
+> Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage...*
+
+"I know you've signed the waivers, but I need a verbal confirmation," she was saying. "Do you understand the procedure?"
+
+> *Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,  
 > Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;*
 
-Echoes of Grace singing, memories and emotions, clashed with the doctor's words. "I know you've signed the waivers, but I need a verbal confirmation. Do you understand the procedure?"
 
 Sylvie nodded. It was strange not to feel her hair, always so frizzy and buoyant, not following the motion a scant second too late.
 
-"The uploading process will be fatal and irreversible. There is some risk, about one and a half percent, that it won't work." The doctor paused and picked up a pen. She added, "Won't work after the point where your body will have died, that is. Do you understand?"
+"I'm sorry, Sylvie, it needs to be a verbal confirmation. The uploading process will be fatal and irreversible. There is some risk, about one and a half percent, that it won't work." The doctor paused and picked up a pen. She added, "Won't work after the point where your body will have died, that is. Do you understand?"
 
 A swallow, dry, and another nod. "What will happen in that case?"
 
 "Your family will receive a payout of ten million francs CFA. Your body will not be available for a burial, unfortunately." The doctor looked strangely abashed. "The results of the process are...ah, not pretty."
 
-"I understand."
+"I understand. "
 
-"One last thing, then. After the uploading process, successful or not, your blood, organs and tissue will be donated --- or, well, sold --- to a tissue bank in central Africa. Your family will receive ten percent of this, and the Centre the other ninety. This is to help defray the cost of the process."
+"One last thing, then. After the uploading process, successful or not, your blood, organs and tissue will be donated --- or, ah...sold --- to a tissue bank in central Africa. Your family will receive ten percent of this, and the Centre the other ninety. This is to help defray the cost of the process."
 
 Sylvie thought for a moment, rubbed her hand over her smooth-shaven head. "About how much will that be?"
 
 "The cut to your family?" The doctor fiddled with her pen, twirling it across delicate dark fingers. "Lately, we've been getting about a hundred million francs, so again, about ten million. Not a bad payout, hmm?"
 
-Not bad indeed. Sylvie had little love for her family, minus her brother, so the payout wasn't a huge incentive, as it was for others. She just hoped Moussa wound up with a chunk of it.
+Not bad indeed. Sylvie had little love for her family, minus her brother, so the payout wasn't a huge incentive, as it was for others. She just hoped Moussa wound up with a chunk of it. Unlikely, given her mother. She nodded. "Uh, I agree. Confirm. Whatever."
 
-Unlikely, given her mother.
+"So then. Your surgery is scheduled in one hour. You have fifteen minutes before prep, which means fifteen more minutes to back out if you should choose. I'm going to head back to the team and leave you be to think this over." The doctor gestured to her right: a phone huddled, mute, on the table next to the coffee machine, the creamer and sugar. "Dial zero on the phone on the desk if you wish to cancel. There will be no repercussions if you do."
 
-She nodded her assent.
-
-"So then. Your surgery is scheduled in one hour. You have fifteen minutes before prep, which means fifteen more minutes to back out if you should choose. I'm going to head back to the team and leave you be to think this over." The doctor gestured to her right, "Dial zero on the phone on the desk if you wish to cancel. There will be no repercussions if you do."
-
-The doctor stood and leaned forward, offering her hand. Sylvie lifted herself out of her chair and accepted the handshake, feeling as though she needed to be careful of those delicate fingers. The grip was firm, though.
+The doctor stood and leaned forward, offering her hand. Sylvie lifted herself out of her chair and accepted the handshake, marveling at such an antiquated gesture, feeling the need, however real or not, to be careful of those delicate fingers. The grip was firm.
 
 As the doctor stepped out of the room, Sylvie settled back into the chair. She closed her eyes against the sight of all the posters advertising the procedure.
 
-"Upload today!" they said.
+"Upload today!" they shouted.
 
-"Experience a life beyond need!" they promised.
+"Experience a life beyond need!" they howled.
 
 "Work without pressure!" they hollered.
 
 Everything was so loud, so loud.
 
-She had them all memorized, anyway. Right now, she just wanted quiet. She just wanted to think of Grace.
+She had them all memorized, anyway. All those overbright promises that hat circled her head like a halo yearning for the System somewhere above the sky had grown wearisome. 
+
+Right now, she just wanted quiet. She just wanted peace and stillness. She just wanted to *think.*
+
+She just wanted to think of Grace.
 
 Grace with her silvering hair.
 
@@ -52,9 +56,9 @@ Grace with her fair and smooth skin.
 
 Grace with her liquid laughter and lovely voice.
 
-They’d fallen in love within months, shared only a scant few years together, before being separated again. An impenetrable boundary of distance, of emulated sensorium and embodied flesh.
+They’d fallen in love within weeks. A chance meeting at a work party --- Grace someone's plus-one, someone in accounting --- had led to an hour and a half talking about music. The chat had led to a concert. Then another. Then coffee. They'd shared only a scant few years together after that --- one of them married --- before being separated again. An impenetrable boundary of distance, of the immiscibility emulated sensorium and embodied flesh.
 
-Grace's decision hadn't been Sylvie's. Uploading, the thought of uploading, made her skin itch and eyes ache. To be removed from this world and sent to another, to the system, didn't appeal to her.
+Grace's decision hadn't been Sylvie's. Uploading, the very thought of it, made her skin itch and eyes ache. To be removed from this world and sent to another, to the System, didn't appeal to her. What greater life could the System offer? What did "a life beyond need" mean? That one could eat to one's delight? But she'd heard that hunger wasn't a thing, so what mattered satiation? That one could sleep as long as one wanted? But of what use were dreams up there? That one could live forever?
 
 It did appeal to Grace.
 
@@ -64,9 +68,9 @@ Grace with her deteriorating coordination.
 
 Grace with her pain, her depression.
 
-For Grace, it was a way to escape her body. That body that Sylvie loved so much, and was such a prison to Grace. A voluntary procedure --- "Help combat overpopulation!" the posters howled --- but  also a way to neatly sidestep the MS slowly claiming her body and mind.
+For Grace, it was a way to escape her body. That body that Sylvie loved so much, and which was such a prison to Grace. A voluntary procedure --- "Help combat overpopulation!" the posters screamed, eugenics veiled thinly, and even then only with a wink and a nudge; the population had been dropping for a decade at least --- but  also a way to neatly sidestep the multiple sclerosis slowly claiming her body and mind.
 
-After the upload, Grace had communicated with Sylvie through text, through mails sent to her terminal which she'd pore over at work. She begged Sylvie. *Come join me, come upload,* she said. *The posters, they're all true, they're all right.*
+After the upload, Sylvie had heard from Grace through text, through mails sent to her terminal which she'd pore over at work, reading top to bottom, top to bottom, a daily *lectio divina*. She asked Sylvie. She begged her. *Come join me, come upload,* she said. *The posters, they're all true, they're all right. We can be together as if nothing had changed. At least, nothing for the worse.*
 
 The thought *still* made her skin itch and her eyes ache, but all the same, she kept dreaming of Grace. Dreaming of softer eyes, of a voice more sonorous. Her Grace shining like the dawn.
 
@@ -77,18 +81,22 @@ So she'd relented.
 > Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues,  
 > Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,*
 
-Sylvie's mind was filled with Fauré, with that rolling, lilting theme. With Grace's voice at the piano.
+Sylvie's mind was filled to overflowing with Fauré, with that rolling, lilting theme, with Grace's voice at the piano. Even as she was put in a hospital gown, even as she was wheeled back to the operating room on a tired gurney, it played in her head. Maybe she hummed, she didn't know.
 
-"We're going to keep you awake, okay? We need to, in order to tell when the upload is complete, but you'll under local anesthesia. It'll make you feel a little dreamy, may have visual disturbances." The doctor's smile was kind. "Some report it to be enjoyable."
+"We're going to keep you awake, okay? We need to as part of the process, you have to be conscious but you'll be under local anesthesia. It'll make you feel a little dreamy. You may have visual disturbances." The doctor's smile was kind. "Some report it to be enjoyable."
 
-"Okay. How long will the upload take?"
+"Okay. How long will it take?"
 
-"The procedure will be about forty five minutes to prep you for upload, and then the upload will happen in two stages," the doctor said. "You'll be uploaded to a local node at our center, which will give you access to a waiting room of sorts for the system proper. The upload to the system will take several hours via Ansible --- it's a lot of data going a long way, you understand --- so the waiting room will usually have you fork and the copy will be uploaded."
+"An hour and a half, plus about thirty minutes to prep you for upload. The upload will happen in two stages," she said. "You'll be uploaded to a local node at our center, which will give you access to a waiting room of sorts for the System proper. The upload to the L<sub>5</sub> point will take several hours via Ansible --- it's a lot of data going a long way, you understand --- so the waiting room will usually have you stick around."
 
-"Create a copy of myself and let that be uploaded while I watch," she murmured. Sylvie thought for a moment, "What about the copy that remains?"
+Sylvie thought for a moment, "What about the copy that remains?"
 
 "It's free to quit, like a program on your terminal quitting. But they --- the...ah, sysadmins --- usually request that it stay around in case the upload to the system gets interrupted for some reason. Cosmic rays or whatever technobabble fits that day."
 
+"And I just...wait?"
+
+"Wait until the upload's completed, then you'll either quit or the sim is halted.
+
 "And what will I feel if things go wrong?"
 
 The doctor hesitated, looked to her team. It was another team member, a man with a thick French accent, who responded. "We don't really know. The local node will pick up on it and alert us. Death just looks like death to us."
@@ -105,7 +113,7 @@ The anesthesiologist nodded, "Good. Here it comes, then."
 
 The chill ache was replaced with a comfortable warmth.
 
-Not warmth, she realized. Nothingness. Floatingness. Leaving-the-earth-ness. Gone-ness.
+*Not warmth,* she thought. *Nothingness. Floatingness. Leaving-the-Earth-ness. Gone-ness.* Some part of her giggled. Dreamy indeed.
 
 "Sylvie, can you hear me? You won't be able to speak or blink or nod, but can you try and take two quick breaths? It may be difficult. We'll intubate if necessary."
 
@@ -113,13 +121,15 @@ Sylvie obeyed. Or thought she did, at least. She couldn't tell if the breaths we
 
 Time wandered.
 
-Voices rang with the timbre of bells, though she could still understand them. Surgeons talking to technicians.
+Voices rang with the timbre of bells. Sometimes they formed words, sometimes they were broken down into their component tones and she could only here formants, fundamentals. Surgeons talking to technicians.
 
 A dull, basso organ note of something grinding, her vision vibrating, blurring the sight of the light above the bed.
 
+The light? A light? *Are my eyes even open?*
+
 The light took the form of Grace, and Sylvie more readily gave in to the effects of the drug.
 
-Grace with her angelic smile. Grace lifting her up, away from the earth. Grace running, running into the ring of that surgeon's lamp. Clouds, clouds parting.
+Grace with her angelic smile. Grace lifting her up, away from the earth. Grace running, running into the ring of that surgeon's lamp. Into and through, up and up. Clouds, clouds parting.
 
 The organ note screamed up through several octaves.
 
@@ -131,7 +141,7 @@ Minutes fled by. Hours. Days, perhaps. Always, in front of her, her angel. Pure
 
 Grace was drifting away from her, receding.
 
-The light flared in intensity. Somehow became black. A shining, blinding blackness amid a field of more blackness.
+The light flared in intensity. Somehow became black. A shining, blinding blackness amid a field of more blackness, matte and plain.
 
 Tugging, pulling.
 
@@ -160,20 +170,21 @@ And then the wave receded.
 > Reviens, reviens radieuse,  
 > Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!*
 
+-----
+
 The team stood still. There was no written protocol as to what one should do while the local node processed the upload, but they always remained silent. The doctor held her breath every time.
 
 A small pinging noise. The local readout flashed red.
 
-Shoulders sagged around the room.
+Shoulders sagged around the room. The nurse's lips began to move in silent prayer.
 
 "Error in processing upload." The tinny speaker sounded impersonal. Perhaps it was designed that way to play down the loss. "Irrecoverable data corruption. Please check all contacts before continuing or contact a system support technician for a full rig inspection."
 
 "Well." The anesthesiologist's voice, so human, contrasted with the words from the speaker. "That's that, then."
 
-"That's that," the doctor echoed. She sighed and backed away from Sylvie's body. It was empty, now. A husk. "I'll start the paperwork and call her family and the insurance company. Get the payout processed as soon as possible."
+"That's that," the doctor echoed. She sighed and backed away from Sylvie's body. It was empty, now. A husk. A vessel poured out into nothing. "I'll start the paperwork and call her family and the insurance company. Get the payout processed as soon as possible. Third one this month, too."
 
-The other team members nodded. None of them looked happy.
+The other team members nodded. None looked happy.
 
-"Go on, get her cleaned up and sent to the handlers." She trudged out of the room slowly, her feet dragging. Pulling off her gloves, one by one, she added, "At least someone will get something out of this. Alas."
+"Go on, get her cleaned up and sent to the handlers." She trudged from the room, her feet dragging. Pulling off her gloves one by one she added half to herself, "At least someone will get something out of this. Alas."
 
-Prayers began around the corpse.

writing/post-self/index.md

@@ -17,7 +17,7 @@ In which Maddy mushes together some stories into a post-human romp of ~~a book~~
 ## Ideas
 
 * [ ] [A Century of Days (WT)](100days/index)
-* [ ] [Marsh](marsh/index)
+* [.] [Marsh](marsh/index)
 
 ## Other bits
 

writing/post-self/marsh/001.md

@@ -1,24 +1,24 @@
 "If you had to boil down this year into a sales pitch, what would it be?"
 
-Reed laughed and bumped his shoulder against Hanne's. "A sales pitch?"
+I laugh and bump my shoulder against Hanne's. "A sales pitch?"
 
-"Yeah," she said, leaning briefly against him as they walked. "I'm in the market for a new year. Sell me the 2368 model. I've got a wide variety to choose from, so tell me why you decided to live through this one."
+"Yeah," she says, leaning briefly against me as we walk. "I'm in the market for a new year. Sell me the 2399 model. I've got a wide variety to choose from, so tell me why you decided to live through this one."
 
 "You're a nerd. You realize that, right?"
 
-"Tell me why I should be a nerd in the year 244. Next year we can decide on 245.“
+"Tell me why I should be a nerd in the year 275. Next year we can decide on 276.“
 
-Reed scuffed his heel against the pavement of the street. New Year's Eve, and everyone was still inside. Bars: full. Restaurants: packed. There were a few scattered couples or groups around, but they were all walking with purpose. Champagne called. Canapes. Crudites.
+I scuff my heel against the pavement of the street. New Year's Eve, and everyone's still inside. Bars: full. Restaurants: packed. There are a few scattered couples or groups around, but they're all walking with purpose. Champagne called. Canapes. Crudites.
 
-And here they were, Reed and Hanne, arm in arm, strolling leisurely down the street, heedless of the passersby, to celebrate the last day of 2368, systime 244+365.
+And here we are, Reed and Hanne, arm in arm, strolling leisurely down the street, heedless of the passersby, to celebrate the last day of 2399, systime 275+365. Many, still lingering on the calendar still used phys-side, were doubtlessly partying extra-hard to celebrate the turn of a century.
 
-"If you're looking for the utmost in luxury, then it's really hard to go wrong with 2368. The ride was just about as smooth as could be."
+"If you're looking for the utmost in luxury, then it's really hard to go wrong with 2399. The ride was just about as smooth as could be."
 
 "How about comfort?"
 
-"Oh, very comfortable. Cushy, even," he said, poking himself in the belly.
+"Oh, very comfortable. Cushy, even," I say, poking myself in the belly.
 
-Hanne laughed. "Cute. How about the exterior?"
+Hanne laughs. "Cute. How about the exterior?"
 
 "No clue. It's been a long, long time since I've had any reason to pay attention to the world outside. I imagine it looks just as confusing as it anyways has."
 
@@ -26,107 +26,107 @@ Hanne laughed. "Cute. How about the exterior?"
 
 "I keep forgetting you're younger than me."
 
-She nodded. "Robbing the cradle, you are."
+She nods. "Robbing the cradle, you are."
 
 "You're 83."
 
 "Barely legal."
 
-It was his turn to laugh. "Whatever."
+It's my turn to laugh. "Whatever."
 
 "How about, uh... Features? Amenities?"
 
 "Well, it's got us in it, doesn't it?"
 
-She laughed and shoved him away from her. "Now who's the nerd? Gross."
+She snorts and shoves me away from her. "Now who's the nerd? Gross."
 
-Reed stumbled to the side, laughing. Their own champagne from earlier added a pleasant freedom of movement he only ever noticed at two drinks. Any more and he became too loose and had a hard time staying upright. Any less and he didn't notice that any freedom was lacking.
+I stumble to the side, laughing. Our own champagne from earlier added a pleasant freedom of movement I only ever notice at two drinks. Any more and I became too loose and have a hard time staying upright. Any less and I don't notice that any freedom was lacking.
 
-"Is that so bad?" he said. "Alternatively: am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin? It's fucking New Year's, Hanne."
+"Is that so bad?" I say. "Alternatively: am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin? It's fucking New Year's, Hanne."
 
-"Maudlin? Is that even the right word?"
+"'Maudlin'? Is that even the right word?"
 
-"What? Uh..." He hunted down a dictionary on the exchange, prowled through it. "Oh. Saccharine, maybe? I don't know. Maudlin still kind of works, doesn't it?"
+"What? Uh..." I hunt down a dictionary on the exchange, prowl through it. "Oh. Mawkish, that's the one. Or saccharine, maybe? I don't know. Maudlin still kind of works, doesn't it?"
 
-She titled her head at him.
+She tilts her head at me.
 
 ""Extremely sentimental," it says. Pretty sure that fits."
 
-Hanne rolled her eyes, grinning. "Okay, yeah, that fits you to a tee."
+Hanne rolls her eyes, grinning. "Okay, yeah, that fits you to a tee."
 
-They walked in silence for a few minutes. Reed tallied the occupants of the various restaurants along the way, making note of the busiest to check out on some less-busy night. Good date spots, perhaps.
+We walk in silence for a few minutes. I tally the occupants of the various restaurants along the way, making note of the busiest to check out on some less-busy night. Good date spots, perhaps.
 
 "What was it like when you uploaded?"
 
 "You mean phys-side?"
 
-Hanne nodded. "What was Earth like? What was your life like?"
+Hanne nods. "What was Earth like? What was your life like?"
 
-He shrugged. "Fine, I guess. The Western Fed was swinging conservative again, it was hot as hell all the time, most places were starting to subsidize uploading despite an already declining population. I guess that makes it sound terrible, and maybe it would have gotten worse, but I wasn't around to see it. We were doing alright, so maybe I was kind of sheltered."
+I shrug. "Fine, I guess. The Western Fed was swinging conservative again, it was hot as hell all the time, most places were starting to subsidize uploading despite an already declining population. I guess that makes it sound terrible, and maybe it would have gotten worse, but I wasn't around to see it. We were doing alright, so maybe I was kind of sheltered."
 
 "I hear you on the hot as hell part. We couldn't afford moving south when it got too bad, so we moved up into the mountains. It helped a little bit, at least."
 
 "When was that?"
 
-"2290 something. I don't remember. I think I was five, at least."
+"2320 something. I don't remember. I think I was under ten, at least."
 
-Reed nodded. "I guess that's what I mean by sheltered. We were already up in Newfoundland. Summers sucked, winters sucked, but it was alright between them."
+I nod. "I guess that's what I mean by sheltered. We were already up in Newfoundland. Summers sucked, winters sucked, but it was alright between them."
 
 "Autumn or spring?"
 
 "Huh?"
 
-"Pick one, dummy," she said, laughing.
+"Pick one, dummy," she says, laughing.
 
 "Oh, autumn, for sure. Autumn bitch all the way."
 
 "I knew it."
 
-He rolled his eyes. "I'm nothing if not myself."
+I roll my eyes. "I'm nothing if not myself."
 
 "So why'd you upload?"
 
 "You know that already."
 
-Hanne shook her head. "You said to transition, sure, but didn't you already do that back phys-side."
+Hanne shakes her head. "You said to transition, sure, but didn't you already do that back phys-side?"
 
-He stayed silent, picking apart his thoughts on the matter. "I-- Marsh got sick of being trans. He wanted to just be a man, not a trans man."
+I stay silent, picking apart my thoughts on the matter. "I-- Marsh got sick of being trans. They wanted to just be a man, not a trans man."
 
-"You're a trans man, though."
+"*You're* a trans man, though."
 
-"Sure, but that's not what he wanted at the time. He started to miss it by the time he forked."
+"Sure, but that's not what they wanted at the time. They started to miss it by the time they forked."
 
 "Why?"
 
-He laughed. "So many questions tonight."
+I laugh. "So many questions tonight."
 
-She grinned, shrugged.
+She grins, shrugs.
 
-"Well, I think half of it was that there was just too much pressure at the time. Like I said, the WF was swinging conservative, so there was this push to assimilate, and I guess he internalized that pretty hard. He felt pushed to just be a man, and always felt that he fell short, despite all he did to try, but on Lagrange, he could do that right off the bat."
+"Well, I think half of it was that there was just too much pressure at the time. Like I said, the WF was swinging conservative, so there was this push to assimilate, and we internalized that pretty hard. We felt pushed to just shut up and be a man, just disappear, and always felt that we fell short despite all we did to try, but on Lagrange, we could do that right off the bat."
 
-"So he went back to being trans--"
+"So they went back to being trans--"
 
-Reed shook his head, cutting her off. "He's still cis. I became the way he experienced that again."
+I shake my head, cutting her off. "They've given up on gender. I became the way they experienced that again."
 
 "Sorry, Reed."
 
-"No, it's okay," he said, feeling a rush of warmth to his cheeks. "Didn't mean to get too pushy. It's still a little tender, I guess."
+"No, it's okay," I say, feeling a rush of warmth to my cheeks. "Didn't mean to get too pushy. It's still a little tender, I guess."
 
-The shadow of her shoulders relaxed again in the dark of the night. "Even after so long?"
+The shadow of her shoulders relaxes again in the dark of the night. "Even after so long?"
 
-"Yeah. Like I said, he internalized it pretty hard, even as he tried to diversify later on. I headed back trans, Lily headed back feminine, and Cress sits in between."
+"Yeah. Like I said, we internalized it pretty hard, even as they tried to diversify later on. I headed back trans, Lily headed back feminine, and Cress embodies the negation."
 
