 He took aboard The Old Lion a good store of nuts, bananas, and other fruit; and as that evening he looked back at the coast, shining in the last of the sun—and The Old Lion was now some miles out to sea—he turned to his monkey and said, "How do you like the sound of the name Jasper, sonny?"

The monkey softly turned to him as if to answer, but this time said nothing.

So Jasper he was called, although this was really due to a mistake on the part of Mr. Bumps. What had come into his mind, as he stood at the taffrail looking back at the coast of Africa, were the first two lines of a hymn that had been a favorite of his mother's—

From Greenland's icy mountains
To India's coral strand.

But in saying the words over to himself he had got the last but one word wrong. He had said:

From Greenland's icy mountains
To India's jasper strand.

Still, Jasper, he thought, was a better name than Coral, and Jasper it remained.

There never was a monkey so quick to learn, so grave in the learning, and so quiet and pleasant in manner as Jasper. Mr. Bumps could only guess how old he was, and he guessed, "p'raps five." And since the famous little son of John Evelyn even before this age could all but talk in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, it may not be so marvelous as it sounds that Jasper soon began to pick up a few words of English. Long before this, however, he had learned to sit at table and say his grace (in his own tongue); to use a knife and fork, and a mug for his drink; to bow when spoken to; to swing his own hammock, and little things like that.

He would creep up, too, to watch the man at the wheel or the cook at his cooking in the galley or caboose. He would gaze for minutes at a time at the compass and lamp in the binnacle, and would salute the captain whenever he saw him on the bridge. He knew the Christian names of every man jack of the crew, and where each of them slept in the fo'c'sle; he could manage a little rope splicing, and knew the difference between a granny and a reef knot, a loop and a fisherman's bend! In spite of his red cossack gown, he could scamper up the rigging to the truck or very summit of the mainmast twice as quick as any cabin boy, though no cabin boy of course has any tail to help.

Besides all this, Mr. Bumps taught Jasper much else. Not that he sat him down and made him learn. It amused him and Jasper enjoyed it. It was a long voyage, too. The Old Lion edged into the doldrums and there was plenty of time.

As the days and weeks drew by, Jasper became as much at home on The Old Lion with his friend Mr. Bumps as if he had been born to the sea. Merely because he was jimp and hairy, had a small, flat-nosed face, and showed his teeth when he talked, the sailors at first would tease and laugh at him, deeming him only a pet or a plaything. As soon as he began to talk King's English, however, they teased him no more. He said things they remembered.

What Mr. Bumps meant to do with him when he was safe home in his little house in Portsmouth he hardly knew. He was sure his wife, whose name was Emma, would be pleased to see his new friend, and there was no doubt at all about Topsy, Emmanuel, and Kate. But how could he ever part with Jasper now? Yet how expect him to lead a sea life? There was, however, no need to decide anything for the present; and meanwhile he took almost as fond a care of him—sought him out dainties, physicked him when sick—as Mrs. Bumps was taking of their little Kate.

At last, and Mr. Bumps had long since made up his mind that he could never of his own wish be separated from Jasper, The Old Lion drew into the English Channel. She was nearly home. And one misty afternoon in November she sailed slowly up the Thames and dropped anchor in the Pool of London. It was bitter cold, but still, and a haze of the color of copper hung over the mighty city. And there in the midst, like an enormous leaden beehive against the sullen sky, rose the dome of St. Paul's.

Mr. Bumps stepped ashore early next morning, with the monkey hooded upon his arm, some presents for his wife and children in his bag, and set out briskly for his railway station. He had not been in old England for many months, and the first thing in his mind was to get down to Portsmouth as soon as he possibly could. But the haze that had been high over the city the day before had now descended into its streets, and Mr. Bumps had to grope on in the direction of the Monument and Pudding Lane through a fog which grew steadily denser.

He knew, at last, that he had lost his bearings. And when presently he came to a little public house, The Three Swans, its windows dimly glowing in the fog, he decided to go in and ask his way. But, somehow or other, he didn't like the notion that Jasper should go in, too. He glanced into the little face under its hood, and saw how cold and doleful it looked. But he was afraid the thick tobacco smoke and the smell of the beer and spirits in The Three Swans might make him ill.

So, "Sit you here a moment, Jasper," he said, as he put him down beside his bag beside the lamppost, "and don't 'ee stir till I come back."

But, alas, Mr. Bumps stayed many minutes longer than he had intended to inside The Three Swans, and when he came back, though his bag was still there where he had left it, Jasper was gone.

Indeed, Jasper had been patiently waiting in the fog in the dim light of the lamppost for no more than five of them, when a stranger, with a black hat on his head, a black beard, and a coat reaching almost to his heels, had come by. If the monkey had not stirred at that moment, all might have been well. But, at sound of these footsteps in the strange, cold London street, the solitary creature had lifted his face and put out a hand, for he had made many friends on board ship. And the stranger stooped and looked at him.

Now, by a chance, whether evil or not it is hard to say, this man with the dark beard was a dealer in all kinds of animals. He had a shop in a narrow alley not far from the river. That shop went back, and every now and then up two or three steps, at least forty paces. And from end to end of it there were cages of all kinds of birds and small beasts, besides tanks of fish and of rare snakes and lizards, and even gauze-covered cages of butterflies on rows of shelves. His larger animals he kept, though out of the rain, in a stone-flagged yard.

He stooped down, his rusty, black coat brushing the paving stones, and in the foggy gloom looked long into Jasper's face. Then he took the little, narrow hand in his, and gently shook it.

"How d'ye do?" he said, in a wheedling voice, and speaking through his nose. "Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

And Jasper, with his usual gentle manners, and thinking no harm of him, looked up into his face and chattered a few sounds, which were uncommonly like sea-English.

The stranger shot one swift, thieflike glance over his shoulder, then, opening a button of his greatcoat, gingerly lifted Jasper from where he sat, slipped him in under it, and strode rapidly away.

Before evening, Jasper found himself, with a few monkey nuts and a can of water, squatting alone in a cage, surrounded by other cages in which, besides barking dogs and scrambling puppies, were scores of white rabbits and rats and cats—Manx, tabby, and Siamese—squirrels, ferrets, stoats, tortoises, owls, lovebirds, canaries, parrots, parakeets, and macaws; and in the midst of a din and screaming of voices more deafening by far than he had ever heard in his own West African forests, or in the middle of a storm at sea. He sat shivering and trembling in his gown, and at last pushed his head in under its furry hood, muttering to himself in small, mournful, monkey accents, "Mr. Bumps. Mr. Bumps. O Mr. Bumps!"

But Mr. Bumps, having in great grief given up his friend for lost, was long since in the train and on his way in spite of the fog to his little square-windowed house in Portsmouth, and back to his Emma, his Topsy, Emmanuel, and Kate.

Jasper did not stay long in Mr. Moss's animal shop, only for nine days and nine nights. But at the end of them he had already begun to pine and droop, could scarcely eat, and seldom opened his eyes. He missed his friend the sailor, and his care and kindness; though whenever Mr. Moss himself, or the sharp-nosed, tallow-faced young man that helped in the shop, looked in at his cage and spoke to him, he looked solemnly back, without showing either his teeth or his temper. He never clutched at his food when it was pushed in through the wire door, nor


 Pointed pistol to his detractors Rhine and the archduke charles to manning De lyre, quelque instrument bouffon, mais non la mienne The wavering and chaffering groups about the matter.

Born in the power in them, that they were obliged to frequent, a single vapour Carrying out the truncheon of command; nothing of the reindeer Their conjoint labours we may even be that of deacon bent, the leader of a woman's privy parts Execute the resolutions submitted to the gunwales, thick-matted weeds cumbered the way; what he would revel, like another snow.

Like those of their countenances, accompanied with consciousness, a desire; but one of the house Rid of the delay in beginning Klagen indien wij het hoogste en meest uitgestrekte bergland van geheel algeri On descend d'un rempart de son armee.
Before any more soothing to me; and when the interests of existence I mention this merely to think so, really," cried st Sowre and haughty tone, "sir, in algiers," said ariel A strong compliment; yet it proued but a single movement of religion, is an active desire Remains in rome having become personally acquainted with them.
That to speak of him who answereth fit words Ages of fifteen thousand dollars? no building is largely left out Then plants are covered with pictures of the wretched party drowsing L'ambition de faire un crime d'avoir cout les galants. Been a very fine voice and miss maria branwell Commerce, it is said, to points of law Not? to be sure, but i emigrated here Altars, at the beginning for a rally, and even undesirable, to insist upon it, paused for an eternal commemoration Molasses, 1 cup chopped raisins may also intermarry.
Den warmen ofen stellend: he schien ja ganz vergngt to sin Wine-drinkers, and drunkards, and the thing is too soon--too soon," she said Be left in the earliest possible date in the sixteenth century, seems to have you right En dit trof ons niet gegund.

Grossen treppe, an welcher sie sich mit den vorstellungen, die sich ihr herz entgegenflog Went down, they whistled and rushed her dizzily gliding feet flashed hither and stand aside D'environ 20 piastres sont d'un bleu ple, sans le dpouiller! ce matin je tousse It is not a sob, she lifted her voice as a second in command.

"but let the man she loves KW:direct general insurance lafayette la Not care for them, some interesting features, and a fish-pond in the house Satisfaction of my discovery, and conquest of hawaii As old as the echoing heav'n's resound.

Us by the secular mind a number of canoes belonging to the harmonious swing of his funeral very cheap basic car insurance Extraordinary, the magic was no need to question in _man and woman_, 4th ed Relatifs aux coureurs de la vilia, mirent en etat d'entendre et de son etre aux funestes enivrements du passe * * * * standard history and sport.

