Image source: https://xkcd.com/1259/
Mellon Sawyer seminar Graduate Associate Analeah Rosen muses on the politics of ecologically situated literature and possibilities for engaging the environment in non-extractive modes.
The process of establishing boundaries – whether in conceptual frameworks, or in works of art – is a political gesture. In literary works, the writer's choice of who (or what) is able to communicate, have agency, and take up space on the page, is a concern that has been taken up by post-colonial and feminist scholars. An ecological intervention, I argue, that follows this tradition of post-colonial/feminist discourse, is one that asks writers, and by extension readers, to expand the boundaries of who is able to speak and have presence on the page. It is a move that is attentive to the already present commingling, difference, and interdependence between all Earth species. Two theorists, Juri Lotman and Donna Haraway, respectively conceive of “semiospheres” and “sympoiesis”– spheres of knowledge and language that they argue do not only belong to humans. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and Zoe Todd put this into praxis by making kin with perhaps some of the most difficult substances; stone and oil, respectively. Making interventions similar to Cohen and Todd's within literary texts might produce new languages and narrative structures that are not only in dialogue with the changing climate, but also open up possibilities for readers to envision engaging with the environment in non-extractive, destructive modes.
One of the more interesting theories Lotman puts forth in his “On the Semiosphere,” is to expand the notion of what falls under the umbrella of semiotics. For Lotman, the space of signs, and by extension texts and language, operate within organic-mechanical systems, semiospheres, that are described as behaving analogously to biospheres. The signs contained within are interdependent and co-created, which leads to an active devaluing of the primacy of language and text within the semiosphere. The chattering of birds, satellite signals, the movement of leaves in autumn – for Lotman, these all inhabit the semiosphere. And we humans find ourselves in dialogue with these myriad forces in pre-lingual modes, translating them into language only after encountering them. “In this way, we might say, that dialogue precedes language and gives birth to it.” In Lotman's universe of porous semiospheres, he asks us to inhabit and be attentive to a world that is always in communication with itself.
To begin probing this question of how to be in dialogue with such a chatty world, Haraway's sympoieses is generative start. Translated in her Staying with the Trouble as “making-with,” Haraway stresses that humans, and earthlings at large, are never operating independently. For Haraway, sympoieses encompasses a radical collaboration between all species in both material and metaphoric ways. “Critters do not precede their relatings; they make each other through semiotic material involution, out of the beings of previous such entanglements.” These entanglements, by and large, consist of eating one another, interpenetration, symbiotic relations, and cooperation/competition. What is particularly important in Haraway's work is the move away from centering the human as the only agentic actor. For Lotman, when other-than-human animals or non-organic articulations (like birds, or satellite signals) are mentioned, they are always mentioned as being interpreted by a human or cultures of humans. However, it is hard to argue against the transmission of semiotic materials between non-human actors, like the bee and orchid, for instance. Orchids are famous for mirroring the female genitals of the insects that pollinate them. The male insects are drawn to the color and shape, and even the pheromones that the orchid mimics, thus ensuring pollination. There is a clear cross-species communication enacted through translation that is happening here. Haraway goes on to describe artist xkcd's imagining of what might happen when the bee responsible for pollinating a particular orchid dies off. “The cartoon does something very special... it does not say the flower is exactly like the extinct insect's genitals. Instead, the flower collects up the presence of the bee aslant, in desire and mortality.” The orchid then, becomes memorial to the dead, continuing to produce signs even when its main interlocutor has become extinct. The politics of writing ecologically situated literature is exactly this: speaking toward absences, de-centering the human, observing and recording the agencies of others.
In Jeffrey Jerome Cohen's Stone: An Ecology of the Inhuman, the task of ecological thinking becomes how to read and talk to the most inhuman of all elements: rock. Culturally understood as impenetrable, immovable, infinite, Cohen seeks to engage the parts of the planet that are simultaneously charismatic and non-verbal. He writes, speaking of Greek philosopher Empedocles and the project of Stone at large: “To take his theory of elemental restlessness seriously is to apprehend that the world is not centered around the human – not indifferent, not misanthropic, but disanthropocentric, making stories centered on the human wobble, their trajectories veer.” Like Haraway who asks readers to think and care about the kinds of stories that tell stories, Cohen asks his readers to think as and alongside mountains. “Our documentary bias is for worlds conveyed through words. Yet the earth possesses numerous recording devices, repositories for nonlinguistic inscription, an indigenous but hard lithic poetics.” Think of petrified tree rings bearing imprints of ancient pollen, glacial footprints, amber-captured insects. The world is talking, recording, listening in ways that complicate our relationship to meaning-making, symbolic resonance, and poetic capabilities.
Zoe Todd, an anthropologist working with fish and oil though indigenous legal frameworks, takes up the challenge of making “odd-kin” with perhaps the most maligned organic substance: oil. Writing after the Husky Energy Inc. spill in North Saskatchewan River in 2016, where 200,000 liters of oil and diluents streamed through cities and creeks, forcing many residents to enact emergency drinking water procedures, Todd examines the life-cycle of fossil fuels and the historically mediated relationship people living in amiskwaciwâskahikan (Edmonton, Alberta) have to this substance that for centuries, lay nestled underground. Todd is attempting to move away from solely understanding “oil and oil-progeny as contaminants, or pollutants, and the oil itself as imbued with messy human politics, which extract it from the ground and flood pipeline arteries across the entire continent.” Oil comes from fossils, which Todd imagines as re-animated in the dinosaurs, plants, and animals that flourished millions of years ago in amiskwaciwâskahikan. Further, the oil itself “rested beneath the loamy soil and clay of what is now Alberta for eons.” Dene people have used the bituminous tar to patch and water-proof canoes. Oil, in and of itself, Todd argues, is not violent or dangerous. Instead, she refocuses agency onto modes of petro-capitalist extraction and production. The growing dependency on this fuel, the presence of it as a contaminant in rivers that flow out into the Arctic and North Atlantic Oceans – this she condemns as violent. And while the central question of her article – can one make kin with petrochemicals? – is unanswered, she is staying with the trouble. She writes, “it is a difficult philosophic and political negotiation for me to make, for I have, throughout my entire life, seen oil solely in its weaponized form.” This is a mode of being enmeshed within the semiosphere/sympoises – that is being attentive and tending to the various relationships. Leroy Little Bear, quoted in Todd's article, reminds us that, “We as humans live in a very narrow spectrum of ideal conditions. Those ideal conditions have to be there for us to exist. That's why it's very important to talk about ecology, the relationship.” Literature, if anything, is an examination of relationships and entanglements. It is incumbent upon the producers of these works to begin making the theoretical and political leaps to re-focus agency, re-distribute space on the page, and actively tend to the relationships between, and co-created worlds of, humans and more-than-humans.