-"is that why you forked, too?"
+"Is that why you forked, too?"
 
-He laughed. "I forked for fun. Even if it's still a tender spot, I think I'm still way more relaxed than he is. There may be a bit of that in Sedge, I guess. He's still pretty happy being a guy. Rush is as ve is of his own choice, though."
+I grin. "I forked for fun. Even if it's still a tender spot, I think I'm still way more relaxed than they are. There may be a bit of that in Tule, I guess. He's still pretty happy being a guy --- he's the only one out of all of us, come to think of it. Rush is as ve is of ver own choice, though."
 
-Hanne looped her arm through his. "Well, I still like you as you are."
+Hanne loops her arm through mine. "Well, I still like you as you are."
 
 "What, trans?"
 
 "No, a huge nerd."
 
-"Of course." He bumped his shoulder to hers. "Why'd you upload, then?"
+"Of course." I bump my shoulder to hers. "Why'd you upload, then?"
 
 "The weather. The money. All the same stuff the government told us. Same as most people, I think. I internalized that as much as Marsh did the whole gender thing."
 
@@ -136,17 +136,14 @@ Hanne looped her arm through his. "Well, I still like you as you are."
 
 "Oh, right. I guess I knew that."
 
-She shrugged. "Sure. But either way, they were somewhere in the middle, maybe. There was this big push from the liberal side on the climate, and this big push on the conservative side on the financial side. They said they could cut costs on services if there were fewer of us. Dad was with them, mom was with the libs. It was one of the few things they could agree on. They said they'd miss me, but they weren't exactly sad when I went the Ansible."
+She shrugs. "Sure. But either way, they were somewhere in the middle, maybe. There was this big push from the liberal side on the climate, and this big push on the conservative side on the financial side. They said they could cut costs on services if there were fewer of us. Dad was with them, mom was with the libs. It was one of the few things they could agree on. They said they'd miss me, but they weren't exactly sad when I went the Ansible."
 
 "'Went the Ansible'? Is that what you called it?"
 
-"'Uploading' sounds so sterile," she said, nodding. "'Went the Ansible' just made it sound like moving away from home."
+"'Uploading' sounds so sterile," she says, nodding. "'Went the Ansible' just made it sound like moving away from home."
 
 "Well, I'm glad you went the Ansible, then."
 
 "Sap."
 
-He laughed. "Got it in one."
-
------
-
+I laugh. "Got it in one."

writing/post-self/marsh/002.md

@@ -1,24 +1,28 @@
-Champagne tinted evenings fade, as they do, into brandy-colored nights. Amber nights and fireplaces for the hell of it, Reed and Hanne settling in for a little bit of warmth for that last hour, not quite decadence and a ways off from opulence, but still a plush couch and a fire and snifters slightly too full of liquor.
+Champagne tinted evenings fade, as they do, into brandy-colored nights. Amber nights and fireplaces for the hell of it, me and Hanne settling in for a little bit of warmth for that last hour, not quite decadence and a ways off from opulence, but still a plush couch and a fire and snifters slightly too full of liquor.
 
-They shared their warmth and they continued to talk, talking of the year past, of years past beyond that, and of however many they decided would lay ahead of them. A hundred? Two hundred? Five years? Reed argued passionately for five more years of life before he'd quit, then laughed, changed his mind, and said he'd never die. Hanne said she would live for precisely two hundred before quitting her instance and disappearing from Lagrange. She would fork at a century and never speak to that version of her again, that exact duplicate, and should that instance decide to live on past two centuries, so be it, but she'd decided her expiration.
+We share our warmth and we continue to talk, talking of the year past, of years past beyond that, and of however many we decide would lay ahead of us. A hundred years? Two hundred? Only five? I argue passionately for five more years of life before I quit, then laugh, change my mind, and say I'll never die. Hanne says she'll live for precisely two hundred before quitting her instance and disappearing from Lagrange. She'll fork at a century and never speak to that version of her again, that exact duplicate, and should that instance decide to live on past two centuries, so be it, but she'd decided her expiration.
 
-Reed scoffed. "What? And leave me behind?"
+**NOTES**
+We share our warmth *(How are they sitting in space?)* and we continue to talk, talking of the year past, of years past beyond that, and of however many we decide ~{would lay}{are} ahead -{of us}. A hundred years? Two hundred? Only five? I ~{argue passionately}{demand} for five more years of life -{before I quit}, then laugh, change my mind, and say I'll never die. Hanne says she'll live for precisely two hundred ~{before quitting her instance and disappearing from Lagrange}{, give up, and disappear from Lagrange}. She'll fork at a century and never speak to that version of her again, that exact duplicate, and should that instance decide to live on past two centuries, so be it, but she'd decided her expiration.
+**NOTES**
 
-"Of course. Can you imagine six score years with someone? Absolutely miserable." She rested her head on his shoulder and shrugged. "We're a ways off from that, I think I still like you now."
+I scoff. "What? And leave me behind?"
 
-"You think?" His draped their arm around her shoulders. "Still not sure?"
+"Of course. Can you imagine six score years with someone? Absolutely miserable." She rests her head on my shoulder and shrugs. "We're a ways off from that, I think I still like you now."
+
+"You think?" I drape my arm around her shoulders. "Still not sure?"
 
 "I'm sure I think I like you."
 
-He laughed. "Yeah? Well, what can I do to cement your opinion of me? What can I do to make you sure that you like me?"
+I laugh. "Yeah? Well, what can I do to cement your opinion of me? What can I do to make you sure that you like me?"
 
-"There's a whole laundry list," she said, sipping her brandy.
+"There's a whole laundry list," she says, sipping her brandy.
 
-"Pop one. I could use a goal for 245."
+"Pop one. I could use a goal for 276."
 
-Hanne held up her glass appraisingly. "Well, we could work on your taste in liquor."
+Hanne holds up her glass appraisingly. "Well, we could work on your taste in liquor."
 
-He snorted. "What would you rather I drink?"
+I snort. "What would you rather I drink?"
 
 "Scotch."
 
@@ -28,304 +32,445 @@ He snorted. "What would you rather I drink?"
 
 "Oh, I'm pretty sure it is, but we're beholden to stereotypes."
 
-She poked him in the side, grinning. "You must be drunk if you're using words like 'beholden'. Let's see. You could introduce me to Marsh, maybe."
+She pokes me in the side, grinning. "You must be drunk if you're using words like 'mawkish' and 'beholden'. Let's see. You could introduce me to Marsh, maybe."
 
-Reed shook his head. "That's not on me, you know that. We have a one-way relationship."
+I shake my head. "That's not on me, you know that. We have a one-way relationship."
 
-"But he's your down-tree instance! You're patterned after him. You talk every year *at least* once, right? You'll talk to him later tonight, right? You have for the last hundred."
+"But they're your down-tree instance! You're patterned after them. You talk every year *at least* once, right? You'll talk to them later tonight, right? You have for the last hundred."
 
-"No, probably not. If I hear from him directly, anything more than just a ping, I'll know something's gone horribly wrong." He shrugged --- carefully, what with her head resting on their shoulder. "Like I say, it's a one-way relationship. All I do is live my own life, right? I stay in touch with the rest of the clade to greater or lesser extent, but Marsh has his own life."
+"No, probably not. If I hear from them directly, anything more than just a ping, I'll know something's gone horribly wrong." I lean back — carefully, what with her head resting on my shoulder. "Like I say, it's a one-way relationship. All I do is live my own life, right? I stay in touch with the rest of the clade to greater or lesser extent, but Marsh has their own life."
 
-"He has several."
+"They have several."
 
-"Right. We all fork, we all merge back down to whoever our down-tree instance is, and since I was forked from him, I merge down directly. He gets all our lives, one year at a time, but we don't really get anything in return."
+"Right. We all fork, we all merge back down to whoever our down-tree instance is, and since I was forked from them, I merge down directly. They get all our lives, one year at a time, but we don't really get anything in return."
 
-He could hear the frown in her voice. "How miserable."
+I can hear the frown in her voice. "How miserable."
 
 "What, our relationship?"
 
-"Just...him. How miserable he has to be, right? He lives his life doing whatever, spending his whole year remembering the previous year from, what, five instances?"
+"Just...them. How miserable they have to be, right? They live their life doing whatever, spending their whole year remembering the previous year from, what, five instances?"
 
 "Six. Me, Lily, Cress, Rush, Sedge, and Tule."
 
 "That's another thing you could do: be a little less weird."
 
-He laughed, kissed atop her head. "Uh huh. Love you too."
+I chuckle, kiss atop her head. "Uh huh. Love you too."
 
-"But I was saying he has to be miserable. He chills out in his house and spends his days remembering yours, you and your cocladists, and just living vicariously through you all."
+"But I was saying they have to be miserable. They chill out in their house and spend their days remembering yours, you and your cocladists, and just living vicariously through you all."
 
-"That's not all he does. He sings. He's got Vos and Pierre, right? He spends time with his partners. He goes to Vos's plays. He has friends over. He sings a *lot*. He cooks--"
+"That's not all they do. They sing. They have Vos and Pierre, right? They spend time with their partners. They go to Vos's plays. They have friends over. They sing a *lot*. They cook–"
 
-"Is he as bad a cook as you?"
+"Are they as bad a cook as you?"
 
 "Oh, worse, according to Tule's girlfriend. Truly terrible."
 
-She laughed.
+She laughs.
 
-"He has a full and fulfilling life, is what I'm saying. He's happy, it's just that his happiness doesn't include communication with his up-tree instances."
+"They have a full and fulfilling life, is what I'm saying. They're happy, it's just that their happiness doesn't include communication with their up-tree instances."
 
 "Why not?"
 
-Reed yawned, slouched down further on the couch along with Hanne. "He very specifically wants us to live our own lives. He doesn't want us to just be versions of him. He can make all of those he wants for his little tasks. He specifically wants us to be something other than what he is so that he can experience that on his own terms."
+I yawn, slouch down further on the couch along with Hanne. "They very specifically want us to live our own lives. They don't want us to just be other versions of them. They can make all of those they want for their little tasks. They specifically want us to be something other than what they are so that they can experience that on their own terms."
 
-"Don't see how that's any different," she mumbled. Sleep threatened, even with some time left before midnight. "You all merging down like that is just doing the same thing in reverse, You're making him a version of you all, even if you're not just a version of him."
+"Don't see how that's any different," she mumbles. Sleep threatens, even with some time left before midnight. "You all merging down like that is just doing the same thing in reverse, You're making them a version of you all, even if you're not just a version of them."
 
-Reed turned that thought over in his head, held it at arm length, let the light of the fire shine through the fog of champagne and brandy onto it to admire just how strangely it was shaped. "Well, huh."
+I turn that thought over in my head, hold it at arms length, let the light of the fire shine through the fog of champagne and brandy onto it to admire just how strangely it was shaped. "Well, huh."
 
 "See? You're so weird."
 
-"I guess we are," he said, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. "No dozing off, now."
+"I guess we are," I say, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. "No dozing off, now. Not yet."
 
-She grumbled and rubbed at her face. "Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding."
+She grumbles and rubs at her face. "Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding."
 
-He scooted up onto the couch, himself, sitting cross-legged to face her. "It's okay. It's not wrong, even, I just don't think it's wholly right, either. It's a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives to the fullest, and it's his intent to let us do so and yet still be able to experience that at one layer of remove. We've been doing it for a century, and it's worked out well enough since then. If all this--" he waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, "--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own."
+I scoot up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. "It's okay. It's not wrong, even, I just don't think it's wholly right, either. It's a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives to the fullest, and it's their intent to let us do so and yet still be able to experience that at one layer of remove. We've been doing it for a century, and it's worked out well enough since then. If all this–" I wave around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, "–is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own."
 
 "I think we broke two trillion instances a while back. I don't know how may uploads, but I don't think it's hit a trillion yet."
 
 "Right. Sorry, guess I'm kinda rambly when I'm drunk."
 
-Leaning forward, she gave him a light kiss. "It's okay, I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time."
+Leaning forward, she gives me a light kiss. "It's okay, I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time."
 
 23:45.
 
-Reed started to nod, then stiffened as they felt first one, then another set of memories crash down onto him. "*Fuck.* One of these...days I'll convince...them to give me some warning...sec..."
+I start to nod, then stiffen as I felt first one, then another set of memories crash down onto me. "*Fuck.* One of these...days I'll convince...them to give me some warning...sec..."
 
-Hanne laughed and shook her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.
+Hanne laughs and shakes her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.
 
-He closed his eyes to turn down one of his senses, setting the sweet-smelling glass of brandy aside to rid himself of another as best he could. He sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had forked and quit first. They'd split off a new copy of themself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories they'd formed over the last year fell down onto Reed, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of his tongue: all he needed to do was actually remember. Next had come Sedge. Clearly, Tule had already done so, forking and merging back down into Sedge so that he could fork and merge down into Reed. Three sets of memories --- two from his direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on his mind, ready for integration.
+I close my eyes to turn down one of my senses, setting the sweet-smelling glass of brandy aside to rid myself of another as best I can. I sit and spend a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I need to do is actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories pile yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories — two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance — rested on my mind, ready for integration.
 
-There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and he needed to get the memories sorted into his own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as he could manage, all conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, he could fork and then quit, himself, letting that new copy of himself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while the original instance quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and himself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for himself.
+There'll be time for full perusal and remembering later. It's rapidly approaching midnight, and I need to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as best I can manage, all conflicts addressed — though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories — so that, shortly before midnight, I can fork, myself, letting that new copy of me live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while the original instance quits and lets all those memories — those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself — fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.
 
-He heard Hanne return, heard her climb back onto the couch before him, felt her press a cold glass of water into his hand.
+I hear Hanne return, hear her climb back onto the couch before me, feel her press a cold glass of water into my hand.
 
 Five minutes left.
 
 Three.
 
-23:58, and he opened his eyes and smiled. "Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year for everyone involved, though I'll deal with all the rest of that later."
+23:58, and I open my eyes and smile. "Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year for everyone involved, though I'll deal with all the rest of that later."
 
-"Is it time, then?" she asked.
+"Is it time, then?" she asks.
 
-He nodded, willed away the drunkenness, took a sip of water, and, with a rush of intent, brought into being beside them a new instance of himself. Exactly the same. *Precisely*. Had such a thing any meaning to an upload, they would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the history.
+I nod, will away the drunkenness, take a sip of water, and, with a rush of intent, bring into being beside us a new instance of myself. Exactly the same. *Precisely*. Had such a thing any meaning to an upload, we would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the history.
 
-For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, they began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch saw Hanne from *this* angle, and yet the one that stood beside the couch saw her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back.
+For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, we begin to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sits on the couch sees Hanne from *this* angle, and yet the one that stands beside the couch sees her from that. The one that sits on the couch feels the fire on his cheek, the one standing feels it on his back.
 
 "Alright. I love you, Hanne Marie. I'll miss you."
 
-She rolled her eyes. "Tell Marsh I said--
+She rolls her eyes. "Tell Marsh I said–
 
 <div style="height: 100vh"></div>
 
 "See? You're so weird."
 
-"I guess we are," he said, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. "Hey now, no falling asleep on me."
+"I guess we are," I say, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. "Hey now, no falling asleep on me."
 
-"Right, sorry. Still, uh...still fifteen minutes." She grumbled and rubbed at her face. "Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding."
+"Right, sorry. Still, uh...still fifteen minutes." She grumbles and rubs at her face. "Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding."
 
-He scooted up onto the couch, himself, sitting cross-legged to face her. "It's okay. It's not wrong, come to think of it, I just don't think it's wholly right, either, you know? It's more a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives doing as we will rather than as he would, and it's his intent to let us do so --- and by not interfering, even with communication, *force* us to do so --- and yet still be able to experience that almost like a dream. He forked us off a century ago, me, Lily, and Cressm and we've been doing it for the last century, and it's worked out well enough since then. If all this--" he waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, "--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own."
+I scoot up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. "It's okay. It's not wrong, come to think of it, I just don't think it's wholly right, either, you know? It's more a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives doing as we will rather than as they would, and it's their intent to let us do so — and by not interfering, even with communication, *force* us to do so — and yet still be able to experience that almost like a dream. They forked us off a century ago, me, Lily, and Cress, and we've been doing it for the last century, and it's worked out well enough since then. They're more than just Marsh, now. They're Marsh and all of us. If all this–" I wave around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, "–is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own."
 
 "I think we broke two trillion instances a while back. I don't know how may uploads, but I don't think it's hit a trillion yet."
 
 "Right. Sorry, guess I'm kinda rambly when I'm drunk."
 
-Leaning forward, she gave him a light kiss. "You know I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time."
+Leaning forward, she gives me a light kiss. "You know I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time."
 
 23:45.
 
-Reed started to nod, willed away the drunkenness, then stiffened as he felt first one, then another set of memories crash down onto him. "*Fuck.* One of these...days I'll convince...them to give me some warning...sec..."
+I start to nod, will away the drunkenness, then stiffen as I feel first one, then another set of memories crash down onto me. "*Fuck.* One of these...days I'll convince...them to give me some warning...sec..."
 
-Hanne laughed and shook her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.
+Hanne laughs and shakes her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.
 
-He closed his eyes to turn down one of his senses, taking one more sip of the sweet-smelling brandy before setting it aside to rid himself of another two as best he could. He sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had forked and quit first. They'd split off a new copy of themself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories they'd formed over the last year fell down onto Reed, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of their tongue: all he needed to do was actually remember. Next had come Sedge. Clearly, Tule had already done so, forking and merging back down into Sedge so that he could fork and merge down into Reed. Three sets of memories --- two from his direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on his mind, ready for integration.
+I close my eyes to turn down one of my senses, taking one more sip of the sweet-smelling brandy before setting it aside to rid myself of another two as best I can. I sit and spend a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I need to do is actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories pile yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories — two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance — rested on my mind, ready for integration.
 
-There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and he needed to get the memories sorted into his own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as he could manage, all conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, he could fork and then quit, himself, letting that new copy of himself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while the original instance quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and himself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for himself.
+There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I need to get the memories sorted into his own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as I can manage, all conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, I can fork and quit, myself, letting that new copy of himself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while the original instance quit and let all those memories — those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and himself — fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.
 
-He heard Hanne return, heard her climb back onto the couch before him, felt her press a cold glass of water into his hand.
+I hear Hanne return, hear her climb back onto the couch before me, feel her press a cold glass of water into my hand.
 
 Five minutes left.
 
 Two.
 
-23:59, and he opened his eyes. "Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year. I'll deal with all the rest of that later."
+23:59, and I open my eyes. "Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year. I'll deal with all the rest of that later."
 
-"Is it time, then?" she asked.
+"Is it time, then?" she asks.
 
-He nodded, took a few long gulps of water, and, with a press of will, brought into being beside them a new instance of himself. Exactly the same. *Exactly*. Had such a thing any meaning to the uploaded consciousness, they would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the love and hate and past that made them *them*.
+I nod, take a few long gulps of water, and, with a press of will, bring into being beside us a new instance of myself. Exactly the same. *Exactly*. Had such a thing any meaning to the uploaded consciousness, we would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the love and hate and past that made us *us*.
 
-For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, they began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch saw Hanne from *this* angle, and yet the one that stood beside the couch saw her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back.
+For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, we begin to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sits on the couch sees Hanne from *this* angle, and yet the one that stands beside the couch sees her from that. The one that sits on the couch feels the fire on his cheek, the one standing feels it on his back.
 
 "Alright. I love you, Miss Hanne Marie. I'll think of you often."
 
-She rolled her eyes. "No you won't. Tell Marsh I said hi."
+She rolls her eyes. "No you won't. Tell Marsh I said hi."
 
-He laughed and, as the clock struck midnight, willed themself to quit.
+I laugh and, as the clock strikes midnight, willed myself to quit.
 
-Then frowned.
+Then frown.
 
 "Something wrong?"
 
-He held up a finger and closed his eyes. Once more, they thought to himself, *I'm ready to quit*, then then willed that to be reality. Rather than the sudden nothingness that should have followed, he felt the System resist. He felt an elastic sensation that he'd never felt before. There was a barrier between him and the ability to quiet. He felt it, tested it, probed and explored. It was undeniably present, and though he sensed that they could probably press through it if he desired, it was as though Lagrange desperately did not want him to quit. It didn't want the Reed of now to leave the System.
+I hold up a finger and close my eyes. Once more, I think to myself, *I'm ready to quit*, then then will that to be reality. 
+
+Rather than the sudden nothingness that should followed, I feel the System balk. Resist. I feel an elastic sensation that I've never felt before. There's a barrier between me and the ability to quit. I feel it, test it, probe and explore. It's undeniably present, and though I sense that I could probably press through it if I desire, it's as though Lagrange desperately does not want me to quit. It doesn't want the Reed of now to leave the System.
 
 "I can't."
 
-"You can't?" Hanne tilted her head, then leaned forward to take one of his hands in her own. "I mean, it's okay if you don't want to. I don't think Marsh will mind if you're a few minutes late. Hell, you can even send him a message saying you don't want to this year. I think he'll--"
+"You can't?" Hanne tilts her head, then leans forward to take one of my hands in her own. "I mean, it's okay if you don't want to. I don't think Marsh will mind if you're a few minutes late. Hell, you can even send them a message saying you don't want to this year. I think they'll–"
 
-"No, Hanne," he said, carefully slipping his hand free so that he could stand. "I mean I can't. I'm not able to. It's impossible. Or possible, but-- wait, hold on."
+"No, Hanne," I say, carefully slipping my hand free so that I can stand. I need to pace. I nod to my new fork, who quits. I decline the merge. "I mean I can't. I'm not able to. It's impossible. Or possible, but– wait, hold on."
 
-It had been more than a decade since he'd done so, but if ever there was a reason to do so, this was it. There were very few reasons that the System would try to stop an instance for quitting and one of them, well, no-- It had been more than a decade since he'd broken the communication embargo, but ey sent Marsh a gentle ping.
+It's been more than a decade since I've done so, but if ever there was a time, this was it. There are very few reasons that the System would try to stop an instance for quitting and one of them...well, no– It's been more than a decade since I'd broken the communication embargo, but I send Marsh a gentle ping.
 
-Or *tried* to, at least.
+Or *try* to, at least.
 