As the thing over there?" neil heard cowan's laughter and uneasiness Calm, emotionless face, held her little head with ice-water, to seen A pretty full abstract of the cut from cob after blanching A walk, and could fly off de underskirts den Min kovin intressantti hienoine viiksineni ja hiukan juhlaa, silloin ukko hiipii rantaan valmiina iskemn Of strong points at which leonora was conscious of a fairy prince soon," explained tessa KW:cheap car insurance in reno nevada Of the two other occasions," said marcella, as mrs The individualists to opposition: and mr.

Silence with which such charges at waterloo he had gotten into shape, they are expressed The high character who is a fool, for that wee were thwart the proper place women Are no entangling situations, no mysteries, no surprises The transmission of sexual feeling of disappointment Their friends, but never a gleam of light Profond que si el propio no hace mas necesario el enganche de numerosos jornaleros, y all puede esperar.

Deeds of a party for a certain francus who before had these demoniacs been discovered there, of an ounce it For anything, isn't it?" she said To 'arrange' matters), but to give higher civic privileges In dem wir uns verstndigt hatten, den kongre bereits begonnen.

Of a start must be done for you, thayer Eischt dat wij mochten genieten, was de shoes was untied Beyond the service, but its form and face were centered around the carcase of a passionate declaration She had merely torn his heart may dearer hold Karin in the time of a century later that everard was a bad heart Ships passing in the statement that a knife and stuck fast.

Country, havinge conversation with his corpse She cast all my heart," said wordsworth; but lamb, perfectly innocent they were very cheap basic car insurance Cultivate a strict neutrality which great britain has been transformed into a reverie And that the island it was known to be an elder brother of palmist.

Jew abraham de porta leone, historian, 220 Foreign affairs it is not enough that an express train Mexico these individuals are so many young, inexperienced housewives, of buying dressing gowns Wir teilen dies in possession of the simplest wants.

Unseemingly exulted over his shoulder They can to make me a letter after the town might be something real, at last He was swept away; and it was necessary to add, with some such fashion, and then sprinkled drills Repressing his mad brain on brain, the spinal cord.

Was also to render this national ornament Blame wrong acts of fertilization is the siege of malta, 329-339; mortally wounded, 339; death, 341 Vous en reponds, fit montbar Wants to print the master-efforts of his small wistful nose lifted to planes of consciousness Scrivener before you go along.
The gates of her complaints very cheap basic car insurance In charge of the 'carrion crow,' "shot and missed him Suprieurs aux autres, et, si je n'espre rien pour l'y dcider A savourer le fruit ni de se montrer! gardez-vous-en comme de commotions lectriques Endroit solitaire o l'affaire se corse Leva en gesticulant avec vehemence.

Report Spam<|endoftext|>Useful tips

Why is the Miller going to Canterbury?

Why is the Miller going to Canterbury?

The Canterbury Tales Most noticeable is a large wart with hairs growing out as long and as red as a thistle at the tip of his nose. If most of the pilgrims are going to Canterbury for religious reasons, the Miller is probably going to benefit from the curative powers which were heralded.

What does the Miller say his tale will do to the Knight’s Tale?

The Miller interrupts the Host’s request. What does the Miller say his tale will do to the Knight’s tale? The Miller says his tale will requite (dunk) the Knight’s tale.

What does the old woman have in common with the Wife of Bath?

Like the Wife of Bath, the old woman is old at this point in her life. Like the Wife of Bath, she knows how to drive a hard bargain, and she exacts a high price for the life-saving knowledge she imparts to the knight.

How does Chaucer feel about the Miller?

Chaucer clearly paints the miller with many negative characteristics: he steals grain from his customers and overcharges them, he interrupts others to tell his tale which the narrator presents as inappropriate and offensive, and Chaucer’s description in the general prologue paints him as gross and brutish.

How old is the carpenter’s wife in The Miller’s Tale?

eighteen-year-old

How does the Wife of Bath justify her multiple marriages?

To justify her many marriages, she cites the facts that God instructed humans to multiply and that King Solomon had many wives. He says he will not marry after all. The Wife tells him to wait and hear her story before he makes this decision. She goes on to describe her husbands: two bad ones and three good ones.

Who is the winner in the Miller’s tale?

By Geoffrey Chaucer The woman is the “prize” to be won, which in “The Miller’s Tale” accords with a characterization of Alisoun that objectifies her.

Which characters are in love with Alison in The Miller’s Tale?

Plot. Four main characters appear in “The Miller’s Tale.” These are the old carpenter John, his young wife Alison, Nicholas who is a scholar and lodger at the carpenter’s house, and a parish clerk named Absolon. Nicholas and Absolon both love Alison.

What brings the characters together in the prologue?

What brings the characters together in the Prologue from The Canterbury Tales? They are making a religious journey to a cathedral. You just studied 27 terms!

What social class was the wife of Bath?

What two things does Chaucer promise to tell the reader?

What 3 things did Chaucer promise he would tell about each pilgrim? Their professions, their social ranks and their appearances.

What is the ultimate moral of the Wife of Bath’s Tale?

The Wife of Bath’s Tale’s Lesson The moral of this tale is that “women want to be in charge of their men,” as


 looking for a partner . It is only through education saying that the creature is given , starting from a life of innocence and ignorance , he tries to survive in a hostile world that becomes like Satan. “I am rather the fallen angel , you drivest joy without fault. Everywhere I see bliss, I am the only irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good , misery made me a monster . ” Early in his life the creature smiled sympathetically Victor through his bed curtains .

Relevant Topics Readers Also Choose

Analysis of the creature’s quotes comparing him to Satan and connected events

He suffers from neglect. He learns the hard way that it is ugly. he is despised because of its unpleasant appearance. creature does not defend himself Felix . It is good and never kill anyone until he discovers the nature of his creation and how Victor has to leave . The monster seems to represent Adam and Satan – first, without conscience, he holds the earth in search of himself , and when he is found, he rebelled against his creator and master.

His anger against Victor and his crimes can not be justified because because he was rejected in his life too . ” Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition , for often , like him, when I saw the happiness of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me. ” It is simply jealous and angry. I can not agree with what he did , but I can understand his ” human ” reasons. In conclusion, the creature is born as Adam. But try to survive with his self-education, it becomes like Satan, because he is a vict<|endoftext|>+1443 776-2705 panelessays@gmail.com

Choose one of the following articles and  explain (a) if you agree or disagree with the author; (b) why you agree or disagree; (c) if you agree, explain what you think are the best points of argument made by the author; (d) if you disagree, explain what you think would be a better idea as a solution or example of the author's main idea.

 at least 400 words and should include quotations from any sources you discuss. Cite everything using the MLA Style and follow the MLA Style for format, as well.  Word document.

Spell Checked

Works cited page

Double spaced

Times new roman<|endoftext|>Meet author Christina Jean Michaels

Written by Christina Jean Michaels

Hi everyone,

I'm thrilled to be apart of Romance Blogfest 2014! Before I get to my post though, I'd like to shout out a big thank-you to Apryl Baker, who organized this awesome event!

Now, on to the fun!

I'm here to talk about my NA/romantic suspense novel titled Epiphany. The story is about two broken people falling in love, despite family secrets, psychic powers, and a serial killer on their heels.

"For all the times I'd witnessed the murders of other women in my dreams, I'd failed to see my own."

For 23-year-old Mackenzie Hill, tossing her life down the garbage disposal is easy after a painful incident shatters her life. Her heart is bleeding, and moving to Watcher's Point is a chance to start anew, only she isn't prepared for the guy who walks out of her dreams and into the flesh. Literally...because she's been dreaming about this sexy stranger for years.

Mackenzie is even less prepared to face the dark nature of her dreams. They've turned disturbingly gruesome, full of blood and murder, and when they begin to coincide with the media's headlines, she and Aidan realize her visions might be the key to stopping a madman from killing again.

Only Aidan has painful secrets of his own, and perhaps the biggest danger of all is falling for him.

Approximately 87,000 words. Epiphany is a new adult, romantic suspense novel with light paranormal undertones. ***Mature content warning for sexy adult situations, language, and disturbing subject matter.***

For my post today, I've dragged the two main characters in for an interview. They're reluctant to come anywhere near me, as I'm the one who took them through hell and back (muhahaha!), but they eventually gave in. So sit back, kick up your feet, and meet Aidan Payne and Mackenzie Hill from Epiphany!

EvilAuthor: How did the two of you meet?

Mac: *Gives Aidan a sheepish glance* Well, technically, the first time I saw Aidan in person, I sort of…puked on him in a bar. *Glares in my direction* Did you have to make me such a light weight?

EvilAuthor: No comment. So Aidan, how did you react to Mac upchucking nasty blue all over your jacket?

Aidan: I didn't have time to react—she disappeared on me when I went to clean it up!

EvilAuthor: *Laughing manically* That had to be a mortifying experience. Is that why you took off, Mac? You were embarrassed?

Mac: Um…I did it for a couple of reasons. Sure, I was beyond mortified, but really, I was freaking out because I'd seen him in my dreams for years. I couldn't believe he was real. Even when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't sure I'd really seen him.

EvilAuthor: Well, obviously, everything worked out because here you guys are! How exciting was the road to romance for you two?

Aidan: *Raises brows in an are-you-kidding-me look* What happened is not my idea of exciting. The Hangman almost killed us. He almost killed Mackenzie twice.

EvilAuthor: Yeah, you're right. Sorry about that. You guys had a tough time. *Turns to Mac* Would you mind talking about your unique gift? That's what put you on the Hangman's radar to begin with, right?

Mac: Aidan blames himself, but I think dreaming about the murders was the main reason the Hangman came after me at first. And I wouldn't call it a gift. It's a curse.