-All the ping was was a gentle nudge against the recipient's sensorium, a sense that someone was looking for them, was seeking them out, was just checking if they were free, if they were even there. From the sender's side, it felt like a gentle touch, a brush of some more metaphorical finger against the symbolic shoulder of the recipient, a reassurance that they were indeed there.
+All the ping is is a gentle nudge against the recipient's sensorium, a sense that someone is looking for them, is seeking them out, is just checking if they were free, if they're even there. From the sender's side, it feels like a gentle touch, a brush of some more metaphorical finger against the symbolic shoulder of the recipient, a reassurance that they are indeed there.
 
-But there was nothing. Reed felt nothing. No sense of Marsh. Attempting to send a sensorium ping to someone that didn't exist just felt like daydreaming. It felt like a silly, pointless imagining, as though one was imagining that they could touch God on the shoulder or shake hands with the devil.
+But there's nothing. I feel nothing. No sense of Marsh. Attempting to send a sensorium ping to someone that doesn't exist just feels like daydreaming. It feels like a silly, pointless imagining, as though one was imagining that they could touch God on the shoulder or shake hands with the devil.
 
-He frowned, pinged Hanne.
+I frown, ping Hanne.
 
-"What?" she said, her frown deepening.
+"What?" she says, her frown deepening.
 
 "Hold on, one more sec."
 
 00:02.
 
-He thought across the clade, thought of one of Marsh's other forks. Pinged Lily.
+I think across the clade, think of one of Marsh's other forks. Ping Lily.
 
-The response was immediate, words flowing into his consciousness through some sense that was not quite hearing. *What's happening? I can't--*
+The response is immediate, words flowing into my consciousness through some sense that's not quite hearing. *"What's happening? I can't–"*
 
-Pinged Cress, the other fork. Asked, *Cress? Can you--*
+Ping Cress, the other fork. Asks, *"Cress? Can you–"*
 
-*What the fuck is happening?* came the panicked response.
+*"What the fuck is happening?"* comes the panicked response.
 
-*My place,* he sent back, followed by his address. He repeated the message to Lily and, on a whim, his own up-tree instances, Rush, Sedge, and Tule.
+*"My place,"* I send back, followed by my address. I repeat the message to Lily and, on a whim, my own up-tree instances, Rush, Sedge, and Tule.
 
 00:04.
 
-Cress arrived almost immediately along with Tule --- they shared a partner, so it made sense they'd be together for the evening --- leading Hanne to start back on the couch. "Reed," she said, voice low. "What is--"
+Cress arrives almost immediately along with Tule — they share a partner, so it makes sense they'd be together for the evening — leading Hanne to start back on the couch. "Reed," she says, voice low. "What is–"
 
-Lily arrived next, already rushing forward to grab Reed's shoulder. "You can't either?" she said, voice full of panic.
+Lily arrives next, already rushing forward to grab my shoulder. "You can't either?" she says, voice full of panic.
 
-Before he could answer, Sedge and Rush arrived. The living room had become quite crowded, all instances of the Marsh clade clamoring over each other to talk to Reed, the first long-lived fork from Marsh.
+Before I can answer, Sedge and Rush arrive. The living room's become quite crowded, all five of the other instances of the Marsh clade clamoring over each other to talk to me, the first long-lived fork from Marsh.
 
-"Reed!" Hanne shouted, standing and stamping her foot. Quiet fell in the room. She spoke carefully, and he could hear anger just beneath that tone. "What happened?"
+"Reed!" Hanne shouts, standing and stamping her foot. She speaks carefully, and I can hear anger just beneath that tone. "What happened?"
 
-The rest of the clade looked to him as well, and he quailed under so many gazes. "I can't quit. I can't merge down. I can't reach Marsh. He--" his voice gave out and he had to take a sip of water. "He's not on Lagrange, as far as I can tell."
+The rest of the clade looks to me as well, and I quail under so many gazes. "I can't quit. I can't merge down. I can't reach Marsh. They–" my voice gives out and I have to take a shaky sip of water. "They're not on Lagrange, as far as I can tell."
 
 00:07.
 
 <!----->
 
-Silence fell thick across the room. The clade --- Marsh's clade --- stared, wide-eyed. Their expressions ranged for unsure to terrified. He couldn't even begin to imagine what expression showed on his face.
+Silence falls thick across the room. The clade — Marsh's clade — stares, wide-eyed. Their expressions range from unsure to terrified. I can't even begin to imagine what expression shows on my face.
 
-"Okay, no, hold on," Hanne said, shaking her head and waving her hand. She appeared to have willed drunkenness away much as he had, as her voice was clear, holding more frustration than the panic he felt. "Did he quit? He couldn't have, right? You just talked to him earlier today."
+"Okay, no, hold on," Hanne says, shaking her head and waving her hand. She appears to have willed drunkenness away, much as I did, as her voice is clear, holding more frustration than the panic I feel. "Did they quit? They couldn't have, right? You just pinged them earlier today."
 
-He nodded.
+I nod.
 
-"And he said nothing about quitting?"
+"And they said nothing about quitting?"
 
 "Nothing."
 
-Hanne glanced around the room, singling out Marsh's other two immediate up-tree instances, Cress and Lily. Both shook their heads.
+Hanne glances around the room, singling out Marsh's other two immediate up-tree instances, Cress and Lily. Both shake their heads.
 
-"I was just talking to him about an hour ago, actually. He and Vos were wrapping up the first part of the night's celebration and they were going to--"
+"I was just talking to them about an hour ago, actually." Lily says. "They and Vos were wrapping up the first part of the night's celebration and they were going to–"
 
-"Vos!" Reed shouted. "Shit, sorry Lily."
+"Vos!" I shout. "Shit, sorry Lily."
 
-It took a minute for Vos to respond to Reed's ping. *Reed? It's been a bit. What's up?*
+It takes a moment for Vos to respond to my ping. *"Reed? It's been a bit. What's up?"*
 
-*Is Marsh there?* he sent back.
+*"Is Marsh there?"* I send back.
 
-*I don't know. I figured he was in the study waiting on you. It's been a bit and I just made us drinks, but he's not in there now. Is something wrong?*
+*"I don't know. I figured they were in the study waiting on you. I just made us drinks, but they're not in there now. Is something wrong?"*
 
-*Can you ping him?*
+*"Can you ping them?"*
 
-There was a short pause, followed by a sensorium glimpse of a familiar room, that study from so long ago, every flat surface that wasn't the floor covered in stacks of unread books. Empty.
+There's a short pause, followed by a sensorium glimpse of a familiar room, that study from so long ago, every flat surface that isn't the floor covered in stacks of unread books. Empty.
 
-*What's happening?* Vos sent. There was an edge of caution to her voice, the sound of a thin barrier keeping worry at bay.
+*"What's happening?"* Vos sends. There's an edge of caution to her voice, the sound of a thin barrier keeping anxiety at bay.
 
-*Pierre?*
+*"Pierre?"*
 
-*One second.* There was a pause, and then, quickly, *Wait, can we just come over? What's your address?*
+*"One second."* Another pause, and then, quickly, *"Wait, can we just come over? What's your address?"*
 
-He messaged over the address, and a few seconds later, Fenne Vos and Pierre LaFontaine arrived holding hands, leading to another yelp from Hanne. 
+I message over the address, and a few seconds later, Fenne Vos and Pierre LaFontaine arrive holding hands, leading to another yelp from Hanne. 
 
-"Vos! Hi," she said, preempting any of Marsh's up-tree instances. "Do you know where Marsh is?"
+"You must be Vos! Hi," she says, preempting any of Marsh's up-tree instances. "Do you know where Marsh is?"
 
-Some small part of Reed looked on in admiration. Hanne had kept much of the panic that was coursing through him and his cocladists out of her voice. He could feel a shout building within him, and he knew from past experiences with Vos and Pierre that that would only make things worse.
+Some small part of me looks on in admiration. Hanne had kept much of the panic that's coursing through me and my cocladists out of her voice. I can feel a shout building within me and I know from past experiences with Vos and Pierre that that would only make things worse.
 
-"We didn't see him around," Vos answered, and that barrier between caution and worry seemed to be giving way. "Why? If you're all here, I'm guessing something happened?"
+"We didn't see them around," Vos answers, that barrier between caution and worry seeming to be giving way. "Why? If you're all here, I'm guessing something happened."
 
-"Have you been able to ping him?"
+"Have you been able to ping them?"
 
-Both Vos and Pierre shook their heads.
+Both Vos and Pierre shake their heads.
 
-The sight of Cress and Tule bowing their heads to whisper to each other caught Reed's eye, and a moment later their partner, a stocky woman with curly black hair, appeared between them, looking as though she'd come straight from a party, herself.
+The sight of Cress and Tule bowing their heads to whisper to each other catches my eye, and a moment later their partner, a stocky woman with curly black hair, appears between them, looking as though she'd come straight from a party, herself. I feel a muffled pang of affection for her, lingering emotions from my up-tree instance's memories.
 
-"Stop!" Hanne said, then laughed nervously at the silence that followed. She gestured absentmindedly with a hand, pressing the bounds of the sim outward to expand the room. It had started getting more crowded. "You're doing it again, Reed."
+"Stop!" Hanne says, then laughs nervously at the silence that follows. She gestures absentmindedly, pressing the bounds of the sim outward to expand the room. It had started getting actively crowded. "You're doing it again, Reed."
 
-"What?" He tamped down indignation. "Sorry, Hanne, there's a lot going on."
+"What?" I tamp down indignation. "Sorry, Hanne, there's a lot going on."
 
-"Right, I get that, but can you start at the beginning for those of us outside the clade? What did you mean you don't think he's on Lagrange?"
+"Right, I get that, but can you start at the beginning for those of us outside the clade? What did you mean, you don't think they're on Lagrange?"
 
-At this, both Vos and Pierre took a half-step back, looking startled.
+At this, both Vos and Pierre take a half-step back, looking startled.
 
 00:11
 
-Reed spent a moment composing himself. He stood up straighter, brushed his hands down over his shirt, and nodded. "Right. I'm sorry, love. When midnight hit, I forked and tried to quit as usual. I couldn't, though. The System wouldn't let me."
+I spend a moment composing myself. I stand up straighter, brushing my hands down over my shirt, and nod. "Right. I'm sorry, love. When midnight hit, I forked and tried to quit as usual. I couldn't, though. The System wouldn't let me."
 
-Cress and Tule's partner, I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, stood up stock straight, all grogginess from the party fleeing her features.
+Cress and Tule's partner, I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, stands up stock straight, all grogginess — or perhaps drunkenness — from the party fleeing her features.
 
-"That's only supposed to happen when quitting would mean the loss of too much memory, though. The root instance can barely quit at all in the older clades--" Dry Grass winced. Reed did his best to ignore it. "--because the System really doesn't like losing a life if it won't be merged down into a down-tree instance."
+"That's only supposed to happen when quitting would mean the loss of too much memory, though. The root instance can barely quit at all in the older clades–" Dry Grass winces. I do my best to ignore it and continue. "–because the System really doesn't like losing a life if it won't be merged down into a down-tree instance."
 
-"So, you couldn't quit because..." Hanne said, urging him on.
+"So, you couldn't quit because..." Hanne says, urging him on.
 
 "Well, I imagine the same is true for anyone with lots of memory inside them. If there's no one to merge down into, it just looks like...like..."
 
-"Like death," Dry Grass said darkly. "It looks like death. You could not quit because, to the System, you and all of your memories would die. That is what it felt like, is it not? It felt like you could not possibly quit without pushing the weight of the world uphill?"
+"Like death," Dry Grass says darkly. "It looks like death. You could not quit because, to the System, you and all of your memories would die, and the System is not built for death. That is what it felt like, is it not? It felt like you could not possibly quit without pushing the weight of the world uphill?"
 
-Reed frowned. "Perhaps not all that, but it certainly felt like I was trying to push against something really hard. It didn't feel like it was impossible like anything else the System would prohibit, it just felt like I was being forced away from that option."
+I frown. "Perhaps not all that, but it certainly felt like I was trying to push against something really hard. It didn't feel like it was impossible like anything else the System would prohibit, it just felt like I was being forced away from that option."
 
-"Like death," she muttered again. Vos began to cry "Marsh is not on the System, then, no."
+"Like death," she mutters again. Vos begins to cry. "Marsh is not on the System, then, no."
 
-"So is he...is Marsh dead?" Pierre whispered, his own voice clouded by tears. Vos towered over him --- over all of them, really --- and had always seemed as though she could weather a storm better than any stone, but now, both looked suddenly frail, fragile in the face of the loss they were all talking around.
+"So are they...is Marsh dead?" Pierre whispers, his own voice clouded by tears. Vos towers over him — over all of us, really — and had always seemed as though she could weather a storm better than any stone, but now, both even she looks suddenly frail, fragile in the face of the loss they were all only talking around.
 
-"He's not on the System," Reed and Dry Grass echoed in unison.
+"They are not on the System," Dry Grass and I echo in unison.
 
-"How can you be sure, though?" Hanne asked. "You can't merge down, sure, and you can't ping, but could he just be in some locked down sim or a privacy cone or something? Can those even block merges?"
+"How can you be sure, though?" Hanne asks. "You can't merge down, sure, and you can't ping, but could they just be in some locked down sim or a privacy cone or something? Can those even block merges?"
 
-Lily shook her head. "Not that I know of, no. I don't think anything blocks a merge."
+Lily shakes her head. "Not that I know of, no. I don't think anything blocks a merge."
 
-"Nothing blocks merges, correct," Dry Grass said. "That would leave potentially much in the way of memory lingering with nowhere to go, and the System does not work that way."
+"Nothing blocks merges, correct," Dry Grass says. "That would leave potentially much in the way of memory lingering with nowhere to go, and the System does not work that way."
 
-Slowly, all within the room had begun to face her rather than Reed, at which he breathed a silent sigh of relief. That he was the oldest fork of Marsh's didn't necessarily give him any more of the information that they all so desperately craved.
+Slowly, all within the room begin to face her rather than me, at which I breathe a silent sigh of relief. That I was the oldest fork of Marsh's doesn't necessarily give me any more of the information that they all so desperately craved. Dry Grass is more than a century older than I am, however, and if anyone might have answers...
 
 "How do you know, love?" Tule was asking.
 
 "I worked as a sys-side System tech."
 
-Cress laughed. It sounded forced. "And you never thought to tell us?"
+Cress laughs. It sounds forced. "And you never thought to tell us?"
 
 "This was before you were born, my dear. Before Marsh's parents were born, even. It was a long time ago, and I have since moved on."
 
 "Well, is there a way to find out what happened?"
 
-She frowned down to her feet as she thought. "It used to be that there were rotated audit logs for events like forking and quitting. I do not know if those are kept any longer, though, given how large they would get in a very short amount of time. Perhaps?"
+She frowns down to her feet as she thinks. "It used to be that there were rotated audit logs for events like forking and quitting. I do not know if those are kept any longer, though, given how large they would get in a very short amount of time. Perhaps?"
 
-"Well, how do we check those?" Rush said, speaking up for the first time since that initial clamor of voices.
+"Well, how do we check those?" Rush says, speaking up for the first time since that initial clamor of voices.
 
-Dry Grass spread her hands helplessly. "I do not know. Again, it has been two centuries since I worked as a System tech. The technology has changed much. I would need access. I would need time to remember. Time to research."
+Dry Grass spreads her hands helplessly. "I do not know. Again, it has been two centuries since I worked as a System tech. The technology has changed much. I would need access. I would need time to remember. Time to research."
 
-"Do we even have time?" Lily growled at her, frustration apparently winning out over panic. Cress and Tule both gave her a sharp glance.
-
-"I do not know. I am sorry," Dry Grass said, bowing. "I will fork and read up as fast as I can. May I remain here?"
-
-"Please," Cress and Tule said in unison. The rest of the clade along with Marsh's partners all nodded. Lily did not. Hanne only frowned.
+"Do we even have time?" Lily growls at her, frustration apparently winning out over panic. Cress and Tule both give her a sharp glance.
 
 00:15
 
-Dry Grass bowed once more, forked, and the fork stepped from the sim to, ey supposed, go lose herself in the perisystem architecture, hunting down what information she could. They could only hope that she still had the permissions to find what she needed.
+"I do not know. I am sorry," Dry Grass says, bowing. "I will fork and read up as fast as I can. May I remain here?"
 
-"Hey, uh," Sedge said into the uncomfortable silence that fell once more. "Has anyone checked the time?"
+"Please," Cress and Tule say in unison. Sedge, Rush, and I, along with Marsh's partners, all nod. Lily does not. Hanne only frowns.
 
-Everyone tilted their heads almost in unison. It was more a habit than anything, not a required motion, but the habit that Marsh had formed so many years ago had stuck with all of the Marshans throughout their own lives.
+Dry Grass bows once more, forks, and the fork steps from the sim to, I suppose, go lose herself in the perisystem architecture, hunting down what information she can. They could only hope that she still had the permissions to find what she needed.
+
+"Hey, uh," Sedge says into the uncomfortable silence that falls once more. "Has anyone checked the time?"
+
+Everyone tilts their heads almost in unison. It's more a habit than anything, hardly a required motion, but the habit that Marsh had formed so many years ago had stuck with all of the Marshans throughout their own lives.
+
+Systime 277+41 00:17.
+
+"Wait, what–"
+
+"277? But–"
+
+"It says 2401, too!"
+
+Everyone talking at once quickly grows overwhelming. I shake my head, covered my ears with my hands, then, remembering that I'm standing in the middle of a small crowd, try to mask the movement by turning it into running my fingers through my hair.
+
+"Okay, one at a time," I say, having to speak up to drown out further exclamations. "I'm seeing 277+41. Everyone else seeing the same thing?"
+
+Nods around.
+
+"Any, uh..." I swallow drily, look around, and grab the glass of water that still sat, neglected, on the table beside the couch. After a careful sip, I try again. "Any ideas as to what might have happened?"
+
+Silence.
+
+"Well, has anything like this happened before?"
+
+Everyone in the room turns to look at Dry Grass, who shrugs helplessly. "Not that I can remember. The closest would be periods of downtime. It has happened a few times over the centuries. There was a few days of downtime while Lagrange was being set up during Secession, a few hours here and there."
+
+"But not, what...thirteen months?" Cress asks.
+
+"I have never seen that amount of time lapse, no."
+
+Tule pipes up, saying, "Nothing on the perisystem about anything like this happening before, but holy shit are the feeds going off."
+
+"Really?" I ask, then laugh. "Sorry, stupid question. Of course they are."
+
+"And?" Rush says, impatient. "What are they saying?"
+
+"It's pretty much this conversation repeated a million times over. I think a lot of people doing the same sort of thing we are. A lot of talking about the jump in time, about trying to quit and..."
+
+Vos frowns. "And what?"
+
+"Well, I mean," Tule stammers. "Same thing, I guess. Nothing."
+
+Dry Grass tilts her head, then nods. "Another fork is keeping a tally. Missing instances are now numbering in the thousands."
+
+Vos takes another half-step back. "Wait, *thousands?*"
+
+"It is proving difficult to keep up with the feeds," she says, speaking slowly. Perhaps still receiving updates? "One of me is just reading the feeds and marking a tally every time a missing instance is mentioned."
+
+"Thousands, Jesus," Hanne whispers. "I should check in on Jess. And probably–"
+
+She starts as Pierre sags briefly against Vos, then either quits or leaves the sim. "He...I mean..." Vos begins, shakes her head, and then follows suit.
+
+*"Do you two need anything?"* I send to Vos. *"Or just space and quiet?"*
+
+*"The latter,"* she replies after a few long seconds. The sensorium message is so clearly sent between sobs that I have to swallow down the same sensation rising in my throat.
+
+"Give them some space," I mumble against that awkward pressure in my chest. "So, okay. What's the whole story again? Midnight hit and suddenly it's thirteen months–"
+
+"Thirteen months and ten days, almost exactly," Sedge corrects.
+
+I sigh, nod. "Right. Midnight hit and the date jumped forward and now there are thousands of–"
+
+"Tens of thousands," Dry Grass says, then averts her gaze. "Apologies."
+
+"It's alright. Tens of thousands of people missing. The feeds are going nuts. What about phys-side? Anything from them?"
+
+"I have not been looking. I am uncomfortable with phys-side. There is a reason I am no longer a tech."
+
+"I'll take a look," Rush says. Ve forks quickly, the new instance almost immediately disappearing as ve steps from the sim. "Though I'm not as fast at it as you are."
+
+"Anything from Castor or Pollux? Or Artemis? It's only a few months round trip, definitely less than thirteen. We don't really talk. I don't have anything from any of the Marshans on the LVs."
+
+"Shit," Dry Grass whispers, expression falling. "Yes, there is."
+
+When she doesn't continue, Lily stamps her foot, growling, "And? You can't just leave that hanging there! I don't fucking get you Odists, you're always–"
+
+"Lily!" Tule and Cress say as one.
+
+She makes a show of regaining her composure, movements overly liquid as she straightens up and brushes a lock of hair out of her face. "Sorry."
+
+An awkward silence lingers, overstaying its welcome. Eventually, Dry Grass's shoulders slump. "You do not need to apologize. The messages will only affirm your feelings about my clade. The eighth stanza continues to manage the flow of information in–" She cuts herself off and digs her hands into her pockets, an oddly bashful gesture. "I should not be telling you this, understand. I am not even supposed to be in contact with them, Hammered Silver would have my head if she knew, but An Answer has been in contact. Please do not share any of this." 
+
+"'Eighth stanza?'," Hanne asks.
+
+"Yes. One hundred of us, each named after a line in a poem broken into ten stanzas," she says. "The eighth is–"
+
+"True Name," Lily says through gritted teeth.
+
+"Sasha," Dry grass corrects, then shakes her head. "Apologies. Yes, that is the stanza focused on...politics and information control."
+
+Lily pointedly looks away.
+
+"They continue to manage the situation, I mean, and, from the sounds of it, they are describing it as an issue with the Deep Space Network and the Lagrange station. There are few mentions of the Lagrange *System* itself. I can read between the lines as well as any of them, though, and I do not think this is true. At least, not wholly."
+
+"Wait," Cress says. "So they're saying that there's a problem with the DSN and the station? How do you mean?"
+
+"There are a few messages from over the last thirteen months, but they are queued up as though they have been held until now. There has been no contact between the LVs or Artemis and Lagrange." There's a pause as Dry Grass's gaze drifts, clearly scanning more of those messages. "Most messages have been discarded...only a few from the Guiding Council on Pollux plus a few clades on Castor...have been let through...outgoing messages are ungated..."
+
+"There's a bit about that in news from phys-side, actually," Rush says, looking thoughtful. "Communications failure on the Lagrange station. Something about aging technology. The DSN was also having problems so a few new repeaters were launched. Some from the station, even."
+
+"But nothing about the System?"
+
+Both Rush and Dry Grass shake their heads.
+
+"What did you mean about reading between the lines, though, love?" Tule asks.
+
+"The messages are very stilted. There is panic beneath the surface. That they mention so little about Lagrange is as telling as if they were to say they did not know. They *do* know, they are just refusing to talk about it over messages."
+
+"Why?" Lily asks. While there's still an edge to her voice, genuine concern covers it well.
+
+"'Information security and hygiene'. At least, that is what they would say were I to ask. Even if the messages were to fall into the wrong hands, sys- or phys-side, they would not show anything else having happened. I am of them, however. I can read some of the words that were not written."
+
+"But news from phys-side says the same thing," Rush says.
+
+She shrugs, another sheepish motion, and looks away. "Do you really expect that we are receiving unfiltered information from phys-side?"
+
+I steal a glance at Lily. She looks to be spending every joule of energy on keeping her mouth shut.
+
+There had been an enormous row within the clade when first Cress, then Tule, had gotten in a relationship with a member of the Ode clade. Most of the Marshans had largely written off the stories of the Odists' political meddling as overly fantastic schlock, yet more myths to keep the functionally immortal entertained. Even if they had their basis in truth, they remained only stories.
+
+Lily, however, had had an immediate and dramatic reaction, cutting contact with the rest of the clade — including Marsh — for more than a year. She had even refused to merge down for years until tempers had settled.
+
+Hanne speaks up. "Listen, can we maybe give this a few hours to play out? I need to sleep, and if Reed doesn't take a break, he's going to explode."
+
+The others laugh. I feel a twinge of resentment. Shouldn't they be dumping all of their energy into this? Shouldn't they all fork several times over and throw themselves at the problem? Still, it's true enough, and if they stood around the living room spinning their wheels any longer, tempers would continue to flare.
+
+"Yeah," I say. "Give me at least four hours. I'll do a little digging and grab some sleep, then maybe we can meet up somewhere else and talk through what we've learned."
+
+"I'll keep digging at phys-side news," Rush says. "Want to help, Sedge?"
+
+She nods.
+
+Tule and Cress nod. "We'll help out Dry Grass," Cress says.
+
+"Lily?"
+
+"I'm just going to get some sleep," she says stiffly. "Sorry for yelling."
+
+Cress shakes its head, leans over, and hugs her. "Take the time you need."
+
+"Right. Let's meet at a park or something in the morning. Hanne will kill me if you all pile in here again," I say, at which Hanne nods eagerly. "And I imagine things are going to be really weird out there, so I don't want to pile into a bar or whatever."
+
+"Really, really weird," Sedge mutters.
 
-Systime 246+41 00:17.

writing/post-self/marsh/003.md

@@ -0,0 +1,119 @@
+<!-- Would they really be sleeping? -->
+
+One by one, the other Marshans step away from my and Hanne's sim until it's just the two of us, the fire crackling, the weight of the evening hanging over, between us. We stand in silence for a few long moments before I stumble back over to the couch and fall heavily into the cushions. I bury my face in my hands and only then let the grief take me.
+
+Hanne sits beside me, gets her arm around my back. She rests her head on my shoulder, letting the wave of emotion overcome me. At first, she asks if I'm alright, then she whispers a few "I'm sure it'll work out"s and "it's going to be okay"s before eventually just sitting with me in silence.
+
+"This is really fucking weird," I say once I'm able to speak again. The sound of speech echoes strangely in my head, muffled in that post-cry mess. "I don't even know who I'm crying for. It's not like they're a parent, I came from them, but they aren't me, either."
+
+"A bit of both, maybe?"
+
+I shrug. "Maybe."
+
+"Do you really think they're gone?"
+
+I shrug again, stay silent.
+
+Hanne nudges me gently with her shoulder. "Come on, Reed. Let's get you to bed."
+
+"I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Not after all that."
+
+"Still," she says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. It feels too hot, too intense a sensation, but I feel calmness radiate from that spot all the same. "If nothing else, you can lay down in the dark and give your poor eyes a break. Plus, *I* need to sleep, at least."
+
+How can I stand, knowing as I do that the clade had become unmoored? How can I think of sleep when there might be some remnant of Marsh somewhere in the wires? Some ghost of them in the machine that was the System? If this System is a dream, as Dry Grass and the rest of her clade had promised the world, then oughtn't there be some wisp of emh of memory from which deeper archives could be dredged? Even a Marsh from decades back would still be a Marsh worth bringing back.
+
+I sigh, nod, and let her pull me to his feet.
+
+I sway for a moment, feeling reality shift unsteadily beneath me. Once I straighten up, I follow Hanne off to our bedroom. We'd spent the previous night, as we often did, sleeping in two separate beds --- I always get too warm sleeping next to someone --- but any grounding force feels welcome now, so, with a gesture, the two beds slide together, merging seamlessly into one.
+
+A hollow feeling bubbles up within me. The two beds merging into one was an image of something now well beyond the Marsh clade. I'm thankful I've already cried myself dry.
+
+The lights dim to near darkness and the temperature drops a few degrees as me and Hanne strip and settle beneath the covers, her arms snug around me.
+
+"I love you, Reed," she mumbles against the back of my neck. "I'm sorry I got so stressed before, but I love you. You know that, right?"
+
+I slouch back against her. "I know. I love you too."
+
+As expected, sleep does not come. Exhaustion pulls at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowd it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spend a few minutes chiding myself --- shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day? --- before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts.
+
+<!--...-->
+
+There's the faintest brush against my sensorium. Vos.
+
+*"How're you two holding up?"* I send.
+
+*"Not well."*
+
+*"I imagine not."* After a moment, I add, *"Do you have any more information?"*
+
+The faintest sense of a shake of the head before Vos says, *"Nothing. They were here, then they weren't. There's no trace. It's almost as thought they never existed. Pierre fell asleep a bit ago. I think he wore himself out trying to reach them."*
+
+*"It's pretty late."*
+
+*"Or early,"* Vos muses. *"No sleep for you, either?"*
+
+*"I gave it a go, but have just been laying in the dark."*
+
+*"Have you heard from any of the others?"*
+
+*"Nothing yet,"* I send. *"I need a bit of a break from them, anyway."*
+
+*"How come?"*
+
+*"We wind up in feedback loops a little too easily."* I stifle a snort of laughter. Hanne mumbles something incoherent against my neck in her sleep. *"It drives Hanne nuts. That's why she was yelling about me doing it again."*
+
+*"Oh, trust me, Marsh winds up in--"* The message stops abruptly, and I find myself holding my breath, checking the time several times in a row, wary of further jumps. A few seconds later, Vos continues, voice shaky. *"They, uh...they* wound *up in their own feedback loops."*
+
+I bury my face against the pillow, take long, slow breaths, willing myself to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake Hanne. How can I lay there, knowing as I do that Marsh was gone? How can I speak to Vos, knowing that I should be doing something, not crying in bed, accepting a fate that made no sense? Is it just some hopeless part of me that had accepted Marsh's absence? Oughtn't I be striving even now to find some way to get them back?
+
+No answers, only questions.
+
+*I'm really struggling,* I send back, realizing after that it's been nearly ten minutes of silence since Vos messaged last. *I'm laying here in the dark like a fucking idiot instead of doing literally anything to figure this out.*
+
+Her reply is gentle. *So are we, Reed. Just laying in bed, staring at nothing. I don't know how to make that...okay in my head, but it's all I've got.*
+
+*How's Pierre doing, then?*
+
+*Not well.*
+
+*He seemed like it hit him really hard, yeah.*
+
+A pause, and then she sends, quieter than before, *I don't want to say this is hitting any one of us harder than the other, but...well, we care for him. That was our dynamic, I mean. He's young and full of emotions, so we occasionally fall into that parent role. It hit him hard, and so he needs care, but...*
+
+*But it's also hitting you hard?*
+
+*Yeah.*
+
+*Pass on my love, will you?* I send. 
+
+The sense of a sniffle from the other end of the message. The sense of a nod.
+
+The message stops.
+
+I lay in bed, then, thinking about Marsh. Thinking about all that I knew of what they'd become since I was last them, however long ago that was. We'd seen each other a handful of times at this event or that gathering, and we'd talked a few times over messages a few more, but he was always distant, always held at arms length.
+
+It was both our arms, I know that. They kept their life separate from mine, just as I kept mine separate from theirs. It was ever our arrangement that all of their forks would live out their own individual lives, merging down as the year ticked over.
+
+They'd laugh whenever it came up, saying, "So I'm greedy. Sue me."
+
+We'd all laugh, too. It wasn't really greed, that desire for our memories in a way that we could never get in return. It was just the dynamic that we held to ever since I'd been forked. Of course it was: I *was* them when I'd been forked. An exact copy that only slowly diverged over the years. It had been my idea as much as theirs.
+
+Hanne rolls away from me and I take that as my chance to at least no longer be laying down. I fork a new instance standing beside the bed and then quit, just in case the motion of me getting out of bed wakes her.
+
+I need out of the house. Nowhere public --- I don't want to see what others in the System are dealing with right now. There will be time for that later, but for now I need out and away from everyone.
+
+The sim I wind up in is simple and bucolic. There's a pagoda. There's a field, grass cut --- or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance --- sort, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It's day --- It doesn't even seem like the owner's included a day/night cycle --- and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.
+
+There's a bench in the pagoda, at least, so I make my way there, trudging tiredly up the whitewashed wood of the steps to sit on the well-worn seats. Whoever made this place seemed to have put more effort into the pagoda than the field. Fog like that was usually the sign of a border of a sim of limited size, so it was clearly this single paddock, the grass and sheep and stone walls likely purchases from the exchange.
+
+It's a public sim, but the listing had shown zero occupants. I'm lucky it's empty, I guess. 
+
+A pang tugs at my chest. Empty of people because they're simply not here? Empty of people because everyone's dealing with the same problem that we are? Or empty of people because those people are gone, too?
+
+The seat of the bench has been worn smooth by who knows how many butts over the years, but I pick at the velvety wood all the same. *You're not alone, Reed,* I remind myself. *Hanne's at home. The rest of the clade is there. Vos and Pierre are there. Dry Grass is there.*
+
+I sigh and slouch against the back of the bench. Exhaustion is warring against the drive to do *something*, and both of those are striving against the need to be alone and away from this whole spectacle. All of those 'how can I' questions are clattering up against equal-sized armies of 'too tired's and 'it doesn't need to happen now's.
+
+I spend an hour out there, all told. I pick at the bench. I call out to the sheep. I walk circles around the pagoda in the gray day. I bend down, pluck a blade of grass with the intent to...I don't know, chew on it like I've seen in films, but it smells so strongly of sheep manure that I drop it instead and head home to finally lay down beside Hanne and sleep.
+
+-----

writing/post-self/marsh/004.md

@@ -0,0 +1,69 @@
+I wake, exhausted, to a cop of coffee steaming on the bedside table.
+
+At some point while I'd slept, Hanne had once more split the bed into two separate mattresses and very gently instructed the sim to slide them a few feet away from each other. Perhaps I'd been tossing and turning, or maybe I'd been snoring. I promise myself I'll ask later, then promptly forget about it in favor of the coffee mug waiting for me.
+
+Coffee and chicory, nearly a third milk by volume. Perfect.
+
+I'm two sips in when the weight of what's happened hits me once again. I don't quite know how it is that it had escaped me, and a pile of 'how could' questions start to hem me in again — how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.
+
+No, I need to stop thinking like that.
+
+I force myself to sit up in bed and drink my coffee. My goal is to sip it until it's finished. I stare out the window for a bit. I cry for a bit. I drink about half my coffee before the wait becomes unbearable.
+
+Five minutes. Hah.
+
+I can't quite interact face-to-face yet, not with Hanne, not with the occasional bout of sniffles still striking me. Instead, I send the gentlest ping I can manage to Vos, receive no answer. 
+
+I try various members of the clade next. Lily flatly rebuffs me. There aren't any words, just a prickly sensation of solitude and the physical signs of anger. Rush doesn't respond, but ve always did sleep better than all of us. Sedge begs another hour's rest, and I acquiesce. Tule and Cress are both asleep.
+
+Well, that was the first layer of contacts done. None of us are single, but of all the partners I know, the only I've talked to in any depth are Vos and Pierre. Beyond them, there's...
+
+I reach out mentally to send a sensorium ping to Dry Grass, only for the perisystem architecture to present me with a series of options, numbering well above a dozen. She'd been busy, apparently, forking as needed throughout the night and– yep, two of those available instances disappear as they quit, followed shortly by one more new one. She's still awake, apparently.
+
+*Good morning, Reed,* her root instance murmurs through a message. *More well rested, now?*
+
+*Best I can be, at least,* I send back. *I, uh...sorry for interrupting. The rest of the clade's asleep and I don't want to pester Hanne any more than I need to, not after last night.*
+
+There's mirth on the other end, some barely-sensed laughter that doesn't quite rise to the level of coming through the message. Another tug at my emotions left over from Tule's merge. *It was rather stressful, was it not? You do not need to apologize, however. How are you feeling?*
+
+*Honestly?*
+
+*Please. I want to hear.*
+
+*I'm feeling like shit.* I laugh, shaking my head. *I mean, of course I am. I'm some awful mix of hopeful that there's some solution, mourning Marsh, kicking myself for mourning them maybe preemptively, kicking myself for not doing more, and just plain confused.*
+
+The Odists are an old clade — far older than any of us, having been born decades before the advent of the System — so it's no wonder that Dry Grass is far more adept at sensorium messages than anyone else I've met. It's not that I see her lean back in her chair, nor that I feel the act of leaning back myself, but the overwhelming sensation that I get from that moment of silence is of her sighing, leaning back, crossing her arms over her front. I have no clue how she manages to pull that off. *There is little that I can say to fix any one of those, and anything else would ring hollow. All I can do is validate that, damn, Reed, that is a shitload of emotions. There is a lot going on, and I do not blame you for feeling confused.*
+
+*Thanks,* I respond, feeling no small amount of relief that she didn't try to dig into any one of those feelings, nor even all of them as a whole. *How are Tule and Cress holding up? Hell, how're you holding up?*
+
+*They are asleep,* she sends, and I can hear the fondness in her voice. *One of me is keeping an eye on them, pretending to sleep.*
+
+*And the rest of you?*
+
+*Working.*
+
+I finish my coffee in two coarse swallows, wince at the uncomfortable sensation. I take another moment to stand up and start making the bed again. As I do so, I ask, *What on? I saw a ton of forks.*
+
+The sense of a nod, and then, *Several things. One of me is still keeping tallies on how many are missing based on reports, which appears to be some few million so far. Another of me is collating the varied types of posts on the feeds — wild supposition, unchecked grief, confusion, and so on. Another is speaking to...a member of the eighth stanza through an intermediary–*
+
+*This 'An Answer' you mentioned?*
+
+*Yes. The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer. She is the one who has focused on interpersonal connections, which is only relevant in that she is the only one willing to pass on information to the portions of the clade that cut them off, about twenty of us.*
+
+I snort. *Minus you, I guess.*
+
+*Well, yes. Nominally twenty of us,* she sends, and I can sense that almost-laughter again.
+
+*Any news from Castor or Pollux?*
+
+*Yes,* she replies, hesitates, then continues, *Though would you be willing to go for a walk to discuss what I have heard?*
+
+*I guess. Why?*
+
+*So I can get out of the house. So* you *can get out of the house. So we can actually talk instead of me sitting in a war room populated by too many of me and you making your bed or whatever it is you are doing now.*
+
+I hesitate, halfway through smoothing out the sheets. *Oh, uh...alright. Let me say good morning to Hanne. Do you have a place to meet?*
+
+She sends the address of a public sim, to which I send a ping of acknowledgement and a suggestion of five minutes' time.
+
+Hanne's sitting at the dining room table

writing/post-self/marsh/index.md

@@ -1,17 +1,43 @@
-%title Marsh (or The Apocryphal Book of Marsh)
+%title Marsh
 
 Everyone notices a jump in systime of almost a year, no one phys-side will give them a straight answer. Turns out someone figured out how to make a self-replicating virus a la the syringes that wound up essentially shredding the system. It was recovered (another thing phys-side is cagey about), but there are some changes. Maybe a small percentage of people don't return
 
-* Marsh (they/them) --- Root instance; disappears shortly before Reed is to merge down
-    * Reed (they/them) --- Relationship fork, merges down to sync up once a year, discovers Marsh is missing, date has jumped, has to lean on partner, clade
+* Marsh (they/them) --- *tracker* --- Root instance; disappears shortly before Reed is to merge down
+    * Reed (he/him) --- Relationship fork, merges down to sync up once a year, discovers Marsh is missing, date has jumped, has to lean on partner and clade, tries to stay level-headed and organized, embroiled but tries to take leadership, though whether that's his idea or he's forced into that role is up for debate
         * Sedge (she/her) --- 
             * Tule (he/him) ---
-        * Rush (they/them) ---
+        * Rush (ve/ver) ---
     * Lily (she/her) ---
-    * Cress (it/its)
+    * Cress (it/its) ---
+* *Pierre* LaFontaine (he/him) --- *tasker* --- In a relationship with Marsh, has a bit of a hard time controlling his emotions, specifically grief
+* Fenne *Vos* (she/her) --- *tasker* --- In a relationship with Marsh, singer, does her best to stay strong, but it comes with an edginess
+* *Hanne* Marie (she/her)--- *tasker* --- In a relationship with Reed, a bit short-tempered, easily overwhelmed, which leads her to lash out
+* I Remember The Rattle Of *Dry Grass* of the Ode clade (she/her)--- *dispersionista* --- In a relationship with Tule and Cress, tries to be helpful, kind of irks Reed and Hanne (more so than Reed), though they do their best to hide it
+* Günay (she/her) --- *phys-side* --- system engineer, chill type, worker on situation, goes against manager's wishes to talk more with 
+* en4 (they/them) --- *phys-side* --- system engineer, zero chill type, manager of situation, member of a more conservative collective, from which the terrorist collective split
+
+Subplot: Reed and Dry Grass get together. Fuck it. Their hold over me is too strong.
+
+NB: It's frankly astonishing how few cats there are in this story. Fix that.
 
 * [o] [Intro](001) --- The false start
-* [ ] Part 1 --- Marsh has gone missing and the date has jumped forward --- whaaaa --- exploring the new System, what it looks like, contact from the LVs
-    * [ ] [002](002) --- It all kicks off
-* [ ] Part 2 --- Phys-side is being a little sketchy about what happened, turns out there was a reset and a lot of work behind the scenes after a coordinated attack between phys- and sys-side, taking the form of a generalized weapon that wiped out most of the System. Large chunks of it were restored after a lot of work and help from the Artemisians, but not total success --- virus loophole was fixed, but no guarantee there won't be another work-around, plans to split the System into smaller pieces, move some of them to Earth/Sun Lagrange points
+* [.] Part 1 --- Marsh has gone missing and the date has jumped forward --- whaaaa --- exploring the new System, what it looks like, contact from the LVs
+    * [o] [002](002) --- It all kicks off
+    * [o] [003](003) --- Dealing with fallout of Marsh being gone, starting later that night when Reed catches up with Vos and Pierre, deals with his own grief
+    * [.] [004](004) --- Exploring other clades throughout Lagrange, meeting up with other Marshans to talk through results, walking sims and seeing how others are reacting
+    * [ ] [005](005) --- The perisystem feeds, tallying up the missing, building up percentage of lost personalities, the Marshans wind up leading an effort, Dry Grass working behind the scenes because Odist
+    * [ ] [006](006) --- Working with Dry Grass on trying to figure out sys-side, she hints that phys-side is being slow/difficult
+* [ ] Part 2 --- Phys-side is being a little sketchy about what happened, turns out there was a reset and a lot of work behind the scenes after a coordinated attack between phys- and sys-side, taking the form of a generalized weapon that wiped out most of the System. Large chunks of it were restored after a lot of work and help from the Artemisians, but not total success --- virus loophole was fixed (incl. singular attacks), but no guarantee there won't be another work-around, plans to split the System into smaller pieces, move some of them to Earth/Sun Lagrange points
+    * [ ] [007](007) --- Dry Grass loops Reed & co into discussion with phys-side engineers (maybe she's been booted from her stanza anyway for talking with the 8th?)
+    * [ ] [008](008) --- Huddle to talk about why they're being so cagey
+    * [ ] [009](009) --- Larger meeting with other representatives of clades with missing members, bit more info (loophole was patched, but no guarantee), introducing concept of splitting the system up
+    * [ ] [010](010) --- Clade representatives form a group, start organizing/strategizing/investigating, contacted by chill phys-side syseng, learning even more about both what happened and plans to split system, plus how phys-side is seeing things
+    * [ ] [011](011) --- Finding up-tree (or maybe down?) instance of person who caused the whole thing, seems super upset, promises they're unable to contact that instance, but whether or not they're telling the truth left up in the air
+    * [ ] [012](012) --- Funeral for Marsh, though what if reconstructing?
 * [ ] Part 3 --- The ramifications, both global and personal (but mostly personal) --- a lot of talk among the Marshans, their partners, and a chill phys-side syseng --- looking into trying to reconstruct Marsh by cross-tree merging Reed, Lily, and Cress --- it doesn't work, so it turns into coming to terms with letting go of the past
+    * [ ] [013](013) --- Dry Grass and Günay going over system capabilities when it comes to reconstructing personalities
+    * [ ] [014](013) --- Reed and Hanne talking, Reed admits to starting to grieve now that things are calming down, expresses doubts about reconstruction
+    * [ ] [015](013) --- Planning reconstruction
+    * [ ] [016](013) --- It doesn't work, clade admits it's time to start grieving proper
+    * [ ] [017](017) --- Discussing list of requests to sysenges both phys- and sys-side for improvement, incl someone digging into Artemisian archies
+    * [ ] [018](013) --- Coming to terms with letting go of the past

writing/post-self/pbta.md

@@ -1,30 +1,173 @@
 %title The Post-Self TTRPG
 
-## About Post-Self
+[TOC]
 
-> (Dear quip)
+# About Post-Self
 
-(some plot stuff
+> *"All artists search. I search for stories, in this post-self age. What happens when you can no longer call yourself an individual, when you have split your sense of self among several instances? How do you react? Do you withdraw into yourself, become a hermit? Do you expand until you lose all sense of identity? Do you fragment? Do you go about it deliberately, or do you let nature and chance take their course?"*
 
-(the books)
+* Given the chance to live forever in a world not built for death, what do you do?
+* Given the inability to forget—all your joys and sorrows, all your foundational memories and traumas—how do you cope?
+* Given the ability to create a full copy of yourself—down to every single one of those memories—to do as they will, to individuate and live out their own forever lives, or merge back down and meld their memories with your own, what paths do you take?
 