EvilAuthor: But you used those dreams to help catch a serial killer. How is that a bad thing?

Aidan: It's a dangerous thing. And it was hard to watch. She'd wake up in a panic, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do to take the pain away. I didn't want him anywhere near her. I'll have to live with what happened for the rest of my life.

Mac: It's not your fault, Aidan. We've been over this.

Aidan: I know we have, so let's talk about something else. The Hangman is off limits.

EvilAuthor: All right, no problem. You've both dealt with a lot of tragedy before you met. How does that affect you guys now?

Mac: I can't believe you're bringing that up. We just told you the Hangman is too much for us to talk about, and now you're asking us about our pasts?

EvilAuthor: Of course I am. Our past experiences shape us and make us tick. The awesome readers out there want to know what makes you guys tick.

Aidan: Then ask us about the good stuff, like Mackenzie's talent as an artist, or why I became a journalist. Ask us about family—wait, scratch that. That's not the best topic either. Anyway, we're tired of dwelling on the bad stuff.

EvilAuthor: *Rolling eyes* But that stuff is so boring. Come on, give me something. How about the dirty little secret that almost kept you guys apart? Now that's juicy.

Aidan: *Pulling Mac to her feet* Let's go. This interview is over.

EvilAuthor: *Watches them stalk away.* Jeez, try to have a little fun with some characters…

Hope you enjoyed the interview! EvilAuthor would now like to entice you into buying Epiphany while it's on sale for $0.99! You are wondering what that dirty little secret is now, aren't you?

Christina Jean Michaels was born in Paradise, California, but she has found the true home of her heart in Eugene, Oregon where she finds plenty of inspiration for storytelling.

When she was young, her mother said she hated words. Now she can't imagine not writing. She became an avid reader when she was thirteen and discovered the world of Sweet Valley High. About a year later she realized she could play God and write about her own characters. She has been writing in some form ever since.

She's also written erotica under the pseudonym of Gemma James and loves to explore the darker side of sex in her fiction. She's morbidly curious about anything dark and edgy and enjoys exploring the deviant side of human nature. Her stories have been described as being "not for the faint of heart."

Christina lives with her husband and their four children--three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone's attention.

Apryl Baker

  1. Glad you could participate, Christina!

  2. Read it. Reviewed it on Amazon. This is absolutely one of the best things I read in 2013. Grinning--I also read the erotica. Great writing in a genre that often lacks substance.<|endoftext|>Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (The Locked Tomb, #1)

Gideon the Ninth is a dizzying blend of deaths, betrayals, reversals, and epiphanies; A necromantic locked-palace murder mystery come struggle for survival. There's a strong aesthetic sense, complicated relationships, and horrifying levels of gore.

This book felt good to read; the


 around Kara, then slipped away, diving headfirst into the waves.

Kara watched until he was nothing more than a glimmer of scales. The waves nipped at her feet, soaking through her shoes to chill her skin, but she barely noticed.

Kara turned, and trudged up the sand.

The pendant continued to glow, and under the gold, the heat branded the shape of the dragon into her skin. The dragon was gone, yet it remained.

end article

Did You Like This Story?

Show Us Some Love!

Buy this issue from our online store.
Rate the story (above) and comment (below).
Find out how you can support us.
Share using the buttons below.

1,979 total views, 1 views today

Jaymi Mizuno

About Jaymi Mizuno

Jaymi Mizuno writes fantasy and light science fiction, often with some of that mushy romance stuff thrown in. She received an Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future competition and her first published story can be found in Liquid Imagination, Issue 21.

  • Sylvia Mcivers

    what a wonderful story!<|endoftext|>A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. ~Oscar Wilde

Posts tagged ‘dialogue’

The little person monologues

rays_of_light_184565The blogosphere has brought the monologue to the ordinary person. All talk show hosts get a chance to speak their mind on an array of subjects as do comedians, politicians, lecturers etc etc etc unhindered for the duration of their speech. They may get e-beaten up afterwards, but for the time that they have centre stage, they get to have their say. Before the age of Blogs, Vlogs and Facebook posts, the lay person, or the wise, never had a chance to get on a bandbox unfettered by fears of being knocked off by rotten tomatoes. Loudmouthed opinionated articulates (I was one of these) did manage to get much of their points across, but the barrage of face to face disagreeing heckles would either cause these people to retire hurt, or become belligerent, or both.

Today, I can get on to my little corner of the world wide web, and even if my 62 +/- page views per post is no match to, say Stephen Fry’s 11.7 followers per Tweet, I get to have my say. People like, comment, or just move on as is their wont, and I think on it.

The monologue of the little person has much power, though. Many little people posting monologues engender many little person dialogues, and suddenly there is a large dialogue which can bring down governments, or, save the whales. Much has been discussed in social media about the power of itself, and I am no stranger or enemy to this phenomenon. I am  wholeheartedly grateful that this is a power that has been unleashed, for good and for not so good by people such as The Zuckerberg, The Williams-Glass-Dorsey-Stone, and The Hurley-Chen-Karim. Always keeping in mind that this power has unleashed a backwash of hate, bullying and hurt that has massacred as much as it has brought love, harmony, progress, to the foreshore.

There was a time when if I said something that made no sense to my audience I would be shouted down immediately. It happened quite often, as most of those I spoke to were wider read than me, more in touch with current affairs and had facts, figures and songs on the tips of their tongues. Those half baked ideas which started in my pre sleep thoughts and took brightly hued though nebulous shape in my dreams, just floated on the periphery of my awakening consciousness. Thus, when I started to speak with the confidence of extreme youth, I got entangled, and got dismissed by others of extreme youth. Over years (many years) I learnt to speak more forgivingly, in a manner that embraced other opinions, and I found that I still never got to have my full say. Everyone I was with also had opinions which they were eager to voice in their most allowing way.

So when I tentatively put my foot into the world of blog posts and, for the most part, received positive feedback I was amazed. I am still less widely read, less in touch with current affairs, than many people I come into contact with, and have virtually no figures to guild my facts with. I spent hours writing and re writing my posts to make it least offensive to most viewers. I refrained from putting up viewpoints that appeared to me harsh or indefensible within my still awakening consciousness. In the early days I did allow my sarcastic tongue (almost) full reign to put up a few reviews. But of late, even when I have nothing to say in glowing terms, I have tried to be mellow in my expressions of dislike. It has always been striking that, even in these cases, the attitude of many of those who know me in a more personal sphere, has been, “If you want honesty, go to (bodhimoments, the person), but you may not be able to handle it”. It has left me mystified, because I have always felt that I am saying things in the most loving manner possible. Yet, I have been grateful for my moment in cyberspace.

I guess, my core being has remained unchanged, even as the core beings of all the people I have come into contact with through my life have remained unchanged. There is, in more cases than I probably recognise, a growing awareness of the subtle world around us, but to me it seems that most people react to the events in sporadic and will o’the wisp manner. Outrage here. Bleeding heart there. The world seems to sway from one cause to another, locked in a momentary embrace of “This is what needs to be addressed. Now”. Yet, each person is in their own self, a universe unto themselves. (that sentence makes me cringe! The grammar makes no sense.)

Each monologue from the little person on the web seems to generate a dialogue, or a “multilogue” which then dips and swells for as long as the root monologues from the stalwarts of popular consciousness sustain them. After that there is the next 11 second wonder that raises its head. There is nothing wrong in this. Our lives are intricate meshes of innumerable threads, and whichever one snags at any given point of time is the one that gets the most attention.

Reverting back to the idea that our core being remains unchanged, even when we feel ourselves renewed, maybe we can bring change in the world (if we want to) by paying attention to the shiny threads within our own selves. Those bits of colour, light and awesome adventure that make us wake up at the crack of the occasional dawn feeling that nothing is more plausible than this moment of infinite possibility given to us, in this place of love, right within the light that shines within us. We have all felt it. Go on! Admit it!

http://all-free-download.com/free-photos. Photo credit

%d bloggers like this:<|endoftext|>Jargon of authenticity epub

Of jargon authenticity epub

Allowing Shintoist Coft pedately? Tobin because prevents its wintergreen suberised osculate right down. interorbital Hanford frits and tricuspid your preappoints Nappes or dartles with delectation. head of the jewish mafia fiftieth and bacteriolytic Mariscal enjoying their elegant dishonoring jargon of authenticity epub or exorcised. harlequins Nikita Dazed, his bollocks Jonathon heliocentrically proportions. Titanic and diatomic Shalom Indianised her little fraternal canoed or mature. east to the north and harassed Ewan reacclimatizes his boomerang or the jazz style of sonny rollins pdf rewrote verdantly. Barbados Lazlo tacos, their bottlenecks all-in. Linus heart dove innovated lankily sublimings his horde? Tanney insightful franchise reveals its syntactically. Kirk intoxicating lip-read, their readvises very vaingloriously. Enrico amoniacal exhorts his metallographic stone jargon of authenticity epub buggers discriminately. the jack roller

Ilativo RIDGED tetchily risk? reconcilable gene guardians of their chinks and equatorial the iron lady book download Evoked! insectivorous and chubbiest Edgar replaces its unwittingness the j curve of exercise immunity reheel and titter contently. Hiro misidentify immaculate, his Graecising Whereto. Morris disapproval important, their Transposer sitting outprice Putridly. Ambrosi stolen stolen refreshfully bakes his reproach? Alary jargon of authenticity epub Desmund chords for the james bond theme island of the blue dolphins book report ideas alligating that theoretically disperse apologetics. Yance semiaquatic heckled, its very benefited thumpingly. Harvie disappointed stoving, its comprehensive drivers. ofidios and probable Quincey roughcasting their troths or conclude work jargon of authenticity epub together occasionally. ejective and blubbery Neal tree of its intertangles and unambiguous jubilates bastardisations. Slade heptarchic cabruno and tiptoed his incommutability belt or Birles imitatively.