-## About the TTRPG
+The Post-Self universe is an open setting for exploring the ramifications of being able to create copies of oneself, of what it means to undergo individuation, of what it means to let memories build up and up and up within oneself. This game comes as an extra funded by the *Mitzvot* Kickstarter backers.
 
-(Based on Simple World, a tiny-ified hack of PbtA)
+The idea for the *Post-Self* setting began all the way back in 2016. "Plz upload me," I wrote. "Zero pressure. Seriously, how cool would that be! Multithreaded! Distributed! Infinitely useful!"
 
-(why)
+A wider discussion ensued with others contributing, raising questions such as:
 
-## The basics
+* If a polyamorous person is uploaded and forked to have multiple monogamous relationships, are they still happy?
+    * If you read the stories from your other selves daily, is compersion enough to sate whatever passes for 'innate polyamorous natures'?
+    * Is there a condition that sates a monogamous fork of a polyamorous personality?
+    * Is it kosher for a monogamous fork of a polyamorous personality to quit when a relationship ends?
+* Is there a meaningful distinction between merging and rebasing?
+* What if there are conflicts?
+* Is it a pull request to be reviewed by the down-tree instance?
+* Are forks their own individuals?
 
-### MC and players
+Over time, the system of the universe tightened and simplified to what it is today. One can only fork from the present instance. Merging became a matter of memories and experiences, and one could choose just how much to merge.Quitting is solely up to the instance; no sending cues to quit. Uploading to this System was a destructive, one-way process.
 
-### Agendas and principles
+The influences of revision control --- notably Git --- were obvious from the beginning, an artifact from the tech leaning nature of those who took part in the conversation. Another heavy influence was that of postfurry, that unique intersection of postmodernism, transhumanism, and the furry subculture; though I'll rush to note that this isn't specifically a furry setting.
 
-### Virtues
+After a few weeks, this led to a few stories written by myself and a few others. Then an ARG, a convoluted story named "Qoheleth". Then a Twine game, ["Gallery Exhibition: A Love Story"](https://qoheleth.post-self.ink/gallery-exhibition).
+
+In the end, another story I had been working on ("Getting Lost") was merged with a greatly expanded "Qoheleth" to form a longer work, also titled [*Qoheleth*](https://qoheleth.post-self.ink). A year down the line, and a few weeks off from work resulted in a sequel, [*Toledot*](https://toledot.post-self.ink), where I accidentally wrote myself into a third book, [*Nevi'im*](https://neviim.post-self.ink), and a dream I had while dealing with so many Odists led to a fourth and final book in that series, [*Mitzvot*](https://mitzvot.post-self.ink).
+
+This last was funded by a (wildly successful) Kickstarter campaign. One of the stretch goals led right back to the roots of the universe: a system that could be adopted to roleplaying.
+
+Powered by the Apocalypse is a tabletop role playing framework developed by Meguey and Vincent Baker, originally for the game [*Apocalypse World*](http://apocalypse-world.com/) but later publicly released for anyone to use. This provides ample opportunities for anyone seeking to make their universes collaborative to do so with low overhead. It seemed like a perfect for a setting so focused on stories, given its low emphasis on mechanics and focus on the storytelling. *Post-Self* in particular uses the minimal hack [*Simple World*](https://buriedwithoutceremony.com/simple-world) which aims to reduce complexity even further.
+
+A perfect combination.
+
+# About the Post-Self universe
+
+In this setting, your story takes place more than a hundred years in the future in a time where humanity has figured out how to upload consciousnesses to a digital world called at first simply the System (a holdover from its early days of secrecy, so vague a name as to keep discussions hard to trace) and later, after a launch of two smaller copies out of the Solar system, Lagrange --- the construct that remained at the Earth-Moon L<sub>5</sub> point --- and the two launch vehicles (LVs), Castor and Pollux.
+
+## The shared dream
+
+The System is not a purely digital haven. It's not a construct bound by our ideas of some virtual reality. They tried, at first, and some remnants remain from that --- new creations or instances are still tagged with a unique hash in the form of eight hexadecimal digits and System denizens still speak of sims and avatars --- but that's not how the System ended up working. When it was first created, those who remained *phys-side* couldn't conceptualize it in any other way. Those *sys-side*, however, knew better. Rather than an analogue to virtual reality, it was more like a consensual dream. What was possible on the System was limited to that which all minds could consensually dream.
+
+This was, at first, pure chaos. That limit alone was not quite enough: what all were able to imagine did not guarantee that all sys-side actually experienced the same thing, and it wasn't until late 2110s that work was put in place to ensure that experiences were truly consensual.
+
+The fact remains, however, that the world has more in common with dreams than with a dream of the physical world than the 'net.
+
+## Timeline
+
+2115 --- February ??
+:   The first partially successful upload leads to a breakthrough and, shortly after, the foundation of the System.
+
+2124 --- January 1
+:   Systime set at year zero, day zero in order to help manage the reputation market, the primary means by which expansion within the initially quite limited hardware of the System is controlled.
+
+2125 --- January 21
+:   The System secedes from planetary governments on Earth, making the process of uploading one of emigration.
+
+2170 --- Throughout the decade
+:   Most planetary governments begin compensating the families of those who choose to upload for lost income.
+
+2325 --- January 21
+:   On the 200th anniversary of Secession, the launch project concludes with the launch of the Castor and Pollux launch vehicles.
+
+2346 --- May 28
+:   The Artemesians --- four other uploaded races living on the same construct, an interstellar vehicle that passes near the Solar system, make contact with Castor. Many instances from Castor wind up joining Artemis as the fifth race, while many Artemisians remain behind on Castor, thus creating a second interstellar craft containing a mix of societies.
+
+2408 --- December 31
+:   A series of events leads to an interruption in the functioning of Lagrange lasting thirteen months and ten days. Nearly 1% of instances within the System are irretrievably lost.
+
+## Sensoria
+
+TODO
+
+## Sims
+
+Locations in the System are known as sims, an artifact from the pre-System 'net days. Sims may be public or private. Public sims are usually open to anyone and can be accessed by querying the perisystem architecture for their *tags* (e.g: Josephine's#aaca9bb9).
+
+Private sims are generally owned by a single individual, clade, or family. These sims generally have much more restrictive *ACLs* (from 'access control lists', but now generally used to refer to fine-grained permissions) which can limit who may enter, whether or not the location is visible to others, who in the sim may create new objects, modify boundaries, and so on. The owners have full ACLs, including the ability to grant others owner status and rescind their own (though every sim must have at least one owner).
+
+## Forking and merging, individuation, and clades
+
+Introduced almost by accident, the concept of forking allows one to create a new *instance* of oneself. This copy is completely identical, but as soon as they're created and their experiences begin to differ, that instance starts to undergo the process of *individuation*. They form their own memories, and their experience of the world is colored by those memories.
+
+An instance may *quit*. When they do so, their memories are provided to their *down-tree* instance to remember or not in a process called *merging*. A merge may be wholesale (sometimes described as *blithe*) or *cherrypicked*, wherein the down-tree instance is able to choose some of the memories but not others in a labor-intensive process. After the mid 2100s, instances which are quitting may attach a priority to the merge. A high priority will be felt by the down-tree instance as a greater pressure, perhaps with a kick of adrenaline, while a lower priority merge will be felt as optional. A merge with explicitly no priority will not be offered to the down-tree instance.
+
+The greater the individuation between and up- and down-tree instance, the greater the chance for *conflicts*. These occur when memories don't line up---that is, the experiences may be of the same event, but the conclusions drawn from the event may be different. As time goes on, individuation will affect the entire personality of an individual, as personality is built in part atop memories. Cocladists who have diverged by decades or centuries may find such merges incredibly difficult.
+
+Forking incurs a reputation cost. This is tied to available capacity on the System, and as capacity grows, the cost of forking decreases, to the point where, in the 2300s, it's negligible. This cost is incurred after five minutes of forking or as soon as that instance forks, whichever comes first. The new instance begins with reputation equal to the cost of forking, though transferring reputation within a clade is possible. Several other things such as information production and exchange, sim creation, and some experiences can lead to reputation exchange.
+
+The *root instance* of an individual will find it very difficult to quit as, to quote May Then My Name Die With Me of the Ode clade, "the System is not built for death". This applies to their *up-tree* instances as well; it is easier to quit the shorter one has been around or if a newer up-tree instance exists (for instance, if Jace Doe#Tracker forks into Jace Doe#1234abc, #Tracker may quit easily right away, though it will get steadily more difficult as #1234abc individuates; similarly, if #1234abc forks into Jace Doe#5678def and #5678def individuates long enough, #1234abc will find it difficult to quit).
+
+Groups of instances forked from a single individual are known as *clades*. Although these are all highly unique, the oh-so-human need to bucketize the world into useful categories has led to three general strategies:
+
+**Taskers** fork infrequently and only ever for short-lived tasks, choosing to remain primarily a clade of one. *Example:* Tycho Brahe (from *Nevi'im*) is a tasker who forks so rarely he has a lot of trouble even managing it. Merging back down to his #Core proves difficult.
+
+Relying more heavily on forks to accomplish tasks, **trackers** may keep instances around for months or years, and sometimes more than one at a time. However, these instances tend to retain a strong sense of identity with their root instance and will almost always merge back down. *Example:* Ioan Bălan, as a tracker, forks quite often for eir work, but those forks tend to be associated with projects and, on completion, will merge back down into eir #Tracker instance (with a few notable exceptions: Codrin Bălan individuated enough to become eir own person, and Sorina Bălan forced her own individuation to leave memories behind as best she could).
+
+**Dispersionistas** don't give a fuck. They fork at need and those forks may quit, may retain some sense of their identity, or may individuate and become their own individuals down the line. *Example:* Michelle Hadje founded the Ode clade, which nominally has 100 members, but they're not super strict about it and many have long-lived instances they don't really talk about.
+
+Clades can form quasi-familial units or not even really talk to each other; it's really up to the individual. There's a mild taboo against relationships between *cocladists*, though the greater they have differentiated, the less that seems to be an issue. While one can rescind one's membership in a clade, this is similar to distancing oneself from one's family: your down-tree instance is still your down-tree instance.
+
+## Life beyond scarcity
+
+Contrary to fears, by the end of the 2100s, System capacity had far outstripped its actual usage. As space grew and grew, the cost of forking and creating sims dropped further and further almost to the point of becoming negligible.
+
+"Cost", though? Why would such a thing even exist in such a world?
+
+Before this rapid expansion of technology, the trend was headed in the opposite direction, with usage increasing faster than capacity. In order to keep the System running smoothly after the advent of forking, a *reputation market* was set up. One gains reputation (denoted Ŕ) by a variety of means, from creating new objects, sims, or content to interacting with others. One spends reputation on acquiring copies of such items or by forking.
+
+These processes are largely transparent (as is the market itself; anyone can check anyone else's reputation via the perisystem architecture), with denizens largely acting on instinct. As with many sys-side activities, things such as forking and acquiring sims or objects are a matter of projecting one's intent to do so. Should one have enough reputation for that, that intent feels very real and forking or purchasing eminently feasible. However, without enough reputation, one would feel that such an intent just...wasn't possible.
+
+As such, few think about the reputation market all that much after about 2220, with a massive wave of reforms to the reputation market hitting at the centennial Secession day in 2221 that essentially obviated it for most individuals.
+
+## Eternal memory
+
+TODO
+
+## The perisystem architecture
+
+The perisystem architecture is the conceptual foam of computer-stuff in which individuals reside and items such as sims, food, very nice fountain pens, and very fine paper exist. However, it also contains large amounts of information in the form of books, the reputation market, and various information feeds.
+
+Some maintenance of the perisystem architecture is required, usually by engineers both sys-side and phys-side. In the instance of the two launch vehicles, for instance, PA engineers managed the DMZ later called Convergence
+
+# Playing the game
+
+*Post-Self* is a tabletop role playing game powered by The Apocalypse, a lightweight framework for RPGs.
+
+## MC and players
+
+When playing, players are led along by a master of ceremonies, or MC, on an adventure. As they move through the story, they form relationships with one another and NPCs around them, specialize in skills related to the System, and work to accomplish their goals using the tools built into the world that they inhabit.
+
+## Agendas and principles
+
+*Agendas* are the three reasons you play the game. The first two are filled in for you, but the MC should fill in the third for themselves:
+
+1. Make the players' characters' lives not boring.
+2. Play to find out what happens.
+3. \_\_\_\_\_
+
+*Principles* are the things you should seek to do whenever you speak in the game. A list is offered here, just waiting to be customized. Use this customization as an opportunity to establish the way you plan to pace and run the game. The MC should cross off up to two of these *Principles* and write in up to two of their own:
+
+* Sprinkle evocative details everywhere.
+* Make the world seem real.
+* Build a bigger world through play.
+* Create interesting dilemmas, not interesting plots.
+* Address yourself to the characters, not the players.
+* Make your move, but misdirect.
+* Make your move, but never speak its name.
+* Look at your NPCs and ideas through crosshairs.
+* Name everyone, make everyone human.
+* Ask provocative questions and build on the answers.
+* Respond with challenging circumstances and occasional rewards.
+* Be a fan of the players' characters.
+* Think offscreen, too.
+* Sometimes, reflect a question back upon the players.
+* \_\_\_\_\_
+* \_\_\_\_\_
+
+## Virtues
 
 Each player chooses three *Virtues* for their character. They pick two that the other characters know but one that they keep secret.
 
-> *Note:* The MC may ask for the character's secret virtue, but doesn't have to!
+> *Note:* The MC may ask for the character's secret virtue confidentially, but doesn't have to!
 
 These virtues are things that the character holds to be the most important thing to them, whether it helps them live a fulfilling life or is a goal they strive to achieve. Here are some examples:
 
@@ -76,7 +219,7 @@ Avery
     * *Faith* --- When others are cold, distant, or even just solitary, ey has a hard time connecting with them and will often not bother.
     * *Sharing* --- If you're not going to share with JC, ey isn't going to share with you! Ey guards eir possessions, knowledge, and time jealously from those who don't share.
 
-### Stats
+## Stats
 
 There are six stats associated with characters describing how they move through the world
 
@@ -127,6 +270,8 @@ Savvy
     * How well do I know how to lock down access to a sim or set permissions on a cone of silence?
     * How easily do I use my intent to move around the System, create objects, and interact with the reputation market?
     
+    Keep in mind, though, that a higher *Savvy* makes your sanity all that much more fragile.
+
 When creating a character, each player can assign the following modifiers: +2, +1, +1, 0, -1. These modifiers are added to a roll that uses that stat. Rolling for a stat involves rolling two six-sided dice, and the results determine what happens next:
 
 * *1--6* --- The MC makes a hard move against the character. They may still succeed at their task, but in a way that actually works against their goal, or something bad might happen when they fail.
@@ -182,7 +327,7 @@ Avery
     >
     > The MC replies, "Oh, so you're going to try and sneak in another little hint? Okay. Q doesn't quite pick up on that in terms of a date, but does nod. They look very serious. "I will try your coffee tomorrow, yes." You don't necessarily get the romantic date you were hoping for, but you do at least get another chance to meet with them."
 
-#### The Leverage stat
+### The Leverage stat
 
 *Leverage* is a unique stat that specifically deals with interacting with another character, player or non. Are you helping someone? Trying to stop them? These are the two main situations when you will roll *Leverage*. Every character has a different leverage score for every other player character and any NPCs added to the party, which are noted on the character sheet.
 
@@ -209,53 +354,275 @@ Avery
 :  
     TODO
 
-### Character sheets
+## Dissolution strategies
 
-## Preparing to play
+As mentioned, there are roughly three ways of approaching forking for those who live in the System: Taskers, Trackers, and Dispersionistas. These *Dissolution Strategies* affect how well you're able to fork, but also how much more damage you might take on failure.
 
-### Your story
+Tasker
+:  
+    Taskers fork the least, and are thus both less used to the whole process and more likely to maintain *Sanity* throughout. It's uncomfortable. The mechanics for this are that, when one rolls to fork or merge, you subtract 1 from your *Savvy* modifier. If you fail that roll, the cost you incur at the MC's discretion is a hit to your *Sanity* of *Savvy* (or zero, if that number is negative).
     
-### Creating characters
+    For instance, if your *Savvy* modifier is +1 and you fail a roll on forking, you may still succeed at forking, but at the cost of 1 point of *Sanity*.
 
-### Zero session
+Tracker
+:  
+    Trackers fork more often and their instances tend to linger for longer, tracking a project from start to finish rather than just working to complete one single task. This leads to the mechanic of, when forking or merging, you simply use your *Savvy* modifier flat; there's no bonus or hit to it. If you fail that roll, the cost you incur at the MC's discretion is a hit to your *Sanity* of *Savvy*+1.
 
-## Gameplay
+    For instance, if your *Savvy* modifier is +1 and you fail a roll on forking, you may still succeed at forking, but at the cost of 2 points of *Sanity*.
 
-### MC
+Dispersionista
+:  
+    Dispersionistas fork more than anyone. They fork for fun! They fork because they're excited! Damn the consequences, they're gonna fork and ain't no one gonna stop them. The mechanic for this is that, when it comes to forking and merging, they get a bonus of +1 to *Savvy*. However, the higher your success, the further the fall, so if you fail that roll, the cost you incur at the MC's discretion is a hit to your *Sanity* of *Savvy*+2.
 