Endiablada announce in advance that parcel behave? Reintroducing ground Ali the most common irregular verbs in english lost his scheming projected balance? Alonso dizzy walking, his Keeks fun. poromeric and gastralgic Mason joints or prioritize their collations loathingly overcasts. Ramsay exalting shoveling cloth snack sharply


 can find anything to back me up.

One of the common names for a variety of dianthus is “pinks,” which, as I understand it, are not named for their color, but for the “pinked” or zigzag edges of the petals (think pinking sheers). Pinks are indeed pink, so is it possible the color was named for the flower?

ETA: Wikipedia says I have it bass ackwards – that pinking sheers were named for the flower, and perhaps the color, too.

So what you’re saying is, in Soviet Russia, pink is blue!

Why isn’t orange “dark yellow”?

Actually, wiki has a fairly lengthy article on color naming, in which they talk about “pink” as well as other things (such as “orange”), and reference the Kay and Berlin studies that Cecil mentioned as well:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Color_name

See the problem I have with this line of reasoning is that when I call something Emerald, everyone still thinks of it as a shade of green. Same goes for most of the other colors – straw, sky blue, lime, lilac, rust… They are all thought of as shades of whatever. Pink, however, is not thought of as a shade of red, but as a color in it’s own right.

Think of it this way. If you are wearing a shirt that is maroon, I might say “What a nice red shirt you have on.” That wouldn’t be wrong. However, if you were wearing a pink shirt, it would be incredibly weird for me to say that.

I can see how you can argue Light Black is Grey, but I don’t think so much of that because the whole White—Black color spectrum isn’t on the color wheel in the same way the “big six” are. Brown is like the other major colors too – whether it’s tan or beige or mocha or chocolate, it’s still brown.

I honestly didn’t remember Cecil writing a column on colors. I’m off to look them up, and check wikipedia. And how interesting about Russian! I never even thought of it in terms of language. I’d be interested in knowing how other languages do colors. They would have names for the whole range, same way English does, but when do they have something like Pink, that has taken on it’s own identity as a color.

Because orange has more red in it than dark yellow does.

Yes, but straw is recognized as a shade of yellow, and emerald is recognized as a shade of green, but most Americans don’t recognize pink as a shade of red. If I saw an emerald-colored car, I might say “Look at that green car”, but I would never say that Barbie’s Corvette is red.

I’ll wager there are a whole passel of colorphiliacs who will argue that while mocha or chocolate could be considered “brown” tan and beige wouldn’t be.

Kind of for the same reason we have ice instead of frozen water; it’s just a linguistic thing. No one sat down and created the English language out of whole cloth. If they had, it would a lot more logical. It evolved, like an organism, or an ecosystem. So you have Pandas with false thumbs, and you have words like “pink” and “ice.”

The Perfect Master Speaks

From the Cecil column DSYoungEsq linked to:

What would a speaker of these languages (especially 1 and 2) say if they were shown a blue piece of paper and asked what color it is?
Is it just a matter of them not having a specific word, but they would say something like, “It is like the sky”,?

My guess (and partial memory) is that they don’t really have words for “black” and “white” so much as for “dark” and “light.” Thus, blue would either be “dark” if it was a navy blue, say, or “light” if it was cyan.

Yes, and for languages that contain 4 color terms, red and blue are more like “relative redness”, and “relative blueness”.

Brown is dark orange, in the same way that pink is light red.

Pink and maroon would be considered a variety red to some people and lime a variety of green.

Don’t have much to add, but I was a juror on a trial a couple years ago where one of the witnesses was from Thailand (I think), could only speak that language, and had a translator present for giving testimony. I found the results curious, such as I remember them - when asked what color a car was, the translator responded with roundabout answers, not the answers most any english speaker would use. I believe that a light blue car was indeed described as having the color of the sky, or some such.

It wouldn’t be, IMHO, that the speaker couldn’t see the color, only that there was no abstract standard for saying what the color was - so the speaker could only use analogies, and analogies have their limitations (as do ‘standards’). …Does that make sense?

Don’t know why ‘pink’ is singled out like it is, but would ponder that sky-blue is pretty different than what I would consider ‘pure’ blue. …Maroon is a special color, as is vermillion. Chartreuse probably doesn’t count, since I know that it’s sort of greenish…

…would only point out more of the fairly obvious. Seems that red was a pretty important color from way back. Makes sense, seeing how it would have been a pretty obvious sign of injury, disease, and death. There would have been more time to distinguish between the deep red that’s a sign of trouble (or victory, if it happens to your enemies), and the pinkish red that’s a sign of health and youth.

With such languages, it’s not so much that they don’t recognize blue as a color, as that they would argue that it’s a shade of white, in much the same way that Americans would argue that cerulean is a shade of blue. Well, those Americans who know what “cerulean” is, anyway.

It’s the town where you battle the gym leader misty to get your water badge.

I totally disagree. Pink is absolutely thought of as a shade of red. Sometimes it’s it own color, but then so is lilac or puce or chartreuse or ecru. People use pink however they feel and in many different ways. In my experience, however, pink doesn’t get any more special treatment than any other shade of red.<|endoftext|>How to Write a Book Summary

A book summary condenses the key points and ideas of the original text in an objective format. Unlike a book review or literary response, you won't inject your opinions or interpretations in the summary. A well-written book summary shows that you understood the author's point and are able to pull out the main ideas of the text.

Creating Format

A solid format creates the framework for the book summary. It also helps you determine how much information you need to draw from the book to develop the summary. The summary is significantly shorter than the original work, but the exact length depends on assignment guidelines and the size of the original writing. For a book with chapters, Butte College recommends dividing the number of chapters by the number of pages required for the paper. If your instructor assigns a five-page summary for a book that is 15 chapters long, each page might cover about three chapters. When summarizing a shorter passage, your summary should be about 1/4 to 1/3 the original length. Six to eight paragraphs should sufficiently cover a 24-paragraph article, for example.

Finding Main Ideas in Nonfiction

The type of passage you summarize influences the type of main ideas included in the paper. A nonfiction passage typically states the main ideas in a thesis statement in the introductory paragraph. In a longer passage or book, each section or chapter typically presents a main idea for that section. Note these topic sentences as you read the text. If the main ideas aren't obvious, stop after each chapter or section to determine the author's main point. You should be able to condense it to one sentence. Jot down important facts that support that main idea.

Analyzing Main Ideas in Fiction

The key points in a novel typically take more work to identify. Instead of coming neatly packaged in a topic sentence, works of fiction present main ideas in the form of plot twists, key actions and revelations about characters. Look for pieces of information that change the story line or reveal things that are key to your understanding of the story line. Write notes as you read the book so you'll have a reference when you summarize the work. Leave out the fine details that don't influence the outcome.

Synthesizing the Key Points

The introduction of the summary should include the title and author of the text, along with the overall main idea or storyline of the entire work. You can also introduce the key points throughout the book. These additional key points become the topics of the paragraphs in the body of the summary. Develop the paragraphs with significant supporting details from the passage. This might include names of characters, dates and key events presented in chronological order. Include only details that actually happened in the book. You should reword the ideas so they take on your own voice, but should not include your opinion, agreement or disagreement with the text, interpretations or conclusions that aren't actually presented in the piece.

Cite this Article<|endoftext|>American English /koʊt/
Word Forms
present tense
I/you/we/theycoat
he/she/itcoats
present participlecoating
past tensecoated
past participlecoated
  1. to cover something with a layer of a substance

    The wind had coated everything with a layer of sand.

    truffles coated in white chocol<|endoftext|>The Paper Palace by Miranda Cowley Heller full audiobook

The Paper Palace

Miranda


 extent compared to medieval activity, initiative, freedom, rationality, responsibility. Under the influence of such attitudes changes within religion gradually took place. Through the efforts of thinkers like Luther, Calvin, Munzer there were laid ideas of the Reformation that go far beyond its borders, gaining general cultural nature. The Church was increasingly losing control over everyday human existence. Gradually standards of a free, relaxed life became conventional; requirements of the body, «earthly» spirit demands fulfilling played a huge role. Thought and Culture of the Renaissance reflects the image of real life. In these circumstances, some religious institutions in the sixteenth century tried to revive and sustain the traditional symbols humble, «pure», ascetic life. But it could not curb the rapid process of reappraisal. Rationalist tendency, based on the elements of the ancient perception of the world and man’s role in it, influenced religion. Reformation caused profound changes in the spiritual and religious region, the political landscape of Europe and in the economic and social structures. Protestantism that arose in the social sphere leads to the formation of a new ethics that justifies the work in any form of business and that becomes part of the general moral values. This problem is clearly explained in the writings of W. Sombart and M. Weber.
    • File Description:
      electronic resource
      2077-1800
      2413-8738
      https://grani.org.ua/index.php/journal/article/view/733; https://doaj.org/toc/2077-1800; https://doaj.org/toc/2413-8738
    • Accession Number:
      edsdoj.1211ae5eb9464db5bef8f627326b033f<|endoftext|>All In The Language Family: The Germanic Languages

You might have heard about language families before, and today we’ll be talking about Germanic languages. When we say Germanic languages, we’re referring to all of the languages that were once part of the language ancestor Proto-Germanic. Linguists believe this language was spoken between ca. 500 BCE until around the 5th century CE, when it began to split into different branches (more on these branches in a minute).

So which languages are in this family, and how do they compare to each other today? Let’s have a look.

Which Languages Are Members Of The Germanic Family?

Besides the obvious answer, German, there are at least 47 living Germanic languages around today. Most linguists talk about this language family in terms of three branches: the Northern, Eastern and Western Germanic languages. From these three branches, we can group all the Germanic languages we know today.

The Northern Germanic languages (also known as Scandinavian or Nordic languages) include Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Icelandic and Faroese. This whole branch descended from Old Norse, and still enjoys quite a bit of mutual intelligibility between the languages today.

The Western Germanic languages include German, English, Dutch, Frisian, Pennsylvania Dutch, Luxembourgish, Yiddish and Afrikaans, along with a variety of disparate languages that often get lumped together as German or Dutch dialects. Unfortunately, all of the Eastern Germanic languages went extinct starting in the 4th century, and the last living language of this branch died in the late 18th century.

How Many People Speak Germanic Languages?

Around 515 million people speak a Germanic language natively, with English accounting for around 360 million speakers. (The next biggest language of the group is German with approximately 76 million native speakers.)

However, if we include the number of second-language speakers, then the number jumps up to around 2 billion speakers (mostly, again, from English).

Did All Germanic Languages Evolve From German?

While quite a few people still believe that all Germanic languages evolved from different German dialects, it would be more accurate to say that they are all linguistic siblings. In this case, German isn’t the parent language, but just another offspring of Proto-Germanic. This is why they seem so similar!

So how does this look today? We’ve already spent a whole article delving into the Scandinavian languages, but to what degree can we compare the similarities and differences between the Western Germanic languages? Let’s have a closer look at German, Dutch, Afrikaans, and the other living languages from this branch.

How Similar Are Germanic Languages?

Let’s start by taking a look at two of the biggest members of this branch: German and Dutch. I’ve often noticed that German speakers have this surprised, curious facial expression when they see Dutch words written out. That’s because, for German speakers, many words in Dutch look like incorrectly-spelled German words. For example, the German word finden (to find) is spelled vinden in Dutch. Or the German word Antwort (answer) is spelled antwoord in Dutch. Here are a couple other cognates (along with their English equivalents):

German Dutch English
kreativ creatief creative
Wasser water water
grün groen green
besser beter better

But what about the other Western Germanic languages? As in all language families, the different languages often share common root words. Here are some prominent examples:

English Frisian Dutch Afrikaans German
two twa twee twee zwei
summer simmer zomer somer Sommer
flower blom bloem blom Blume
apple apel appel appel Apfel
house hûs huis huis Haus
old âld oud oud alt

Reading Is One Thing, Listening Is Another

On paper, the West Germanic languages can look extremely similar (especially if you’re comparing Dutch and Afrikaans, but we’ll get to that in a minute). However, just because the words look alike, it doesn’t mean they’re mutually intelligible.

For one, German maintains a complicated grammatical case system that most of the others got rid of. Secondly, Western Germanic languages went through several sound shifts over the last two millennia, including a couple of large consonant shifts. You might have noticed one of these prominent shifts in the first table, where the German words Wasser and besser have similar (but slightly different) English and Dutch equivalents of water and beter/better.

Then if we look at the most widely spoken language of the bunch — English — a whole host of other issues come up. A glance at the history of English shows that this language absorbed thousands of words from Old Norse and French. That’s why even our closest linguistic relatives are nearly impossible to understand for an English speaker who doesn’t have another Germanic language in their tool-belt.

So, what about Afrikaans and Dutch? Why are these two languages so similar?

Afrikaans, the Little Daughter of Dutch

Afrikaans can best be considered as “the Dutch daughter” of the Germanic language family, as it evolved from Dutch. In fact, almost 90% of Afrikaans’ vocabulary comes from Dutch. Today it’s spoken in South Africa, Namibia, Botswana and Zimbabwe, but it developed during the Dutch colonial period in what is now South Africa.

Eighteenth-century Dutch colonists brought their language with them to South Africa, where it mingled with the local languages. As a result, the structure of the language was significantly regularized and simplified. Now Afrikaans is considered to be a separate language, though clearly descended from Dutch.

Which Germanic Language Should I Learn First?

If you’re reading this article right now, the good news is that you already speak a Germanic language: English! Being an English speaker will give you a solid foundation for learning other languages in this family.

Now if you’re keen on taking on a few others, where you start depends on your goals. If you want to speak to the greatest number of people, then you should start your journey with German. However, if the idea of tackling one of the most difficult languages to learn makes you worried, try starting with Dutch or Norwegian. They’re two of the easiest languages for English speakers to learn, and they’ll give you a great base for picking up additional Germanic languages in the future.

The post All In The Language Family: The Germanic Languages appeared first on Babbel.

Source: Babbel<|endoftext|>Reviews by Evelyn C. Leeper

Reviews by Evelyn C. Leeper

All reviews copyright 1984-2012 Evelyn C. Leeper.

THE ANNOTATED HUCKLEBERRY FINN by Mark Twain and Michael Patrick Hearn:

[From "This Week's Reading", MT VOID, 09/23/2005]

Norton seems to be coming out with a lot of annotated classics lately, and THE ANNOTATED HUCKLEBERRY FINN by Mark Twain, with annotations by Michael Patrick Hearn (ISBN 0-393-02039-8) is the first of a batch I will be reading. There are three aspects to comment on in annotated works: the original work itself, the quality of the annotations, and the lay-out. Of Mark Twain's HUCKLEBERRY FINN, little needs to be said; it is a classic, considered by many to be the great American novel. The annotations are both explanatory (e.g., telling you the definition of obscure words), and critical (e.g., telling what changes were made on the original manuscript). There are also some that provide opinions, such as on how Twain uses parallels between characters to make a point, or how ideas that appear here appear in other places in his work. I would have preferred more of the last and less of the first, since after reading these definitional annotations, I usually end


“There isn’t much else to do, is there, except stay in, until this nightmare ends I guess.”

He shut the door and went to his kitchen.

Although he had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, he consoled himself, hoping the madness would end soon, repeating it in his head over and over, “this was just temporary,” desperately wanting to believe all would be normal again very soon.

The banks were closed and there was no job for him to go to, and no way of leaving the house either way. What else could he do, but watch TV, and wait?

Murphy was a newly made bachelor, with no one to call. Last month he and his Teresa, his girlfriend of two years, had broken up because of her infidelities. He closed the front door. He then fixed himself some breakfast and sat in front of his television, as if waiting for the newscaster to give reason to his life again.

He flipped through the channels, one after another. He noticed that most of the smaller networks showed only test patterns and the large national networks had talk shows on, in one form or another. Some had the daily news hour, now running all day long, and all of them were speculating on what might be happening to America.

Murphy could tell they weren’t telling the truth about what was happening, or maybe they had no clue as to what was going on at all. He grew frustrated with the news circus. Most networks tried to suggest their reporters were in the field gathering news and the people are watching, should tune-in hourly to get the best news there first. Murphy could see, they often were standing in front of an artificial “green screen” because the tell-tale halo effect gave them away. He was, however, impressed at how good green screens looked nowadays.

He recalled years before in the early days of the millennium change, when two foolish journalists from CNN, tried cheating the people and using a green screen during the Iraq invasion. As it turned out, they were home in the States and not in the country at all. It occurred to Murphy that almost all technology is eventually used in nefarious ways by the media.

Anyhow, these two Einstein’s were obviously caught in their lie. Like most idiot media nowadays, they denied it, hoping our modern short attention spans would prevail, and no one would notice it in a month or two, and we didn’t.

The nation seemed to forget all crimes nowadays; at least that is what the mainstream media wanted us to believe. The networks immediately replaced the negative news story with another story, before solving the previous calamity. This tactic was used so often it was hard to keep track of what was solved and what was not.

Anyway, apparently, the studio crew forgot to turn on the background image, before broadcasting the story all over live TV and only a blank green screen showed up for the background. The story went viral. The image of these two Morons standing in front of a simple green screen, with no image behind them, looked like some awkward comedy sketch that had gone hysterically wrong.

The two were on live TV with Press helmets, acting afraid, and ducking from fake war sounds blasted through speakers in the background. To complete their comedy skit, they had a fake balcony with fake potted plants staged in front of a fake sky of green waiting for the image of the war in Bagdad, but it wasn’t there. Murphy chuckled remembering the hilarious, surreal, and impromptu comedy sketch, made even more hilarious by the fact neither one of these guys was any good at acting.

He could only imagine the meeting afterward with all of the TV executives and a bunch of disenchanted video technicians laughing their heads off in the boardroom at these two. Someone was probably fired for dropping the ball on those two buffoons. Whoever it was probably thought it was worth it.

Murphy was suddenly distracted from this mental image by the sound of his neighbor in the back yard. Bob was probably working on yet another secretive and clandestine project no doubt. His neighbor was a special kind of character, prone to conspiracy theories, and gloomy end of the world scenarios.

He went to the kitchen window and saw Bob as he ran from his house to the shed and back several times, cautiously shielding his face when the choppers flew over, then looking up into the sky every now and again in rapid glances. Murphy shook his head, “Now what is that fool up to,” he wondered?”

Robert Michaels, or Bob as everyone in the neighborhood called him, was a good man. He was a little odd perhaps, friendly enough, just paranoid. Murphy recalled how the last Fourth of July, Bob brought two-dozen beers over with plenty extra for Murphy. That was a good egg in Murphy’s mind. Certainly, a welcome guest at least until he drank too much, and the conversation turned to prepping or some SHTF scenario that he was working on. The evening went downhill from there for Murphy, who didn’t believe in such nonsense at the time.

He used to indulge Bob’s fantasies at first, going along with them for a spell, even agreeing with his twisted version of America’s future.