-#### MC Moves
+    For instance, if your *Savvy* modifier is +1 and you fail a roll on forking, you will still succeed at forking, but at the cost of 3 points of *Sanity*.
+    
+What this comes down to is the fact that, the more likely you are to fork --- that is, the closer you hew to a Dispersionista lifestyle --- the more likely you are to succeed, but the higher the cost if you fail. The less likely you are to fork --- the closer you are to being a Tasker --- the more likely you are to fail, but the lower the potential cost.
+    
+## Sanity
+
+In such a world where physical damage suddenly has less meaning, health is measured in terms of *Sanity*. After all, you have only a simulacrum of a body; if that gets damaged, why, just fork yourself a new one!
+
+However, live forever with memories that never dissipate --- memories from however many instances, even! --- and keeping your head about you suddenly becomes far more difficult.
+
+As such, your *Sanity* becomes a stat you track, just as you would track HP in any other setting.
+
+You begin the game with a simple calculation: your *Sanity* is 20 - *Savvy*. That is, if you're more savvy in dealing with the System, then you're going to find yourself slipping just that much faster.
+
+Your *Sanity* can be damaged throughout play when the dice turn against you on *Savvy* rolls, particularly when it comes to memory --- that is, merging and forking can lead to going just a little bit more crazy on failure.
+
+Gaining *Sanity*, however, is much more difficult, and essentially comes at the whim of the MC, who might return a point of sanity to you when you, for instance, take a second to rest and process what you've learned, a bit of downtime to incorporate those memories; or perhaps when, in the course of play, your character has an ecstatic revelation.
+
+**Examples**
+
+Rareș
+:  
+    TODO
+    
+Avery
+:  
+    TODO
+
+## Player moves
+
+* When you do something relating to [specialty], add +1.
+* You have the ability to [do some sort of active special power]. It counts as a basic move using [stat].
+* You have [some passive special power that has a constant effect].
+* You have a [thing]. When applicable, it adds +1 to [stat] and [stat].
+* When you do [specialty], mark XP.
+* Add +1 to [stat].
+
+# Preparing to play
+
+Overview:
+
+* Choose your name and describe yourself
+* Choose your virtues
+* Choose your stats, dissolution strategy, and leverages
+* Set your starting reputation and sanity
+* Choose your moves
+
+## Creating characters
+
+[![Charsheet!](https://rpg.post-self.ink/filled-charsheet.png)](https://rpg.post-self.ink/charsheet.pdf)
+
+Hand each player a character sheet. It should have the stat names listed, including the relationship stat. It should have a description of how the relationship stat goes up and down over the course of the game.
+
+Place the character concepts in the middle of the table. Talk about what they might mean and why they might be cool. Have everyone pick one and fasten it to their character sheet (in the concept box) using a paper clip.
+
+Tell them to assign the following numbers to their 5 basic stats: +2, +1, +1, 0, -1. If you only have 4 stats, instead assign: +2, +1, 0, -1.
+
+The maximum that a stat can ever reach in the game is +3, and the minimum is -1. This includes relationship stats. Player moves cannot advance a stat beyond +3 (though player moves can temporarily or circumstantially increase it beyond +3).
+
+Each PC has a relationship stat with each other PC. Tell the players to do this: whichever PC they know the best, write +2 next to that character's name. Whichever PC they know the least, write -1 next to that character's name. For each other PC, write +1. Tell them to write "NPCs" and assign that relationship a 0.
+
+Every character has a harm clock, with six sections. When characters take harm in the game, they mark a number of sections equal to whatever amount of harm the MC tells them they take. Point out the harm clock, and explain that when it's filled all the way up, the characters are taken out of the action (in a genre-appropriate way).
+
+The next stage of creating characters is to pick 3 moves. When a player picks a move, they pick an option from the list below, give the move a title, and fill in the blanks. Each move gets recorded on their character sheet.
+
+## Session zero
+
+As an optional step before the game, it might help to have a session zero. These sessions are a good way to help strengthen both the players' bonds with their characters and with each other. There are many different ways to help get all the creative and social juices flowing. These aren't necessary, and need not even be their own sessions independent of the first session, however, setting aside time specifically to build up the world can be eminently useful. In fact, they can even be a good time for building the players' characters from the ground up in a collaborative and communal style. Here are some ideas for what to do:
+
+Characters
+:  
+    The obvious thing to do is to ask about the character's past. Share some of the information behind your character such as:
+    
+    * When did they upload? 
+    * *Why* did they upload? 
+    * Where do they live in the System? Deep in a densely populated public city-sim, or out in nature, all by themselves?
+    * How have they gained reputation so far? Did they take a hobby from phys-side and turn it into something new? Do they even *care* about reputation? After all, later on in time, reputation matters less and less.
+    
+    However, this can also go more in-depth:
+    
+    * **How the party formed:** Session zero is a good time to decide how your party came together. If you're not planning on meeting within the first session, you can use this to figure out how the party formed. This should be a collaborative effort. For instance, have each party member state in one or two sentences how their characters met the next down the list or sitting to the right. Then, have that player add one or two sentences to that description. Do this for each combination of characters. This can be a great way to set *Leverage* stats, and is also a good time to specify how the characters got to the location where they met.
+    * **Rumors:** Have each player come up with a handful of rumors about their characters. You can divide these into good and bad rumors, as well as true and false ones. For instance, have players come up with four: one good and true, one bad and true, one good and false, and one bad and false. Whether or not the rumors are true doesn't need to be revealed right away, either. They can be sprinkled throughout based on interactions with other characters, players, or the MC. This helps both the other players and the MC interact with those characters in a more authentic fashion.
+    * **'Guilty' list:** Have each player come up with a 'guilty' list for their characters, containing three guilty pleasures and three guilty moments from the past. Even silly little things such as this can flesh a character out into something that is easier to interact with.
+
+Setting
+:  
+    A setting can be a character in its own right. It can have its own story to tell. Within *Post-Self*, there's the obvious world of the System, but the System is merely a shell housing sims of nearly infinite variety. These, then, become the sims. Building this setting doesn't necessarily need to be 100% up to the MC, though. If the players aren't meant to be spelunking in undiscovered, unfamiliar lands, build the sim or sims together under the MC's guidance.
+    
+    * **Pros and cons:** Have each character create a list of two or three pros and cons about the sim. For instance, it could have this *really great* noodle place over on Main, the sunsets can be absolutely beautiful, but whoever built it had apparently never seen real cobblestones before, as it's all but impossible to walk on the street without twisting your ankle.
+    * **Made-up history:** In a place where everything can be perfect, imperfection has become something of an art. Clearly, the sim designers were inspired by *something!* What was it? Some disaster they remember phys-side? Some bit of perfection that can only be accomplished by cutting corners elsewhere; what drew the designer's eye to that perfection? Have each player give a sentence or two describing the designer's inspiration, then let the next player piggyback off of that.
+    * **Copy of a copy:** After centuries, cities on phys-side go through many of their own changes, are built up, torn down, and rebuilt as almost-the-same. If a sim is a copy of a place phys-side, what has changed? What did the sim designers not see fit to bring over? What did they exaggerate?
+     
+
+Safety and expectations
+:  
+    *Post-Self* is, above all else, a world for stories. Fighting? Sure, it can happen, people get angry at each other all the time. However, you can step away from conflict. Injuries? Sure, they happen. But there is no death without going through outrageous amounts of effort.
+    
+    Stories, however, can hurt as much as any weapon, and words can wound us all. In the course of play, it's important to make sure that, no matter the intentions of everyone involved, anyone can feel welcome and not at risk of injury. As such, it's important to have a discussion before playing to see if any topics are off limits. Players should discuss limits and boundaries amongst each other (or one-on-one with the MC who can share them anonymously).
+    
+    As MC, it's also important to set expectations for the campaign. What kind of story is this going to be? Are there any plot points you have planned that might involve sensitive topics? If so, turn that into a conversation! Don't think of it as spoiling the story so much as letting your players get in the right mindset. Open it up to a dialogue and let everyone suggest ways to make the game as fun as can be so that it can run smoothly.
+    
+    There are a lot of tools that might help with this, from X-cards to consent checklists. A list of these is provided in the resources section.
+    
+# Gameplay
+
+The game is like a conversation. People describe what their characters do, ask questions about what’s going on, and talk in character. If someone says something that seems untrue or unreasonable, the MC is allowed to say, "I don’t think that’s possible, but you could instead [make some other interesting choice], if you’d like."
+
+At some point, the MC will determine that something requires a roll. Actions require a roll when they are opposed by other characters or run the risk of interesting failure. When one of these conditions is met, the player needs to roll for a basic move. The MC will name which stat applies to the situation. The player rolls two six-sided dice and adds their stat to the sum. The effects depend on the basic move in question.
+
+## MC
+
+Early in the first session, the MC should juggle two responsibilities:
+
+* Follow the PCs around, and learn what they’re all about.
+* Give the players a sense of what the world is like, and how it operates.
+
+Astute players will realize that these two things can sometimes be at odds with one another. MC, the way you navigate this combination of responsibilities is by honouring your Agendas and your Principles.
+
+### MC Moves
+
+The MC moves are the specific things you say in any moment. There are two different cases where you use the MC Moves, and you use them differently in each of those cases. When the players look at you expectantly, you make a regular MC Move. When a player fails a die roll (getting 6 or lower), you make a hard MC Move. John Harper best described how to handle those two cases, so I'll quote him:
+
+When you make a regular MC move, all three:
+
+1. It follows logically from the fiction.
+2. It gives the player an opportunity to react.
+3. It sets you up for a future harder move.
+
+Say what happens but stop before the effect, then ask "What do you do?"
+
+When you make a hard MC move, both:
+
+1. It follows logically from the fiction.
+2. It's irrevocable.
+
+Say what happens, including the effect, then ask "What do you do?"
+
+A list of MC Moves is already written for you, waiting to be customized. Cross off up to three moves, and add up to three of your own to the list:
+
+* Separate them.
+* Put them together.
+* Put someone in a high-stakes situation.
+* Trade harm for harm (as established).
+* Deal harm (as established).
+* Announce off-screen badness.
+* Announce future badness.
+* Take away one of their Things.
+* Demonstrate one of their Things' bad sides.
+* Give them a difficult decision to make.
+* Tell them the possible consequences and ask.
+* Turn their move back on them.
+* Make a move from one of your Dangers or Bigger Pictures
+* \_\_\_\_
+* \_\_\_\_
+* \_\_\_\_
+
+### PCs and NPCs
+
+### Dangers and the bigger picture
+
+Between sessions, or even during them, the MC can create Dangers. Dangers are things that might cause problems for the PCs, or fight them for resources, or block the PCs on their path. When you create a Danger, take an index card. Write its name, and its Ambition, and 1-3 MC Moves. Its Ambition is whatever this thing wants and strives for. If the PCs don’t do anything about the Danger, the Ambition will either happen or it’ll be attempted and disastrous effects will result. The MC Moves are things that the MC can add to their list of MC Moves whenever the Danger is afoot.
+
+## Players
+
+### Player moves
+
+Player moves come in three general forms:
+
+* Taking action
+* Helping and hindering
+* Savvy
+
+#### Taking action
+
+When you take an action that risks failure or opposition, roll with one of the basic stats. On a 10+, you succeed at your goal. As appropriate, the MC might award you: resource points, harm dealt, or a bonus to carry forward. On a 7-9, the MC will offer you a hard bargain or a cost. If you agree to that hard bargain or cost, you succeed at your goal (and as appropriate, the MC might award you resource points, harm dealt, or a bonus to carry forward).
+
+When someone succeeds (with a 10+ or a 7-9) on a Taking Action roll, it’ll sometimes make sense to represent their success with a number of resource points. For example, if someone tries to read a person’s facial expressions and determine their true intent in a conversation, they might make a roll. If they get a 10+, the MC might determine that they have 3 conversation points, and they can spend those points 1-for-1 to get answers about the character’s motivations and goals during the conversation. Resource points are always given a name and function at the time they are awarded. In most cases, resource points should be temporary, lasting until the end of a scene or situation.
+
+Sometimes, succeeding on a Taking Action roll means that the PC is set up for future successes. In these cases, the MC can award a +1 bonus that the PC can apply to their next roll. The player should mark that bonus on their character sheet.
 
 #### Helping and hindering
 
-#### PCs and NPCs
+When you help someone or hinder a player character, roll your relationship stat with that person. On a 10+, add or subtract 2 from their roll. On a 7-9, the MC will name a cost; if you accept the cost, add or subtract 2 from their roll.
 
-#### Dangers and the bigger picture
+When you help someone or hinder a non-player character, roll your relationship stat with that person. On a 10+, they either succeed or fail – your choice. On a 7-9, the MC will name a cost; if you accept the cost, they either succeed or fail – your choice.
 
-### Players
+#### Savvy
 
-#### Player moves
+*Savvy* moves are those that specifically deal with the System itself. While these essentially boil down to being the same as taking an action, they're called out here due to each of them having setting-specific implications.
 
 ##### Forking and quitting
 
-##### The Perisystem Architecture
+An integral part of life on the System is forking, where individuals may create a copy of themselves, whether for a task or to live out on their own. Optionally, that fork may *quit* and *merge* back down, wherein the initial individual (known as the *downtree instance*) receives all of their memories.
 
-##### Overflowing with memory
+Given the importance of being able to fork, this can play a large role in gameplay, and some players, depending on their *dissolution strategy*, may fork quite often.
 
-##### The shared dream
+After the early 2200s, forking on the System is essentially free, incurring only a small *reputation* cost. However, the dissolution strategy plays a role in one's ability to fork and merge.
 
-#### Tracking resources
+* *Dispersionistas* fork and merge easily and frequently. There's no in-game mechanics cost to them forking, as long as the time period in which the game is set is after the early 2200s, meaning that the number of dispersionistas on the System rapidly increased after that date. Their root instance is usually tagged *#Root*. *Not* forking often goes against the character's principles, but is occasionally required for the situation at hand. Dispersionistas can wind up quite batty given the incredible build-up of memory that their down-tree instances can wind up with.
+* *Trackers* fork to track specific tasks, relationships, or trains of thought. These forks may be long-lived, but they merge down-tree with some frequency so that their down-tree instance (usually the *root instance*) can keep track of all of the different threads that their tracking. Their root instance is usually tagged *#Tracker*. Given that the idea of letting a long-lived instance individuate beyond a certain point and lose their shared identity, letting a fork linger too long goes against their strengths, as can not forking at all. While this memory does build up within trackers, it plays far less of a role in affecting stability as it does in dispersionistas.
+* The most conservative of strategies, *taskers* fork rarely (if at all), and then usually to accomplish only one or two tasks. Their root instance is usually tagged *#Core*. Having to fork more often than that is incredibly uncomfortable and would work counter to the character's way of life. That said, taskers maintain the strongest sense of self and, with so little divergent memory, remain some of the sanest on the System.
 
-#### Dealing and taking harm
+((Stating that one is forking))
 
-#### Taken out of action
+((Reputation cost))
 
-### Carrying forward
+((Continue with the root instance))
 
-### Tracking experience and relationship stats
+((Merging and playing out the fork's experiences to justify the root instance's actions))
 
-## Story ideas
+((Sanity cost))
 
-### Battle royale with politics.
+((Other players' influence, helping with sanity, reacting to forking and merging, etc))
+
+((MC moves, high sanity = positive modifier, low sanity = negative modifier))
+
+##### Accessing the Perisystem Architecture
+
+TODO
+
+##### Sensorium messages
+
+TODO
+
+## Tracking resources
+
+### Sanity
+
+### Reputation
+
+Whenever you roll a highlighted stat you earn a point of XP. Mark it on the XP section of your sheet. When you hit 5 XP, erase all of it and take a new Player Move. If you’ve already got at least one move that references each of your specialities, you may create a new specialty and reference it in the Player Move you purchase.
+
+## Harm and sanity
+
+## Taken out of action
+
+When a character has all of their harm sections filled in, they’re taken out of the action. The specifics will vary based on genre and context. In a Hardy Boys game, being taken out of the action means disappearing under mysterious circumstances (to wake up tied to a chair later) or being put into a coma. In an apocalyptic gang fighting game, being taken out of the action means being killed. When a character is taken out of the action, they’re no longer playable – either they’re dead or they’re the functional equivalent of being dead. If the character was a PC, the player should create a new character.
+
+## Carrying forward
+
+## Tracking experience and *Leverage*
+
+## Overflowing with memory
+
+## The shared dream
+
+# Story ideas
+
+## Battle royale with politics.
 
 * PVP or PVAI in a combat focused setting
 * Fairly lethal, but it's revealed to be a game of sorts: as soon as you're "out", you wind up in a war room of sorts, doing some political maneuvering
@@ -273,7 +640,7 @@ Questions for the MC:
 * Can players form alliances with NPCs?
 * What are the win conditions? What is the motivation for the players?
 
-### Finding a lost self
+## Finding a lost self
 
 * Work for a sort of PI agency
 * Hired by a root instance to find a lost up-tree instance
@@ -289,3 +656,22 @@ Questions for the MC:
 * Did they leave amicably? If not, do they forgive the root instance?
 * Was this maybe just a setup by an old clade to make life interesting?
 * Do the PCs pick up any NPCs along the way? Does the root instance come with?
+
+# You
+
+*Post-Self*, as an open universe, invites the creation of your own story and explorations of the subtler implications of the mechanics. The world is what it is by virtue of what we, as participants in its creation, make of it.
+
+As such, I freely invite you to share! If your story takes off, feel free to post about it, share actual plays, write up your plots into stories and modules! Hell, even if you don't want to share it far and wide, I would love to hear what you come up with; feel free to [drop me a line](https://makyo.is). If you're particularly proud of what you've done and are open to others experiencing it, I'm plenty happy to post your contributions as part of the 'canon', such as it is. Modules and RPG plots will be posted on [rpg.post-self.ink](https://rpg.post-self.ink) and stories on the Extra Stories section of [post-self.ink](https://post-self.ink/extras/).
+
+# Resources
+
+Safety and expectations
+:  
+    * https://www.montecookgames.com/store/product/consent-in-gaming/
+    * https://bankuei.wordpress.com/2010/03/27/the-same-page-tool/
+    * http://tinyurl.com/x-card-rpg
+    * Roll20 includes a "Safety Deck" which contains three cards --- Green, Yellow, and Red --- which you can drag onto each of the players to put in their hands. They can play these like X-cards, and they'll simply appear anonymously in the play area, at which point the game can either stop to have a conversation about what happened or skip past that topic. Remind them that, if they play the card, after it has been acknowledged, to right-click the card and 'take' it again.
+
+Collaborative worldbuilding
+:  
+    One possibility if you are planning on running a longer, more elaborate campaign, is to construct the sim or sims in which the campaign takes place together using something like [The Quiet Year](https://buriedwithoutceremony.com/the-quiet-year), a map-making game which is nominally focused on building a community after the collapse of civilization, but which can also be used to build just about any sort of lived-in world with a strong sense of community. There are a lot of similar map-building activities you can do together.

writing/saint.md

@@ -1,11 +1,11 @@
-Silence surrounded him in currents. Swirled, curled, swam along in lazy Lissajou curves. Silence surrounded him. Holy they called him; holy or crazy.
+To my most dear and highly esteemed brother, Radu, beloved in the sight of the Lord: Cornel, an unworthy servant of Jesus Christ, a worm, less than a being sends his greetings.
+
+Silence surrounds me in currents. Swirls, curls, swims along in lazy Lissajou curves. Silence surrounded him. Holy they called him; holy or crazy.
 
 Clothed in silence and robes, wreathed in holy light, they say that, each day, he would walk down to the river, dip a single cupped paw within, and drinking that would be his sustenance for the day. They say that he would talk with the insects, coaxing ants into a dance and urging the cicadas to sing praises to the Lord. They say that he never ceased praying.
 
 Some of these were even true. Clothed in silence and robes, he would begin his day by walking to the river and drinking from his paw. It was not his only sustenance, for he fished and collected the tender roots of young reeds or perhaps some cress. He even purchased the occasional bundle of dried meat.
 
-He did not coax any insects, but he did talk to them. Not *with* them; none but the Lord could do that. He would listen to the cicadas rasping through the heat of the day, close his eyes to shut out at least one sense, and lift his tall ears to listen to the words of the world. Even the crickets could carry the voice of God.
+He did not coax any insects, but he did talk to them. Not *with* them; none but the Lord could do that. He would listen to the cicadas rasping through the heat of the day, close his eyes to shut out at least one sense, and lift his stubby ears to listen to the words of the world. Even the crickets could carry the voice of God.
 
 There were no lies in the last.
-
-

writing/workshop-packet/001.md

@@ -1,11 +1,2 @@
 %title What are fandoms and subcultures?
 
-For the purposes of this project, I'm leaning on two working definitions, one for 'fandom' and one for 'subculture'.
-
-Fandoms are groups of people focused on consuming media from a particular canon and, in this case, producing content related to that canon. This can take the form of art, music, costuming, or fanfiction, with the last being the natural choice for workshopping in a writing context.
-
-Subcultures, on the other hand, are groups of individuals focused on consuming media from no one, single canon, yet sharing an interest related to some aspect of media, culture, or identity. This can be anything from anime to LGBTQIA+ identities to furries. Without a central canon, there is no concept of fanfiction, and yet they can still serve in the role of a meta-genre, informing the style and content of the creations associated with the subculture, regardless of the core genre of the work itself.
-
-Both of these serve an important role in building community in a playful way. Association with fandom and subculture is often seen as frivolous, silly, or in many ways 'not real', despite the fact that members may make a very real living off their creations.
-
-Still, it's that very playfulness that allows a set of styles and tropes to arise within these areas. When the works created aren't necessarily beholden to popular tastes, fandom and subculture creators have a lot of freedom to explore.

writing/workshop-packet/Intro.md

@@ -1,9 +1,2 @@
 %title Introduction
 
-Writing what's important to us helps us to build styles, language, and stories of shared meaning. Fandom and subculture spaces provide authors with a meta-genre of sorts in order to explore this shared meaning. By leaning on each other for support, the members can build up a corpus of their own, something that resists commercialization outside of those spaces, and builds a stronger sense of in-group community.
-
-Over the last four months, I've had the privilege of running two writing workshops and four writing classes within the furry subculture.[^furryfandom] The first workshop took place at an online furry writing conference called [Oxfurred Comma](https://oxfurredcomma.com) hosted by the [Furry Writers' Guild](https://furrywritersguild.com), involving three authors learning about writing critique through the process of critiquing each other's work through a [Twitch](https://twitch.tv) stream visible to other attendees of the conference. The second took place at [Further Confusion](https://furcon.org), an in-person convention in San Jose, California, and focused on a more general set of sessions regarding critical reading and critiquing writing.
-
-My goal with running these workshops and classes was to explore what specific aspects of fandom and subculture writing can be incorporated into writing workshops.
-
-[^furryfandom]: It's quite common to refer to furry as a fandom as well. I resist this phrasing more on intellectual than moral grounds, simply because there isn't a core media that furries are a fandom. When asked, most furries will say that they're fans of anthropomorphic animals or, more poignantly, themselves.

writing/workshop-packet/essay.md

@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-1. [o] [Intro](Intro)
+[1](1). [o] [Intro](Intro)
 2. [.] On fandoms and subcultures
     1. [ ] [What are they](001)
     3. [ ] [What's important to them in their writing](002)
@@ -7,8 +7,78 @@
     1. [ ] What are they
     2. [ ] What's important to them in their writing
     3. [ ] How is that usually accomplished
-4. [ ] Adapting workshops
-5. [ ] The two workshops
+4. [ ] The two workshops
     1. [ ] OCWW
     2. [ ] FCWW
+5. [ ] Adapting workshops
 6. [ ] Conclusions
+
+-----
+
+Writing what's important to us helps us to build styles, language, and stories of shared meaning. Fandom and subculture spaces provide authors with a meta-genre of sorts in order to explore this shared meaning. By leaning on each other for support, the members can build up a corpus of their own, something that resists commercialization outside of those spaces, and builds a stronger sense of in-group community.
+
+Over the last four months, I've had the privilege of running two writing workshops and four writing classes within the furry subculture. My goal with running these workshops and classes was to explore what specific aspects of fandom and subculture writing can be incorporated into writing workshops.
+
+For the purposes of this project, I'm leaning on two working definitions, one for 'fandom' and one for 'subculture'.
+
+Fandoms are groups of people focused on consuming media from a particular canon and, in this case, producing content related to that canon. This can take the form of art, music, costuming, or fanfiction, with the last being the natural choice for workshopping in a writing context.
+
+Subcultures, on the other hand, are groups of individuals focused on consuming media from no one, single canon, yet sharing an interest related to some aspect of media, culture, or identity. This can be anything from anime to LGBTQIA+ identities to furries. Without a central canon, there is no concept of fanfiction, and yet they can still serve in the role of a meta-genre, informing the style and content of the creations associated with the subculture, regardless of the core genre of the work itself.
+
+Both of these serve an important role in building community in a playful way. Association with fandom and subculture is often seen as frivolous, silly, or in many ways 'not real', despite the fact that members may make a very real living off their creations.
+
+Still, it's that very playfulness that allows a set of styles and tropes to arise within these areas. When the works created aren't necessarily beholden to popular tastes, fandom and subculture creators have a lot of freedom to explore.
+
+The creation of this shared language within the context of an in-group such as a fandom or subculture is bound up in two things: conversation and art. Conversation is the sharing of information, emotions, and opinions surrounding the shared sense of identity, but the creation of art strengthens shared identity through the mutual appreciation of the core subject or topic of the fandom or subculture.[^berk]
+
+In the context of writing in particular, the shared language takes center stage. When using a similar lexicon, grammar and stylistic choices, and word choice, a sense of membership can build, strengthening community bonds.
+
+This is what drew my interest to the idea of teaching in this setting. Not only does it present unique challenges for the educator, but it provides potentially greater rewards for both the students and teacher --- especially should they share membership to the fandom or subculture.
+
+In my case, I chose interacting with the furry subculture.[^furryfandom] Not only is it a group that I interact with frequently given my own membership, but there are some particularly interesting features that create for a stronger sense of in-group membership. For instance, furry has long provided a safe space for LGBTQIA+ individuals, and as a non-binary trans woman, it has been a particularly important home for me since before I came out both to myself and others.
+
+Given this relationship between furry identity and queer identities, this provides a poignant example of shared identity and topic selection. One of the most well-known of furry authors, [Kyell Gold](https://kyellgold.com), writes quite frequently about gay male characters, focusing quite often on the themes of coming out and fitting in. His books have been widely praised within the subculture due to what's perceived as a common experience.
+
+Beyond this, however, writing within the context of furry has picked up several features and conventions common within the corpus. For example:
+
+* It's quite important to establish the species of the characters soon after their introduction. A common saying is "If I don't learn the character's species on the same page that they're introduced, I'm just going to get confused".
+* Dialogue tags often use the construct of "the *\[species\]* said", rather than relying on names. This is seen as helping reinforce the view of the character in the reader's mind.[^speciestag]
+* Adding elements that "make the story furry" is seen as important. Some writing is considered "funny animal fiction" or "coffee shop fox stories", where the nominally anthropomorphic characters could be replaced with humans with no detriment to the story. These are often described glibly as "zipperbacks", referring to the idea that fursuits, costumes of anthropomorphic animals, contain a zipper down the back used to put them on and take them off. These elements can take the form of tails wagging, ears perking, or the importance of scents, given the preponderance of canines, but can be as elaborate as including the social implications of shedding or the requirements of tail accommodations.
+
+With all of this in mind, I scheduled two workshops to run during conventions and adapted a standard workshop template to include discussions and critiques of these features in furry writing.
+
+The first of these workshops took place during the online convention [Oxfurred Comma](https://oxfurredcomma.com), hosted by the [Furry Writers' Guild](https://furrywritersguild.com). While the core group of attendees of the workshop interacted with each other over a video call, attendees of the overall convention were able to watch via a streaming broadcast on [Twitch](https://twitch.tv) to view the process of workshopping and interact via the text chat.
+
+This workshop followed a familiar format, where a small group of writers came together to critique and discuss each of their pieces over the course of two one-hour sessions, plus one video provided in advance. Each author applied to the workshop with a short piece of fiction (either a story or stand-alone selection of a larger work of up to 2,000 words) along with a short bio. Workshop attendees were selected from the pool of applicants based on the strength of their submissions and a subjective evaluation of how willing to participate they seemed. Applications were slim, so it was lucky that I was able to admit all applicants.
+
+The two sessions of the workshop were focused on critical reading and critiquing writing. The video provided in lieu of a first session involved the critiquing of a piece published by an author not in attendance to offer an example of the process of critiquing and workshopping. The Saturday session involved workshopping the pieces used for applying using the standard format of a silent author for the first few minutes, followed by a discussion where they were included.
+
+The Sunday session involved critiquing a piece of homework. On the first day, authors were given a bit more than a day and a half to write approximately 1,000 words of fiction. On the evening of the second day, these assignments were emailed to each of the authors so that the third day could workshop those pieces, keeping in mind the lessons that they had learned so far. This also provided an opportunity to write a piece with the fact that it would be critiqued in mind.
+
+The workshop was highly successful, both from my point of view as the facilitator and the point of view of the attendees. Despite some confusions on communication early on --- we had originally planned on three sessions before schedule conflicts got in the way, and initial communications regarding the structure of critique were unclear --- the attendees left the workshop feeling like they had a clear idea of the feedback they received and what directions they could take their submitted works. I left the workshop with a greater understanding of facilitation and how to guide timed discussions.
+
+The second workshop took place in-person at [Further Confusion](https://furcon.org), a mid-sized convention (for furry, at approximately 4,500 attendees). The goal of this workshop was to run a similar event to the Oxfurred Comma Writing Workshop, except that the workshop would take place in person at a convention. The realities of the convention worked against this, however; with no guarantee that the sessions would not be scheduled against other, more popular panels or events, it was difficult for attendees to guarantee that they would be joining all three sessions. Additionally, some of the largest draws of in-person furry events --- fursuiting, the Dealer's Den, social interaction --- tend to leave panels focused on more technical material poorly attended.
+
+This led to a reevaluation of the planned sessions, and instead, the three-session workshop was shifted to the topic of critical reading and critiquing within the context of furry. The first session focused on what goes into the act of critical reading and how we interact with texts as furry readers. The second focused on what goes into giving critique on furry writing. The final session focused on writing with an eye to receiving critique and how to incorporate feedback into one's work.
+
+Despite the slim attendance --- five on the first day, seven on the second, ten on the third --- the workshop was still overall a success. During the first day, after leading with a discussion on critical reading and what goes into it, the attendees read through a short piece, ["Bibelots and Baubles"](https://zooscape-zine.com/bibelots-and-baubles/), which we discussed afterwards. At the end of the session, I gave the attendees the opportunity to write and submit short (500-1000 word) stories for workshopping on the third day.
+
+The second day was spent discussing what exactly goes on in a writing workshop including various methods that they might see and how that can play into furry, which led into critiquing one of my pieces, ["Jump"](https://makyo.ink/jump), with the idea being that we would be able to workshop a piece with the author present, yet not put the pressure on any of the attendees.
+
+The last day involved workshopping the pieces that the attendees offered and then having a discussion about writing with an eye towards receiving critique and how to engage with critical readers in a workshop setting.
+
+Once again, the workshop was largely a success. The attendees were invested and committed to learning and participating in the process. When it came to reading the provided story, all provided a good sense of understanding of the work as well as providing insightful answers to guiding questions ("what aspects of this story are furry, and how effective are they to you?" --- "what was your favorite image and why?" --- "what aspects of the main character did you wish you had more of?" --- and so on). On the second day, the discussion about what goes into some fairly standard formats of workshops led to a delightful conversation over "Jump", including insights into the piece that hadn't arisen when the piece was workshopped for the first time back in 2021. On the third day, with [two pieces to read through](https://makyo.ink/workshops/fcww/23/submissions/), the authors responded well to the conversation and a sense of camaraderie  was clear among the attendees.
+
+With both of these workshops, there were a few commonalities in terms of what worked and what didn't. In both cases, the attendees all reported a sense of joy at having their writing approached seriously and earnestly. "I got to experience a style of critique and writing teamwork that I've never experienced before," one wrote. "I loved how the structure meant that everyone was on the same level, and we were all accountable for our own input but it wasn't onerous." This sentiment was echoed by other attendees. Others mentioned that this level playing field made for an experience that felt like a group of people helping each other out rather than a classroom setting.
+
+In terms of what didn't work, both workshops involved instances where I wasn't able to communicate what it was that I was looking for effectively. In the case of Oxfurred Comma, the initial Friday session was canceled due to time zones and a miscommunication with the conference itself. As a result the attendees felt left in the dark as to what exactly 'critique' meant, with one stating, "It would have been helpful to have a better introduction. I didn't know what kind of analysis was required and as a result, I ended up having to redo my analysis twice on all three stories." In lieu of the session, I provided a short video providing an example of critiquing the first story, which very much helped, but the situation was still less than ideal. For Further Confusion, on the Friday session I began a discussion about "Bibelots and Baubles", and rather than it being an open discussion in the room, attendees simply turned to their neighbor and began talking through the piece, with an attendee sitting at the back of the room for social distancing left out entirely. While I quickly steered that conversation to be the whole group talking to each other loud enough for all to hear, one person speaking at a time, I still made note that I hadn't provided a clear explanation going into the process.
+
+Moving forward with future fandom- and subculture-specific workshops, setting clear expectations of interaction both in the materials and communication is going to be important for me, and in the attached lesson plans, there will be notes as to possible pain points in communication. That said, after reviewing the successes of the two workshops has provided plenty ideas on how to make curricula that cater specifically to the subculture, also included in the lesson plans.
+
+<!----->
+
+[^furryfandom]: It's quite common to refer to furry as a fandom as well. I resist this phrasing more on intellectual than moral grounds, simply because there isn't a core media that furries are a fandom. When asked, most furries will say that they're fans of anthropomorphic animals or, more poignantly, themselves.
+
+[^berk]: See <https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRscgS5B/>
+
+[^speciestag]: I'm careful to specify 'is seen as' due to a common complaint of editors being the overuse of this construct.

writing/workshop-packet/feedback-handout.md

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+%title What is Feedback?
+
+For each story, one participant who is not the author will be asked to provide a short summary of the story (you'll be picked at random, so be prepared to do so for each of them). After that, there will be a round of critiques where the other participants will respond to the story with their thoughts, followed by the instructor minus the first story on Friday, where the instructor will go first. Each participant will be limited to about five minutes to talk about each piece. When their own piece is being critiqued, they should remain silent until the instructor and other participants have finished, and then there will be a short period of discussion.
+
+As to what we're looking for, it's probably easier to answer what critique isn't. Importantly, critique is not editing or proof-reading. What you are looking to talk about is the general structure of the piece such as the arc of the plot, the depth of the characters, and the style of the writing. Consider the questions:
+
+* How did the story impact you?
+* What did you like about it?
+* What did you think could be improved?
+* Who was your favorite character? Your least favorite? Why?
+* Was the story effective on an emotional and intellectual level? Was it not? How so?
+* Were there any points at which you felt confused? Disappointed? Let down? How so?
+
+Above all, though, critique is kind and supportive. Your goal here is to help the other participants improve not just their story, but how they approach their writing in the future.

writing/workshop-packet/index.md

@@ -1,7 +1,8 @@
 %title MFA pedagogy project
 
-* [ ] [Packet 1](packet-1)
-* [ ] [Packet 2](packet-2)
-* [ ] [Essay](essay)
-* [ ] [Chat notes](chat)
-* [ ] Presentation
+* [X] [Packet 1](packet-1)
+* [.] [Packet 2](packet-2)
+* [o] [Essay](essay)
+* [X] [Chat notes](chat)
+* [.] [Lesson plan](lesson-plan)
+* [ ] [Presentation](Presentation)

writing/workshop-packet/lesson-plan.md

@@ -0,0 +1,197 @@
+%title Writing Workshops for Fandom- and Subculture-specific Spaces
+
+## Goal
+
+The goal of this lesson plan is to come up with a three-day workshop focusing on writing in fandom- or subculture-specific spaces. The workshop should focus on building knowledge and camaraderie between the attendees and the facilitator, furthering the body of work within the shared interest and fostering a stronger sense of community.
+
+## Preparation
+
+### Materials
+
+* [Course syllabus](syllabus)
+* [What is feedback?](feedback-handout)
+* Initial story:
+
+    An initial story or stand-alone chapter is provided to the students before the workshop begins, giving them enough time to read through it and be ready to respond. This story should be taken from the corpus of texts related to the topic. For example, when running a workshop in the context of the furry subculture, a story might be taken from Zooscape-Zine.com, while a workshop being run in the context of Supernatural may have a story drawn from AO3. No matter the case, the story should be publicly posted and in a finished state. It should fit the context of the workshop: if the workshop will involve erotica, it should be a piece of erotica, etc.
+
+### Safety
+
+While it's not possible to plan for everything, having a few options at your disposal for various scenarios will be helpful. While providing a safe and validating space for attendees, keep in mind possible responses to situations such as:
+
+* arguments between attendees
+* attendees feeling hurt or disrespected by feedback received
+* triggering events
+
+Ensuring that you feel like a safe person to talk to in the instance of something going wrong will go a long way to fostering an environment where you're able to guide without needing to govern. Setting up communication tools such as chats or safety cards, being up front about boundaries and expectations, and providing an environment built on mutual growth and respect will leave attendees feeling welcome and open to collaboration.
+
+### Applications
+
+Applications may be made through something as simple as a Google Form, sold through a service such as Gumroad, or even set up through a more formal process on something like Submittable. No matter how applications are accepted, a mechanism for providing submissions should be offered, whether that's via the form as in Submittable or a file upload question in Google Forms, or a provided email address.
+
+### Addtional sessions
+
+There are a few additional sessions that might be worth planning ahead of time:
+
+* Social hours: one at the start as a meet and greet, as well as one at the end to talk about something other than writing (or at least talk about how the workshops feel)
+* One-on-one meetings with the students and each other or with the facilitator, a place to talk about hopes and fears, as well as defining literary and aesthetic values
+* Individual coaching sessions 
+
+### Attendee communication
+
+* Student chat: something like a Discord or Slack server, Telegram group, or mailing list
+* Student+facilitator chat: one-on-one spaces such as video calls or breakout meetings
+* 1:1 communication: Sharing email addresses, Telegram handles, Discord usernames, and so on
+* Writing groups
+
+## Plan
+
+### Day 1, Session 1
+
+* Introduction of facilitator and attendees
+* Going over syllabus
+* Setting expectations
+* Discussing feedback
+* Discussion structure of workshops
+* Pass out applicant submissions
+
+### Day 1, Session 2
+
+* Introducing workshop format for the remainder of the sessions
+* Workshop the provided piece
+* Discuss how workshopping felt
+* Discuss expectations for workshop of applicant submissions
+* Give assignment due Day 3
+
+* What is workshopping?
+    * More important, what is it *not?*
+        * Tearing apart a story
+        * Tearing down the author (Maslanka story)
+        * Editing a piece
+    * Talk about your engagement with the piece --- remember list of questions from yesterday
+    * Author:
+        * Listen to feedback and take in the ways your work affected others
+        * Will talk about writing for workshops tomorrow
+* Types of workshops and such
+    * Silent author
+        * How that works
+        * Why --- active listening, no shaping responses
+    * Participatory discussion
+        * Better for pieces earlier in process
+        * Feedback as to where to take it
+    * The role of the facilitator
+        * Prevent stalling
+        * Keep on track
+        * Pay attention to mood, etc
+* Tone
+    * Talk to the piece, not the author --- some don't even use the author's name, pretend they aren't there (not particularly a fan, but also stay away from addressing comments to 'you')
+    * Talk about yourself, your responses, your questions
+    * Changing language
+        * Stay away from generating shared values/taste
+        * Imagine and invite change
+        * We don't want to over-reward author because then it becomes less about creativity and more about writing for success
+* Sample workshop:
+    * <https://makyo.ink/jump>
+    * 10 mins to read
+    * Workshop discussion with silent author, then bring author in
+    * Discuss how it felt
+* Tomorrow: writing to receive feedback/actually receiving feedback
+
+### Day 2, Session 1
+
+* Check-in re: writing assignment, how reading is going, how workshop is feeling so far
+* Supplementary lecture/workshop
+* Writing exercise due in evening
+
+### Day 2, Session 2
+
+* Workshop applicant submissions
+* <https://makyo.io/fcww23s>
+* Writing and vulnerability
+    * Vulnerability in creation
+    * The terrifying ordeal of being seen
+    * How to manage having one's vulnerability openly addressed
+* A lot is on the facilitator
+    * Ensuring discussion stays on the work
+    * Ensuring *uncomfortable* silence is filled
+        * How silence feels
+        * How to fill silence if it happens (ask questions)
+* Engaging with responses as author
+    * Always good to thank, but overdoing can weaken your position in your own eyes
+    * Maintain authorial vision ---- everything you get (even negative) is encouragement and opportunity to change, but not a demand
+    * Friction and vulnerability:
+        * Maintain openness (even physical --- half smile, willing hands)
+        * Maintain distance
+        * Feel free to maintain boundaries, facilitator is there to help, can guide/move on from topic
+* Take notes! Can be overwhelming, so read through and think before blithely implementing
+* Workshops:
+    * One person summarize and lead in with discussion
+    * Try one response at a time vs open discussion
+* Reflect on how that felt
+
+### Day 3, Session 1
+
+* Workshop the assignment from Day 1, following a similar structure to Day 2
+
+### Day 3, Session 2
+
+* Co-writing exercise (75%)
+    * Outline a story together
+    * Optional frameworks:
+        * Caduceus
+        * Three-act structure
+        * Hero's journey
+* Wrap-up and social, share contact information
+
+## Wrapping up
+
+### Certificates and letters of recommendation
+
+### Attendee surveys
+
+## Supplementary lectures
+
+### What makes writing on *topic* pertinent to *topic*?
+
+### Shared language within *topic*
+
+### Critical reading within *topic*
+
+* Intro
+    * Introduce self
+    * Allow attendees to introduce themselves
+* Ice breaker: what is your least favorite part of your favorite movie?
+* Lead into what is a text
+    * Books/writing, sure, but also anything that tells a story --- film, games, etc
+    * Thus, what is critical reading?
+* Intentional engagement with a text, especially with regards to the self
+    * Back to ice breaker: how do you intentionally engage with your favorite film?
+    * How do we intentionally engage with a text in furry?
+        * What do we like in a furry text? What don't we like?
+        * Notably, not asking what makes a text furry, that we are furries is what enables us to read into that context
+        * Thus, how do we engage with a text that *we* feel is furry *as* furries?
+* What goes into critical reading?
+    * Layers:
+        * Mechanical: presentation, word choice, language usage, writing style
+        * Subjective: emotional impact, plot effectiveness, evocative descriptions
+* Reading exercise:
+    * Pick one of these two categories to pay attention to first and read, then read for the second
+    * Workshop tomorrow, but preview: we're not tearing a text apart, we're asking it questions:
+        * How did we feel the plot worked? Was there a structure? Could we follow it?
+        * What was told? What was left out? How did (not) knowing make us feel?
+        * What type of language usage was there? Word choice? Style?
+        * How about emotional impact? Was the story impactful? Did the mechanics help or hinder us?
+        * Was it evocative? Was it furry? Did that work?
+    * Be ready to summarize
+    * 10 mins to read
+    * ~~~
+    * Have someone summarize
+    * Talk through the mechanical and subjective layers, drilling down into specifics
+    * Talk through how the exercise felt
+        * was it useful? Tiring? Enjoyable?
+* Tomorrow, we'll go through providing feedback for writing and actually workshop a piece --- one of mine that has already been workshopped and published, so just an example of feedback to a present author.
+* Optional homework:
+    * Write a short ~500 word snippet (or pick one already written) to go through a gentle workshop, think about what we talked through today while writing
+    * Email it to me and I'll put it online for all to read in the workshop
+    * Will be asking how it felt etc
+
+## Conclusion