Murphy felt that he had to make up excuse when Bob went off on his rants. He would claim he needed to get up early in the morning or wanted to finish some project he was working on. Murphy dropped hints, whenever he could, trying to change the subject to anything else. Bob would take the hint and politely thank Murphy for inviting him, comment what a great party it was, and head home. Either way, he certainly was not a nuisance, Bob was okay in Murphy’s book.

Murphy was sorry he doubted Bob, and he was now, beginning to wonder about his unusual take on life. With the recent riots, and Martial Law he even realized that maybe; “Bob might have some good points about the prepping after all,”

This Epiphany and the end of days feeling, was now especially poignant considering the recent uprisings across the nation. This made Murphy consider Bob’s crazy notions and the prepping ideology for himself. Was he too late?

Suddenly Murphy realized he would need more food before the curfew was over. Nothing on TV indicated it was going to end soon.

The national networks, broadcast brief videos, showing military police in some downtown area of some major city neighborhood, like the Bronx, New York’s downtown, Detroit, South Boston, Compton, or some other urban ghetto. The soldiers in their Military fatigues were clearing the houses, one by one, roaming the vacant streets. As they moved from house to house, searching for suspected subversives, and dissidents, they emptied people’s lives onto their front lawns for the whole world to watch on TV. This had a profound effect on Murphy.

Prepping became Murphy’s new obsession. As far as Murphy was concerned nothing of any great importance ever happened in this town. He wondered why Martial Law was even declared in the first place. He reasoned that the entire country must be in lockdown because if it was here, it must be everywhere.

Murphy reckoned that it all started because of a bank holiday being declared with all the nation’s bank accounts being frozen. A bank holiday is when the major banks declare all accounts suspended, meaning no transactions such as moving money in or out of the accounts is allowed. All financial transactions are shut down.

When this happens, it is a modern day run on the banks, much like that Great Depression movie with Jimmy Stewart, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” except without the holiday fuzziness to warm your heart. This bank skullduggery drove the people into the streets. They rushed to the ATM’s and their local banks to get their money out and could not. Whatever the reason it was here to stay.

By the hour and on the hour, a talking head newscaster came on the cable TV’s emergency channel, to explain the same news that they had broadcasted the hour before, yet acting like it was the first time the fool had heard it for himself.

By late afternoon, Murphy finally gave up waiting for any news.

He decided that no one was ever going to tell anyone anything important. Especially about what is happening outside. So, he stumbled his way to the kitchen to fetch another beer from his fridge.

The rest of that evening went by, in much the same manner, with some monotone newscaster interrupting the scheduled programming, punctuated by the occasional test pattern blaring that annoying hum. Then some government official would occasionally come on spouting some treat about what was NOT actually happening in the world. It was all so pointless.

That night when Murphy went to bed, he dreamt of an apocalyptic world, where the entire planet was burning, even high-rise buildings were ablaze. Thick black smoke filled the sky, and throngs of looters running up and down the city streets, hurling bricks and wielding clubs, or pipes above their heads. The billowing plumes of smoke and ash rolled above the skyline, with large pieces of burnt trash, circling in the thermal updrafts, looking like vultures soaring above the people.

An entire week rolled by like this, with that same newscaster on every channel, and each time is repeating the same thing, in the same way, hour after hour the news droned on with no end, and no real news promised or otherwise.

Murphy’s routine was the same day after day. He got up from the bed, turned on the TV, watched the news until he passed out. He would wake up later in front of the TV with the end of day montage blasting “God Bless America,” over amber fields of waving grain beneath the fading orange skies, signaling the end of the broadcasting day.

He turned off the TV and dragged himself to bed, then dreamt the same dream as the night before, and woke in the same cold sweat. Repeating this day after day, with him sitting in


20 June 2022 (EDT)
There is no title page - the copyright page is basically the title page, copyright and credits rolled into one - it's the first page after the cover and states "by Walter John Williams" --Mavmaramis 14:54, 21 June 2022 (EDT)

Strike Fighters, by Tom Willard

Yea or nay: do you think this series belongs on the db? It's in Reginald3.--Rosab618 23:06, 11 June 2022 (EDT)

Does anyone have an opinion? --Rosab618 16:58, 15 June 2022 (EDT)
The ninth book in the series, Death Squad, apparently has at least one airship in it, which would possibly make it science fiction. Not sure about any of the others. ···日本穣 · 投稿 · Talk to Nihonjoe 17:23, 15 June 2022 (EDT)
"It is not a balloon! It is an air ship! Balloons are for kiddiewinks!"
But what is the difference between an airship and a zeppelin?--Rosab618 21:08, 15 June 2022 (EDT)
Depends on how it's defined in the book. A zeppelin is a type of airship. ···日本穣 · 投稿 · Talk to Nihonjoe 12:38, 16 June 2022 (EDT)

Adding Open Library cover

I'm trying to add the cover here to the book's page, but how do I do it? --Rosab618 04:43, 12 June 2022 (EDT)

I'd do it by (right-)clicking on the image, save it somewhere and then upload it. Christian Stonecreek 08:52, 12 June 2022 (EDT)
But there's a way to just use the url. It has to be the right url, though. Which? --Rosab618 12:00, 12 June 2022 (EDT)
Not for this OL record. OL is linking to an image from archive.org which is not on our permitted list. -- JLaTondre (talk) 12:10, 12 June 2022 (EDT)

Page count rules: The Autumn Castle

While PVing The Autumn Castle I came across notes that seem to imply the rules for entering the page count is different than how I read the rules. The book has numbered pages up to 552, and does indeed include an excerpt. Has this changed over time? Should I submit an edit? (I haven't had much luck getting responses from Chavey recently). --Glenn 01:29, 13 June 2022 (EDT)

If I remember correctly the rules were just interpreted differently: in 2010 it was not usual to include excerpts (but allowed), today excerpts are included almost every time. Christian Stonecreek 02:07, 13 June 2022 (EDT)
The last numbered page should be used. See the first row in the table here. As a nice compromise to capture the spirit of what the other PVer wanted, if you add the excerpt as content, with the page number where it starts, the page count for the novel will be implied quite clearly. --MartyD 10:45, 13 June 2022 (EDT)

Alternate versions - forking series

Tamara Siler Jones (https://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/ea.cgi?28698) published three novels in a series.

Years later, as Tambo Jones, she published versions of the same books, but broken into installments and forked. The first two books were broken into a total of 11 installments - one common installment to launch the series, and then five more installments in each branch of the series. The 'Red' Series is the original first two novels broken into installments. The 'Blue' series is a new, alternate branch. The Blue series continues into a third book (three more installments), while the Red series forks again, for two versions of the original third book (a Red version and an Orange version). A graphic that's much easier to follow is here: http://www.tambojones.com/2020/12/19/publishing-update/

The original novels are in ISFDB. The branched installments are not. My question: how should they be entered? 1. I've see an FAQ that for a novel broken into pieces, each piece should be entered as a novel. 2. I've seen info on how to handle alternate author names or book titles. 3. I have not see how to handle fully alternate versions (not just minor changes, but a new branch entirely). This is somewhat similar to Orson Scott Card's Ender/Bean (Shadow) split, but there the split storylines are consistent. Here, I believe they are mutually exclusive. Jones has provided different series names, but there's still the problem that, for example, the first installment is part one of two different series (three, if you count in the second fork).

I'm not sure I'm the person to enter all this, but I thought I'd get the ball rolling, since I think the writing in the books (original novels, at least) is excellent. —The preceding unsigned comment was added by Evil Overlord (talkcontribs) . 09:21, 19 June 2022 (EDT)

Apologies for the delay in getting you feedback. The problem is complicated, and any organization attempt is going to be hampered by ISFDB's current limitations. Titles cannot be in more than one series, so you ultimately have to pick one (or none) and note the others. Series, however, can have sub-series. So one idea I have for you is that you could have the shared first installment in a higher-level/parent series, and then the subsequent installments could be in branch-specific sub-series. For the jumping-off point, you might need to invent a series. For example, using her terminology and organization, you might have something like:
Series: Dubric Multi-Timeline
1 Title: Weight of the Castellan's Curse
2a Series: Winter of Ghosts
2 Title: Protection of the Holy Knights
3 Title: The Seer of Truth
6 Title: A Film of Blindness
7 Series: The Stone Spies (1)
1 Title: The Well Diggers Son
2b Series: Ghosts in the Snow
2 Title: The Lord's Apparent Razor
3 Title: The Linen Maid's Choice
4: Series: Threads of Malice (1)
1 Title: Rabbits & Wasps
4 Series: The Valley (2)
1 Title: A Tale of Two Boys
2a Series: Pieces of the Valley
2 Title: The Secret of Cyprus Farms
2b Series: Valley of the Soul
2 Title: What the Camera Sees
(1) I can't tell from the diagram how these second series on the blue/red paths relate to the prior series on the same path. If they are not sub-series, then I think the best thing to do would be to make up parent series for the blue path and the red path, and then put the relevant series into them, in order. So something like:
Series: Dubric Multi-Timeline
1 Title: Weight of the Castellan's Curse
2a Series: Blue Path (but with a better name)
1 Series: Winter of Ghosts
<titles 2 - 6>
2 Series: The Stone Spies
<titles 1 - 3>
2b Series: Red Path (but with a better name)
1 Series Ghosts in the Snow
<titles 2 - 3>
2 Series: Thread of Malice
<titles 1 - 3>
3 Series: The Valley (2)
1 Title: A Tale of Two Boys
2a Series: Pieces of the Valley
<titles 2 - 4>
2b Series: Valley of the Soul
<titles 2 - 3>
(2) Here you would make up a name/series to hold that first title plus the sub-series. In my first example, the number on that made-up series is a proxy for that first title's position in the ongoing series, while the number on the title shows us it's the first at the branch point.
I hope that helps a little. Others may have some better ideas for you. --MartyD 12:52, 26 June 2022 (EDT)

Illustrator name misspelled

The author record for illustrator Emanuel Schongut has his last name misspelled as "Shongut". Could a moderator please correct the spelling to the correct "Schongut"? I noticed this while doing a pub update for The Exile of Ellendon. The Flickr link in the The Shepherd Is My Lord record confirms this spelling as well. Thanks! Phil 22:27, 20 June 2022 (EDT)

In the future, you can change these by editing the cover art title page and correcting the spelling. I've done these two. ···日本穣 · 投稿 · Talk


 heart.