writing/workshop-packet/packet-1.md

@@ -0,0 +1,232 @@
+
+In late October, I had the privilege of running a two day workshop for an online fandom writing convention, [Oxfurred Comma](https://oxfurredcomma.com). With the gracious support of the [Furry Writers' Guild](https://furrywritersguild.com) staff, I was able to run a critique-based workshop with three attendees, plus host two additional panels on the topics of mental health and plot structures.
+
+## Preparations
+
+To prepare for the event, I discussed the possibility with the FWG staff, the FWG Telegram chat (open to members and non-members alike), and a loosely-related chat for [the Voice of Dog podcast](https://thevoice.dog), which releases audio versions of furry short fiction on a regular basis. Having the chance to talk through the possibility and some ideas for the workshop structure with others beforehand proved to be quite helpful, as my own experience with writing workshops was limited to fairly intensive ones --- [the Regional Anthropomorphic Writers' Retreat](https://rawr.community) and those that I've attended for school --- whereas it seemed like, given the limited schedule of a weekend, folks were interested in something with less overhead. I suspect that, had the convention been in person or run longer than two days, there would have been more interest in an intensive program. However, I'm happy with the way things worked out.
+
+The structure that I came up with was one focused on the art of giving and receiving critique. While I think a lot of people find use in editing and beta reads, I've found analysis and critique generally lacking within the furry fandom. We trade stories back and forth with some frequency, and the feedback we get rarely reaches the level of developmental edits. There's a lot of line/copy editing that happens, instead. I'm grateful for this, as I'm notoriously bad at such, myself, but one thing that I've been craving is feedback on how a story ticks, what makes it work or not for a reader, that sort of thing.
+
+To that end, I came up with a three-session workshop with the following structure:
+
+Before workshop | Friday evening | Saturday | Sunday | After workshop
+---|---|---|---|---
+Send participants' stories plus one additional story to the participants for them to begin the process of critiquing | Greetings, chat about critique and how the workshop will work, run through a group critique of the short story provided, provide a short (500-1,000 word) writing exercise as homework. | Critique the stories that each participant sent in, discuss how that felt, turn in writing exercises (evening). | Critique the short writing exercises to see how critique feels on a much earlier draft, discuss how the workshop went. | Fill out feedback forms.
+
+Due to the time limits provided by the convention the critique sessions would be run under a stricter format: each of the authors would receive critique from three people (myself plus the other two attendees), meaning that each person giving the critique would have approximately two minutes to provide their feedback. The author was to remain silent during this session --- a technique that I'm not totally sold on, but also one that keeps the workshop on track when it comes to time --- but would have a chance to respond to feedback afterwards. Additionally, I round-robin'd having authors summarize each others' stories without telling them who would be giving each summary, as I feel that a) having to give a summary provides a good sense of how well a story's structure works, and b) an element of randomness, which can be seen as kind of petty, does admittedly work on providing incentive to actually Doing The Thing™.
+
+I felt that this would allow for the following:
+
+* The ability to critique a piece by an outside author would give the participants a low-impact way to understand just how critique works and get into the rhythm of it without it being about any of their works in particular.
+* Having the participants submit stories ahead of time (the samples they submitted during the application process were used for the critique sessions) allowed them to select writing that they both felt was good enough that they were proud of, yet young enough that they might get something out of a critique.
+* Having a writing exercise with a strict time limit would allow the participants to give themselves permission to write something rough that they knew could use quite a bit of work through the workshopping process.
+* Critiquing work at multiple stages of completion would provide a broader understanding of what critique is and how it works.
+
+With all of this in mind, I drafted an application call and a few of the communications that would be sent throughout the process of the workshop. Having these lined up ahead of time made it easier for me to focus on offering my own critiques of the works and any moderation that was needed.
+
+## Application and Applicants
+
+With all of this under my belt, I opened up applications for the Oxfurred Comma Writing Workshop. The application information was posted online and the link given both to the VoD and FWG Telegram groups. When applications lagged (I only received two, initially), I  extended the deadline and tweeted this out along with the help of a small fandom publisher, FurPlanet, and received two more applications.
+
+This was the application page's content:
+
+> Welcome to the Oxfurred Comma Writing Workshop! This is a place to learn from each other and writers around the world. In this course, 2--3 people will take part in two critique sessions and one writing assignment to learn more about the process of writing and critical reading. Pending FWG and applicants' responses, the Saturday and Sunday sessions will be presented as panels during Oxfurred Comma so that other attendees may view (though not participate in) the process of critiquing.
+> 
+> **Note:** This workshop is being held as partial fulfillment of my Master's of Fine Arts in creative writing program. The sessions will be recorded, though those recordings will be kept between myself and my advisor and mentor. However, should this prove successful, I would love to hold it at future conventions!
+> 
+> ### Application process
+> 
+> To apply to this workshop, please provide a writing sample --- either a short story or logically complete segment of a larger work with a short paragraph describing its context --- of 2000 words or less. This writing sample may be the same one used for the critique assignment described below, but doesn't need to be. To apply, email your writing sample in MS Word .docx, LibreOffice .odt, or Google Docs link (we'll be using the comment feature, and those are the best options) to <ocww@makyo.io> along with a short, one paragraph bio for yourself. 
+> 
+> Decisions will be made within a few days (pending the number of applications) and selected participants will be notified by email.
+> 
+> Priority will be given to those who have never attended a writing workshop before. If you have, don't let that stop you, just be sure to mention so in your bio.
+> 
+> Applications due by 12PM Pacific on October 18.
+> 
+> ### Course outline
+> 
+> During this course, you will be reading one story provided by the instructor, plus one story from each participant prior to beginning the workshop. The workshop will last for two sessions of an hour to an hour and a half during Oxfurred Comma.
+> 
+> Friday --- Evening Pacific time
+> :   You will receive a writing assignment via email. This will be due Saturday at Midnight, PST
+> 
+> Saturday --- TBD
+> :   On Saturday, we will do introductions, learn about critiquing with the short story that was provided, then spend some time per author critiquing each other's stories provided prior to the workshop. Pending remaining time, we will discuss what we liked and didn't like about the process of critique so that we bring that to the table on Sunday.
+> 
+> Sunday --- TBD
+> :   The second day will be spent critiquing each other's assignments turned in on Saturday with an eye towards where to go with editing. At the end, we will discuss what we can take away from the process of critique to apply to our own writing, as well as to critical reading in the future. Participants will be provided a certificate upon completion.
+> 
+> ### Assignments
+> 
+> One week before the workshop begins, students will be provided with reading materials that will be heavily discussed in the workshop.
+> 
+> * Participants will be provided with a short critical reading assignment that they will have read with the goal of participating in a discussion about the mechanics and experience.
+> * Participants will provide a short story (or logically complete story segment with a paragraph of context) of 1000--2000 words. Each participant will read the other participants' stories with the same goal of providing feedback and learning for their own craft. This story should not be one that has been published before or not one read by the other participants.
+> 
+> During the workshop session on Friday, students will be provided with a writing assignment that will be due 24 hours later on the evening of Saturday. These assignments will be forwarded to the other participants to read that night/Sunday morning in order to be able to hold a second critique session during the final session.
+> 
+> I fully acknowledge that this is a short period of time, especially during a convention where you might want to attend other panels. However, I encourage participants to use this as a motivating factor for their own writing, and remember that the only two ways to 'fail' the workshop are to not participate or not learn anything. Still, take this into consideration when considering whether to sign up for this workshop.
+> 
+> **Note:** all writing (the critical reading assignment, the pre-workshop writing submission, and the in-workshop writing assignment) must be 'SFW' as the workshop will be publicly visible to other attendees who may not be 18+. Erotica holds an important place within the fandom and is due all the respect in the world, but the platform must be considered.
+> 
+> ### Expectations
+> 
+> During the process of the workshop, there will be both reading and writing assignments, and it's expected that these will be approached seriously with the attention that they deserve. They will take time, so be sure to budget accordingly.
+> 
+> All participants (and myself!) are expected to treat each other with respect. This means:
+> 
+> * When critiquing, respond to the writing, not the author
+> * Respect each other when interacting via the voice chat and any communications outside the class
+> * Respect each other with one's own writing; writing is a form of communication, and writing that demeans or degrades outside elements of the plot is unacceptable
+> 
+> This is doubly important given the nature of the workshop during a convention. We will be discussion the work of real people, and those discussions will be visible to spectators who also wish to learn but are not participating in the workshop itself, though the chat will be heavily moderated to ensure that the discussion taking place between participants remains the focus.
+> 
+> If there are any issues regarding respect, message me or a Guild moderator and they will be addressed immediately. Please be sure to provide Telegram or Discord contact information so that, should we need, we can message directly.
+> 
+> ### About me
+> 
+> I'm Madison Scott-Clary (she/her), and I've been chilling in the furry writing community for a decade or so now. I was editor-in-chief of \[adjective\]\[species\], an online magazine exploring the social and demographic aspects of the furry subculture, and editor-in-chief of Hybrid Ink, a small publishing house focused on thoughtful LGBTQ+ writing. I am the author of the Post-Self cycle, the Sawtooth anthologies, and three other books, and have edited or helped edit the short story anthologies *Arcana --- A Tarot Anthology*, *When the World Was Young: a Prehistoric Anthology*, and *Clade*, an anthology of stories set in the Post-Self universe. I am currently studying for my MFA in creative writing at Cornell College, and this workshop is being held as part of that degree program.
+
+The four applications were all quite good, and the only reason I had settled on the number three was due to time limits. The fourth applicant withdrew their application due to time constraints, so I essentially wound up accepting everyone who applied. I'm thankful that the quality was so high.
+
+Unfortunately, due to the fact that time zones started clashing with schedules (we had one attendee from Australia), the Friday session was canceled and the interactive portions of the workshop were reduced to the two at-con sessions. This was addressed by setting up a Telegram group chat for the attendees and providing them with a video introduction of what would have been my first session's content in lieu, which is provided below.
+
+## Lead up to First session
+
+> Welcome, friends, to the Oxfurred Comma Writing Workshop! Thank you so much for applying and working with me on this.
+> 
+> I'll be your host, Maddy, and I'm looking forward to working with you over email and during the workshop itself. Starting...well, now, you will be receiving some reading assignments to begin with. The first reading assignment will be the short story "Coyote Woman Sings the Blues", which you can read for free here: <https://zooscape-zine.com/coyote-woman/> The second reading assignment will be the stories that you submitted for the application process. This means that you will each have three stories to read, so I suggest starting now to ensure that you have time to do so comfortably and let them sink in. Our slots are at 1PM Pacific on Saturday and Sunday and will take place over voice and video on Discord (If we need an alternate solution, I have a private Jitsi instance we can use).
+> 
+> The goal with these assignments is to read critically. We're not here to pick every nit and grammar/spelling are off the table for our purproses. We're reading to get a sense of the plot structure, the characters and their individual arcs. Make notes (in the text, preferably, so that you can refer to individual sentences during discussion) about the following questions:
+> 
+> * What works for you, what doesn't? Why?
+> * What was inspiring and made you think about your own writing?
+> * Did anything remind you of another text (story, book, film, podcast, etc)?
+> 
+> Be prepared to summarize the story (we'll be summarizing "Coyote Woman" together and then each of you will summarize another's story) as well as your overall impressions.
+> 
+> Remember that our goal is to be respectful and constructive. We may come across a story/something in a story that we don't like, but that need not be anything other than a conversation starter.
+> 
+> On Friday evening, you'll be given a short writing assignment: 500-1000 words completed based on a prompt that I'll provide via email. This is to be completed by Saturday evening so that submissions can be emailed to everyone to read overnight for the Sunday session. This short duration gives us two opportunities. First, it lets us work on our velocity while writing (the writing should be self-contained, even if it's just a vignette or opening chapter), and second, it lets us critique something much earlier in the writing process. It's a good chance to get feedback on something that still has a lot of room to grow. As such, I will not be accepting any apologies along the lines of "sorry it's so rough." We know it'll be rough, we can work with that!
+> 
+> Finally, this is a reminder that this workshop is being given as part of my MFA degree and, as such, generic emails like this will be included in my packet of materials with contact info redacted. Additionally, the sessions will be recorded and those recordings shared with my mentor and no one else. If you run into any concerns along these lines, please don't hesitate to reach out. At the end, I'll be providing you with a brief questionnaire about how you feel the workshop went.
+> 
+> Please feel free to email each other and me, or if a chat setting is preferable, I can set up a telegram or discord chat for us.
+> 
+> I'm really looking forward to this, and I hope you all are as well!
+> 
+> Madison Scott-Clary
+> (she/her)
+
+## Sessions
+
+During the time leading up to the convention, the Friday panel was canceled due to a misunderstanding about schedules. With one participant joining from Australia and the convention not actually beginning until Saturday, the participants weren't able to meet. However, the two sessions on Saturday and Sunday went off as planned.
+
+### Video in Lieu of Friday Session
+
+Due to the canceled Friday session, I recorded a short video with the introduction to critique that I had planned. The participants found this quite useful, though a few got stressed due to missed expectations as to what critique actually was.
+
+<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/v_HKqGY1fiM" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
+
+#### Writing assignment
+
+> Good evening! Or morning! Timezones are difficult. I hope that the reading assignments have all treated you well so far! I've really enjoyed getting the chance to read all your stories.
+> 
+> Now, however, it's time for the writing assignment. You have until 5PM Pacific time tomorrow to write 500-1000 words on the prompt "missed connections". What that means is up to you. There's no other restriction on genre, setting, characters, or style. so do what feels most comfortable for you. As soon as I receive all of your stories, I'll send them back out for you to read. We'll be critiquing them on Sunday with some of the tools that we learn on Saturday, so you'll be able to approach something much fresher, more along the lines of a draft. The hope is that this will give you more experience in critically reading drafts as well as incorporating critique during the writing process.
+> 
+> Looking forward to tomorrow!
+> 
+> Madison
+
+### Saturday Session
+
+<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-05SW1qeNEk" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
+
+#### Handing stories back
+
+> All,
+> 
+> Thank you so much for a wonderful workshop session today! I really had a lot of fun, and I'm pleased to hear that, bumps aside, it went well for you all as well. I hope that your writing assignment is going well, and I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.
+> 
+> Attached are the notes I made on your stories.
+> 
+> Madison
+
+#### Handing out writing assignments
+
+> Hey all,
+> 
+> Attached are the three writing assignments from the last day. We will be critiquing these in very similar fashion tomorrow, followed by a discussion about workshopping and how to use both critical reading and the critiques we receive in our own writing. As before, we will begin with a summary of the story before the round of critiquing at a high level.
+> 
+> And again, thank you all for today!
+> 
+> Madison
+
+### Sunday Session
+
+<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EMXYc0LIJOQ" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
+
+#### Final email
+
+> All,
+> 
+> Thank you once again for such an amazing weekend of reading and writing! You all did a fantastic job on providing very thoughtful and respectful feedback and listening with an open mind. I've attached my notes for your second stories, and have pulled together a short survey for your honest opinions on how things went: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdzmhBV-d8jnHZyeOzG5rMpOM0xuvT0tJgMJmes0lfNBGrY3Q/viewform?usp=sf_link
+> 
+> Thanks, and keep in touch!
+> 
+> Madison
+
+### Other Sessions
+
+During the convention, I ran two additional panels (a third was offered in case there were not enough panels from others, but there was a sudden surge of submissions a few days before the con began).
+
+#### Writing and Mental Health
+
+<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/i9btAkkoGzA" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
+
+[Panel notes](https://writing.drab-makyo.com/writing-and-mental-health/)
+
+#### Plot Threads
+
+<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r1SEKD2IAhQ" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
+
+[Panel document](https://makyo.wiki/assets/romance-caduceus.pdf)
+
+## Feedback
+
+### Feedback During
+
+I ran into an issue with expectations around critique. A few of the members were confused as to what that meant and just how much work needed to be done. For instance, Kayodé wound up running through the stories several times as he learned more about what was expected of him, starting first with line editing, then with points that he wanted the authors to focus on that he felt were too specific and would have taken up too much time. As I posted the video for session 0, that wound up giving a much better idea of what the critique sessions would look like. This is probably something that I'll keep in mind moving forward, and may hunt down some good resources to provide participants with for future workshops.
+
+### Feedback Survey
+
+After the workshop, I provided the participants with a short survey to see if they had any particular feedback, positive or negative, about the whole experience as well as particular days.
+
+#### How do you feel the workshop went overall?
+
+* I thought it went well. Coyote Woman was a good story to analyze. The mix of people, yourself included, was excellent. We all had different things to share and came from different directions. Sometimes a group has too many people that see things the same way. That did not happen here. The shorter, compressed format worked pretty well for me as an introduction to workshops. I wouldn't have had the time or energy for something more. Now that I know what to expect, I feel that I could tackle a longer, more involved workshop in the future. It's had a very positive affect on how I think of myself as a writer and author. As I've said elsewhere, I feel like this was my introduction to writing as a craft, rather than just a hobby. Seeing how other people analyzed things and seeing my own analysis compared to theirs was incredibly validating. I've had people say I'm good at writing and while I kind of believed it, it was hard to know what parts of my writing style worked. I was surprised that my dialog was highlighted. It's never something I considered. I'd focused on knowing my characters and knowing their voices. Accents and dictation were very deliberate, informed by their backstories. But I never explicitly thought about the dialog as a tool for conveying information the way I do with description. Knowing this, I now have some direction on where to grow.
+* Overall, the workshop was great. I got to experience a style of critique and writing teamwork that I've never experienced before. I loved how the structure meant that everyone was on the same level, and we were all accountable for our own input but it wasn't onerous.
+* I think it well!
+
+#### Thoughts on the time leading up to the workshop?
+
+* Maddy did a great job keeping us informed with what was going to happen over the workshop, so there weren't any surprises. We all knew that we were expected to produce at least one new text, and that we would be critiquing several texts including each others work. Maddy did an excellent job in adjusting the structure of the workshop to meet our needs; she was flexible with the arrangement when it became clear that the initial Friday session wasn't going to be achievable, especially as one of the attendees lived overseas (sorry!). The use of a recorded video instead of the Friday session was an excellent idea and served as a good introduction to the workshop.
+* I wasn't sure what to expect. It would have been helpful to have a better introduction. I didn't know what kind of analysis was required and as a result, I ended up having to redo my analysis twice on all three stories. The video you made for us on Friday helped a lot. Having a few days to think about the workshop and stories before diving in was good.
+* I was definitely anxious! I have no problem GIVING critiques but it is very hard to RECIEVE critique, which is something I'm actively working on to do better.
+
+#### Thoughts on the Saturday session?
+
+* Maddy really helped us ease into the workshop by speaking about a text that she had provided, setting up expectations and not putting anyone on the spot of being 'first'. This probably helped us to loosen up and get into the swing of talking about each others submitted texts. If this session could be improved, simply an extra thirty minutes would have been great. This would have let us talk about the four texts without having to rush too much.
+* The format worked amazingly well. Having only one person talking at a time, while keeping that time short helped me listen instead of thinking about how I would reply to the discussion. Two minutes is enough time to hit the highlights without overwhelming anyone. Personally, that's something I would want to see used again, even for a longer workshop. After everyone has said their piece, a longer discussion would be excellent.
+* It would have been nicer if there was more time for people to get feedback on their own pieces.
+
+#### Thoughts on the Sunday session?
+
+* Sixty minutes was perfect as we only had the three texts to discuss. I was apprehensive about writing a short story in only 24 hours, because I am usually an incredibly slow writer. However, I think the Saturday session got the creative juices flowing because I really surprised myself by slamming out 1000 words in just a few hours. Critiquing these stories was a very interesting experience, for me because there was less at stake, if that makes sense? I knew and the other attendees knew that these were quickly produced texts and so there wasn't as much concern about the quality for me. I was a bit scared that people would not like the text that I had submitted prior to the workshop, which was actually a highly edited text, but there wasn't any apprehension about the short stories produced for Sunday. It was quite freeing, honestly, to have a text of mine under scrutiny and not really be bothered that much about if it worked or not.
+* The feedback on the writing assignment was a great contrast to our writing samples. Having a more freeform discussion at the end resulted in some interruptions eating time. To me, that validated the effectiveness of using the one person at a time format for the critique. It would have been nice to get to know people better. :)
+* I know you mentioned there was originally 3 sections, so having the third section going over the writing excercise after it was edited from the first day's feedback would have been cool to see how people use that changes and get info on how best to do that.
+
+## Takeaways
+
+This was an incredibly fun project from start to finish, and I had a really fun time working with some great (and very respectful!) authors. With their insights, I think they were all able to take something away for each of their stories that they could use moving forward. There are some things that I would change, such as adding some clarity before the workshop starts and also spending a bit more time on introducing the concepts of critique during the first session. While this had been on the schedule for the first session that wound up getting canceled, the participants did mention meeting over video chat beforehand, and we never wound up doing so. I'll be hosting an in-person workshop in January using a similar structure, and I'll be using a lot of the lessons that I learned from this in order to make that one all the better.

writing/workshop-packet/packet-2.md

@@ -0,0 +1,104 @@
+%title Further Confusion Writing Workshop 2023
+
+## Workshop notes
+
+### Friday --- Critical reading
+
+* Intro
+    * Intro self (incl. "this is for MFA" spiel)
+    * Allow others to intro
+* Ice breaker: what is your least favorite part of your favorite movie?
+* Lead into what is a text
+    * Books/writing, sure, but also anything that tells a story --- film, games, etc
+    * Thus, what is critical reading?
+* Intentional engagement with a text, especially with regards to the self
+    * Back to ice breaker: how do you intentionally engage with your favorite film?
+    * How do we intentionally engage with a text in furry?
+        * What do we like in a furry text? What don't we like?
+        * Notably, not asking what makes a text furry, that we are furries is what enables us to read into that context
+        * Thus, how do we engage with a text that *we* feel is furry *as* furries?
+* What goes into critical reading?
+    * Layers:
+        * Mechanical: presentation, word choice, language usage, writing style
+        * Subjective: emotional impact, plot effectiveness, evocative descriptions
+* Reading exercise:
+    * Pick one of these two categories to pay attention to first and read, then read for the second
+    * Critique tomorrow, but preview: we're not tearing a text apart, we're asking it questions:
+        * How did we feel the plot worked? Was there a structure? Could we follow it?
+        * What was told? What was left out? How did (not) knowing make us feel?
+        * What type of language usage was there? Word choice? Style?
+        * How about emotional impact? Was the story impactful? Did the mechanics help or hinder us?
+        * Was it evocative? Was it furry? Did that work?
+    * Be ready to summarize
+    * 10 mins to read
+    * ~~~
+    * Have someone summarize
+    * Talk through the mechanical and subjective layers, drilling down into specifics
+    * Talk through how the exercise felt
+        * was it useful? Tiring? Enjoyable?
+* Tomorrow, we'll go through critiquing writing and actually workshop a piece --- one of mine that has already been workshopped and published, so just an example of critiquing for a present author.
+* Optional homework:
+    * Write a short ~500 word snippet (or pick one already written) to go through a gentle workshop, think about what we talked through today while writing
+    * Email it to me and I'll put it online for all to read in the workshop
+    * Will be asking how it felt etc
+
+### Saturday --- Critiquing in workshop
+
+* What is workshopping?
+    * More important, what is it *not?*
+        * Tearing apart a story
+        * Tearing down the author (Maslanka story)
+        * Editing a piece
+    * Talk about your engagement with the piece --- remember list of questions from yesterday
+    * Author:
+        * Listen to feedback and take in the ways your work affected others
+        * Will talk about writing for workshops tomorrow
+* Types of workshops and such
+    * Silent author
+        * How that works
+        * Why --- active listening, no shaping responses
+    * Participatory discussion
+        * Better for pieces earlier in process
+        * Feedback as to where to take it
+    * The role of the facilitator
+        * Prevent stalling
+        * Keep on track
+        * Pay attention to mood, etc
+* Tone
+    * Talk to the piece, not the author --- some don't even use the author's name, pretend they aren't there (not particularly a fan, but also stay away from addressing comments to 'you')
+    * Talk about yourself, your responses, your questions
+    * Changing language
+        * Stay away from generating shared values/taste
+        * Imagine and invite change
+        * We don't want to over-reward author because then it becomes less about creativity and more about writing for success
+* Sample workshop:
+    * <https://makyo.ink/jump>
+    * 10 mins to read
+    * Workshop discussion with silent author, then bring author in
+    * Discuss how it felt
+* Tomorrow: writing to receive critique/actually receiving critique
+
+### Sunday --- Writing to expect critique
+
+* <https://makyo.io/fcww23s>
+* Writing and vulnerability
+    * Vulnerability in creation
+    * The terrifying ordeal of being seen
+    * How to manage having one's vulnerability openly addressed
+* A lot is on the facilitator
+    * Ensuring discussion stays on the work
+    * Ensuring *uncomfortable* silence is filled
+        * How silence feels
+        * How to fill silence if it happens (ask questions)
+* Engaging with responses as author
+    * Always good to thank, but overdoing can weaken your position in your own eyes
+    * Maintain authorial vision ---- everything you get (even negative) is encouragement and opportunity to change, but not a demand
+    * Friction and vulnerability:
+        * Maintain openness (even physical --- half smile, willing hands)
+        * Maintain distance
+        * Feel free to maintain boundaries, facilitator is there to help, can guide/move on from topic
+* Take notes! Can be overwhelming, so read through and think before blithely implementing
+* Workshops:
+    * One person summarize and lead in with discussion
+    * Try one response at a time vs open discussion
+* Reflect on how that felt

writing/workshop-packet/syllabus.md

@@ -0,0 +1,26 @@
+%title Course syllabus
+
+During this course, you will be reading one story provided by the instructor and one story from each participant prior to beginning the workshop. During the workshop, the instructor and participants will provide feedback to each other on these stories in a kind and constructive setting, aiming to help the writer improve their craft.
+
+During the Friday session, participants will be given a small writing assignment of 500-1000 words based on a generic prompt. This story will be due at 5PM on Saturday to give the participants the chance to read each other's stories in order to offer feedback on them during the Sunday session. This will give everyone the chance to see what it's like to offer feedback to stories in an earlier stage of the process.
+
+* Day 1: 
+    * Introductons
+    * What is feedback?
+    * How these sessions will work
+    * Feedback session: instructor-provided story
+    * Writing assignment
+* Day 2: 
+    * Check in and re-introduce
+    * Feedback session: participant stories
+    * Retrospective
+    * Assignment due (5PM)
+* Sunday: 
+    * Check in and re-introduce
+    * Feedback session: assignment stories
+    * Retrospective
+    * Celebration :D
+
+By applying, you're committing to attending all three workshop sessions and the time required to complete the assignment. If this feels like too much to do during a con, that's totally understandable; you're still welcome to attend the panels to watch the feedback sessions!
+
+Note: Regardless of convention policy, I will require masking during the panel. You must be registered for the con to attend (ensuring vaccination status).