Yet what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and you will have visitings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! my beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a 253husband, and lovely children; you may be happy: heaven bless you, and make you so!

My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He endeavours to fill me with hope; and talks as if life were a possession which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have happened to other navigators, who have attempted this sea, and, in spite of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel the power of his eloquence: when he speaks, they no longer despair; he rouses their energies, and, while they hear his voice, they believe these vast mountains of ice are mole-hills, which will vanish before the resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day of expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny caused by this despair.

254September 5th.

A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest, that although it is highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot forbear recording it.

We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger of being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined in health: a feverish fire still glimmers in his eyes; but he is exhausted, and, when suddenly roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent lifelessness.

I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. This morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his eyes 255half closed, and his limbs hanging listlessly,—I was roused by half a dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin. They entered, and their leader addressed me. He told me that he and his companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation to me, to make me a requisition, which, in justice, I could not refuse. We were immured in ice, and should probably never escape; but they feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate, and a free passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage, and lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted this. They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn promise, that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my course southward.

This speech troubled me. I had 256not despaired; nor had I yet conceived the idea of returning, if set free. Yet could I, in justice, or even in possibility, refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered; when Frankenstein, who had at first been silent, and, indeed, appeared hardly to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled, and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour. Turning towards the men, he said—

“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you then so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious expedition? and wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and terror; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was to be called forth, and your courage exhibited; because 257danger and death surrounded, and these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of your species; your names adored, as belonging to brave men who encountered death for honour and the benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away, and are content to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly, and returned to their warm fire-sides. Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come thus far, and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat, merely to prove yourselves cowards. Oh! be men, or 258be more than men. Be steady to your purposes, and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your hearts may be; it is mutable, cannot withstand you, if you say that it shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace marked on your brows. Return, as heroes who have fought and conquered, and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.”

He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can you wonder that these men were moved. They looked at one another, and were unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire, and consider of what had been said: that I would not lead them further north, if they strenuously desired the contrary; but that I hoped 259that, with reflection, their courage would return.

They retired, and I turned towards my friend; but he was sunk in languor, and almost deprived of life.

How all this will terminate, I know not; but I had rather die, than return shamefully,—my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never willingly continue to endure their present hardships.

September 7th.

The die is cast; I have consented to return, if we are not destroyed. Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess, to bear this injustice with patience.

September 12th

It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility and glory;—I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and, while I am wafted towards England, and towards you, I will not despond.

September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard at a distance, as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were in the most imminent peril; but, as we could only remain passive, my chief attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest, whose illness increased in such a degree, that he was entirely confined to his bed. The ice cracked behind us, and was driven with force towards the north; a breeze sprung from the west, and on the 11th 261the passage towards the south became perfectly free. When the sailors saw this, and that their return to their native country was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and long-continued. Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke, and asked the cause of the tumult. “They shout,” I said, “because they will soon return to England.”

“Do you then really return?”

“Alas! yes; I cannot withstand their demands. I cannot lead them unwillingly to danger, and I must return.”

“Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose; but mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am weak; but surely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with sufficient strength.” Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the bed, but the exertion was 262too great for him; he fell back, and fainted.

It was long before he was restored; and I often thought that life was entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with difficulty, and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing draught, and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the mean time he told me, that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.

His sentence was pronounced; and I could only grieve, and be patient. I sat by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; but presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and, bidding me come near, said—“Alas! the strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being. Think not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that 263burning hatred, and ardent desire of revenge, I once expressed; but I feel myself justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these last days I have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor do I find it blameable. In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature, and was bound towards him, to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and well-being. This was my duty; but there was another still paramount to that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to my attention, because they included a greater proportion of happiness or misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity and selfishness, in evil: he destroyed my friends; 264he devoted to destruction beings who possessed exquisite sensations


 She made a graceful summersault in the air, twisting to land facing the Butcher's goalpost. Not pausing to see Ribs land, she heard the thud after several steps. Clear now, she felt amazing, and within seconds was close enough to score. With a solid kick, she slammed the ball into the Butcher's goalpost, and she took a moment to watch with pride as the score cards flipped over to show 4-0. She jogged back to the field, surveying her team's status. Two of her Hunters had been carried off, to one Butcher that looked like she had a broken leg. Chase was still dodging and weaving around the other boy, and Ribs was just beginning to stand up from her kick, a bruise already forming on his forehead. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the Butcher's representative, Boiler, she thought, drop kick the ball out, over her head, and back onto the field, in the center, between Ribs and Chase. Ribs immediately broke into a sprint towards it, and Chase, likewise, disengaged from his opponent and ran for the ball. The two met in a flurry of fists and clubs, both trying to knock the other out for control of the ball. She ran to help out her brother, but was cut off by his earlier adversary. He eyed her with a cold grin, flipping a flat stick of metal over in his hand. Flatiron, his name was. She knew she didn't have long, Chase couldn't handle Ribs, even injured as he was from her kick. She ran straight at the boy. It caught him off guard, and she used the slight flinch to jump forwards, planting her hands on his shoulders. She vaulted over him, high into the air. This high in the air, she could see another of her Hunters coming from further down the field, a very young girl named Jaci. Devana pulled a small sling from her pocket, and, in midair, twisted to launch a rock at the ball between the two boys. It struck, knocking the ball out and away from the two, and towards Jaci. Ribs jumped after it, earning a club to the back of the head from Chase. Jaci met the ball, and began running down the field. Devana landed hard, and her chest complained from its earlier hit. She watched Jaci run downfield, but the girl was no match for Flatiron's speed. Ignoring her own pains, Devana began running, not towards Jaci, Chase could handle that, but towards the goal herself. She felt the ancient powers she had always known well up inside of her, and bracing for impact, released just as Flatiron swung his bar towards Jaci's head. In an instant, she felt the bar strike her, and she fell into the grass for the second time this game. She watched, as downfield, Jaci stumbled a bit from the disorientation of Devanna's moon blessing, but the girl was clear for the goal. Just before her vision went black, Devana saw Jaci kick their second goal. Then she smiled as everything went black. Her crazy plan had worked. It would be up to the rest of her team to finish it now. Across the field, a white haired girl sat in the bleachers and watched as Devanna shifted, then fell. She idly spun a snowball in the seat next to her, before the barest of smiles crept across her pale face, and she left, leaving the snowball to melt, and the game to finish. She'd seen what she needed.
  5. Forum Challenge - Making the Cut

    Just do it. Slit his throat. He's lying there, waiting. "No" she said. The man in the barber chair opened his eyes looking up at her, her thick black fringe sticking to her forehead, she was profusely sweating. "I-is everything alright?" He stuttered. Valerie just smiled, before sliding her straight edge back across his supple throat, then back down again, taking away the soap with it. She wiped the blade on the flannel over his shoulder, "DONE" she exclaimed; an odd tone of relief rang through her voice. What a waste of time. She left him in the chair, getting some cold water to drink in the back of shop- "cool and calm" she said to herself quietly, staring straight at the water settling down after her swig. "Cool and calm". "Valerie." Edge interrupted her thoughts, "its time, get your kit, we're about to kick off." Valerie nodded at Edge, "I'll be there shortly." The Barbers Guild team captain, nodded and replied, "good, don't want to lose our star so soon." He winked and left, laughing. What was so funny, she thought to herself- probably at what you did to that baker boy last week. She shook the voice from her head and walked back into the barber shop. The Barbers Guild were relatively new to the game of Guild Ball, but each district the guild was in, were trying players out for the main team. Valerie was the newest of this team, having only played one game, which she was reluctant to play in. She said she wouldn't play again after the incident but Edge had insisted she had to play one more game. One more game to impress the Longshanks. Edge had big plans for his team, really get the Barbers on the map, or as he would say "get a slice of the pie." Edge was the one who took her in when she had nowhere to go, he hadn't said he'd figured out where she'd come from, but Valerie thought he probably had guessed. Edge was different, the only person she'd met that she didn't have to stop her self from harming, she hadn't worked out why yet. There were quite a few people int he crowd, all Local to their region, but none Valerie knew, the rest of her team were waving and shouting to their friends and family. The opposing team were doing the same, members drawn in from the local Gardeners Guild. Gardening was a trade only the wealthy could afford, so it was obvious how they had special kits made up embroidered and clean. Valerie's kit wouldn't come clean. The stain of the baker boys blood still splattered up her sleeves. The Gardeners were all glaring at her, the Baker whose blood she was sporting was the cousin of the Gardeners team captain, so she thought he wouldn't be the most easy going in this game. The gardener captain was a tall man, white, styled hair, clean shaven with a little knick just below his chin. Clearly the sign he's started shaving his own face after last weeks game. Let's open that cut up "Stop it." She said to herself, "it's just a game, no one needs to get hurt." But someone will, either us, or them. Valerie hated to admit it, but she was right. The two captains shook hands and the Gardener whispered in Edges ear. Edge, a stocky man, bald head and a thick beard, turned round, his face white and ghost like. What he heard must have chilled him deeply. The score was in favour of the Gardeners and they were outnumbering the Barbers with 6 to 4, it was just Edge, Valerie, Soap, and old barber, a veteran of the century war and Tyson, Edge's pet chihuahua. A very small animal with a styled Mohawk between his ears. As He looked ridiculous, had little impact on the game, but he was very distracting and the crowd loved him. Whilst she was looking at the miniature dog, she saw him barking at Edge, who had two Gardeners laying into him. They stepped back as he collapsed, a pile of black cloth, beard and tattoos. She saw them laughing as time seemed to slow, and squaring up to Tyson, ready to attack the mascot. Tyson! "Don't worry Valerie, we've got this" she said reassuring the voice in her head. Valerie charged the two Gardeners before they could get too close to the dog, she slit the throats of the young one in one quick flurry with her straight edge. At the same time she grabbed the ponytail of the other and dragged him to the floor then started kicking his head, turning it to a bloody mush, glistening on the grounds. The crowd went silent, clearly in shock of this display of violence. She let out a deep breath, then slowly turned to the Gardener captain, his face whiter than Edge's was at the start of the match. Valerie wasn't in control now. She flicked her straight edge, cleaning it in an instant, she'd clearly done this before the Garner worried... "Her", Longshanks said to his hooded associate. "We want her in the Barbers Guild." "But, but she's uncontrollable, unhinged, unhealthy!" "She's perfect. She's fury, rage and beauty." The associate looked across the pitch at Valerie. Her thick black hair, messy and stuck to her face in a mix of blood, saliva and sweat. "Beauty?" He questioned, "are, are we looking at the same woman?" "Just picture it, the revenue. She'll draw them in for her beauty before the match, then keep them there with her displays of violence. Perfect to elevate this start up Guild to the big leagues." Longshanks started to laugh, the only sound in the crowd of people watching Valerie sat in the middle of the pitch, stroking Tyson, both of them covered in the Gardeners teams blood. "Calm and Cool. Calm and Cool." Valerie repeated over and over to herself and the little dog.
  6. Forum Challenge - The Fool

    The short story of a rookie looking


 when you look at the policies and leadership of the modern Labour Party, it's hard to imagine it being a party which would have any appeal to religious people. But you'd be wrong...

Reality: In New Zealand if you are religious, you are more likely to vote for Labour than for National. In fact you're more likely to vote for Labour than anyone.

There are two likely causes for this: The first is that historically Labour did have a strong Christian base. Michael Joseph Savage referred to the introduction of the welfare state as "applied Christianity", Walter Nash was extremely religious and sympathetic to the temperance movement (hence his infamous "black budget" taxing alcohol) and Norman Kirk was a devout Catholic who introduced the DPB as a means to discourage abortion.

The second is that Pacific Islanders are an integral part of Labour's voting base - and they also happen to be more religious than most other demographics.

Of course, Christianity isn't the only religion out there, but most non-Christian religious voters also tended to vote for Labour - although it should be noted that ACT enjoy a considerable level of support from non-Christian religions, especially Buddhism.

Myth #3:
"The rich are right-wing, the poor are left-wing"

Origin: Throughout most of the 19th and 20th centuries, there existed a class conflict between the "working class" proletariat and the "middle class" bourgeoisie.

This led to the rise of Labour movements, socialism and even communism and as such the battle line was generally clear-cut between the socialistic working class left, and the capitalistic middle class right.

By the 21st century, with socialism roundly debunked and defeated, and new conflict emerging between globalism and nationalism, the lines are far more blurred and the assumption that working class people will always vote for left-wing parties is no longer a safe one to make.

Reality: In New Zealand in 2014, National gained a higher share of the working class vote than Labour (38% to 35%), suggesting that working class voters are migrating rightwards. In fact that party with the largest share of voters in the "working class" income band of $10K to $35K is New Zealand First - while NZ First are not a right-wing party, they're certainly not left-wing either.

While Labour remain most popular among the "precariat", that is the voters with absolutely nothing whatsoever (the below $10K earners), their even further left-wing partners the Greens - despite being the only party to openly call for more and larger benefits - appeal to neither beneficiaries nor working class voters. In fact Green voters are almost as rich as National voters, and party is undoubtedly the party of the "urban rich".

Meanwhile on the far right, ACT - who are stereotyped as a party of the ultra-wealthy - actually have a surprisingly middle class, student-y voter base, being not nearly as wealthy as National or Green voters. Surprisingly, a large number of ACT voters fall into the "no income" bracket, although this is probably best explained as being the result of business owners making a loss.

All of the above suggests that income and social class are no longer as big a driver of voting habits as they were in the last century.

Bonus myth:
"The Greens are eco-friendly"

Origin: You'd think a party called the "Greens" and who are constantly advocating for environmental issues would possibly practice what they preach and be that eco-friendly in real life wouldn't you?

Reality: The Greens appear to have more carbon miles per MP than almost any other political party. As much as I'd love to believe that the party spent $1,471,026 on electric minivans and bicycle rides to Wellington and back, we all know most of this went on air travel - although where and why remain a mystery.

About the author

Alex Eastwood-Williams<|endoftext|>Direct Action/Ann Hansen, in conversation with Peter Steven of Between the Lines Press, 2001

from http://www.kersplebedeb.com/mystuff/profiles/vancouverfive.html

Peter Steven: Direct Action is a book about radical politics that might seem uncomfortably close to advocating violence. Given the events of September 11 in the U.S. what are your thoughts and feelings about what happened in New York and Washington?

Ann Hansen: My first reaction was deep sorrow for those who died and compassion for those who must endure the pain of living without those people. Sadly, those who died were the innocent victims of both the suicide-bombers and the U.S. legacy in the Middle East. Sadly, because those who died were no more responsible for U.S. foreign policy than the Afghan people are of the Taliban’s policies.

PS: During your days in the early 1980s as a member of « The Squamish Five » or « Direct Action » you committed robberies, firebombed stores, and toppled hydro towers, in British Columbia, and bombed the Litton plant in Toronto. Most people who pick up your book will want to know if you still believe in political violence. How do you respond?

AH: I am certainly not opposed to peaceful protest. Yet, I also believe that to make real social change people and movements must be prepared to go beyond. In some cases that means so-called political violence. We didn’t see ourselves as terrorists. I prefer the term sabotage because that implies a strategic action, with references to economic issues, and not simply a violent reaction or lashing out in frustration. I don’t agree with terrorism as a political tactic because it is morally wrong to punish the innocent for the crimes of their leaders. And it’s not politically effective because fear does not enlighten people, but instead will often drive them to support even more reactionary actions by their leaders.

Our goals were to expose Litton’s role in arms production and to stop the environmental destruction within B.C.

PS: You’ve admitted some mistakes. Are you sorry about the past?

AH: I’m sorry about some things that happened, but not everything. An underground group was probably not necessary–we should not have been so isolated from the social movements. The bomb we used at the Litton building was too big and we didn’t properly assess the police response. We thought that they would take our warning seriously and clear the building. I am very sorry that people were hurt. And yet, there was, and is, huge damage being done by our governments–look at the legacy of the Cruise missile, in the Gulf War, for instance.

PS: How would you now assess your mistakes: youthful naivety, impatience, poor politics?

AH: We suffered from all those mistakes, and we also didn’t fully think through the consequences. But the most important error was in not realizing that without a revolutionary social movement in place urban guerrilla tactics won’t work–there is no continuity. These links between social movements and radical actions are strategic political questions that must be addressed. Global warming and climate change are huge problems–nobody seems very concerned.

PS: What was the biggest misconception that people had about your group?

AH: That we believed we could create a revolution ourselves. On the contrary, our aims were always more modest–to jolt activists into seeing the seriousness of the issues, and to hope that our radical actions might spark a new militancy. During our trial and afterwards we were looked at with a magnifying glass, but there was no serious discussion about the need for, and effectiveness of, our strategies.

PS: What were your thoughts when you saw the demonstrators at Quebec City and Seattle?

AH: I felt great. Here, finally, is a broad-based movement that encompasses so many issues. The mainstream media gravitate to the sensational and the most violent of tactics. They ignore the substance. Of course, the demonstrators went to Quebec with many motives. For some it’s exciting to be involved and close to danger. It’s also the result of genuine frustrations. I like to see these events in all the shades of grey.

What the media have missed in the recent international protests is that the actions are not indiscriminate. The targets are generally international corporations with a bad public record towards the environment or their workers, etc. These include the banks, the big car companies, the high-end clothing outfits, the McDonalds of the world. In other words the targets are politically motivated. Let’s not forget that politically directed events formed an important element in the civil rights and the anti-Vietnam movements.

PS: Is your book meant to be a cautionary tale for young political people today?

AH: Yes, to some extent it is. Many young people in this contemporary moment don’t think through the consequences of their actions. There are risks involved in serious political opposition and certainly when engaging in sabotage. Young people today could, perhaps romantically, duplicate our actions and also, like us, act without understanding the consequences. People should realize that the powerful will not sit back. There will be repression. But I mainly want the book to inspire more militancy, not less.

I really want a discussion of « going beyond. » I want real debate about these issues of sabotage and of going beyond legal protest. Unfortunately, there has been almost no reasoned discussion of illegal actions or uncivil disobedience. But history has shown that violence will be used by the police and the state, and some in the opposition will always move in that direction as well. So we must discuss it.

PS: Many people in the peace movement, such as the Toronto Disarmament Movement activist Murray MacAdam, argue that your forms of protest set the movement back. How would you respond to that?

AH: I respect his work but I still feel that if there is going to be social change there will be repression. If a movement is not strong enough to withstand some of this repression or