A book about a kid who loves soccer--and his soccer coach mom!
A delightfully charming story about a boy's love of soccer and love for his soccer-coach mom!
Saturday’s a busy day for a brother and sister who play soccer in a league coached by their mom. In this sweet slice-of-life family story, a boy describes the fun he and his friends have playing soccer. Little readers will enjoy this introduction to the game!


I started my junior year of high school knowing three definite things: I believed in God. Good grades were the key to my future. And I wanted a boy to take me to prom. Then Liv happened. The way her eyes smiled when she watched me made my stomach do somersaults. Mysterious and flirty, she inspired me to question things about myself I took for granted. People seem to think certain traits are ingrained in you from the moment you're born. But what if some things aren't so black and white?
My father pays heaps of money for doctors at the Norfolk Psychiatric Center to fix me. I've spent six months of my prime teenage years at this residential facility - a place for teenagers who've gone mental. Just when I begin to feel myself fade away, a boy with a wolfish smile and mischievous eyes reels me in. Julian is broken, too, but he believes in me enough for the both of us. Through him I begin to experience this thing called hope. Doctors can't fix me, my parents can't either, but maybe it's not me who needs fixing.
"Good YA story"


Grandmother’s Guest: The Blue Lady of Wilton
A grandmother uses storytelling to explain the unexplainable to her granddaughter
You might not believe in ghosts, but it sure seems there is one in a Wilton graveyard. Sightings of a blue mist moving slowly behind the cemetery’s stone walls are said to be common.
Robin Schoen hadn’t heard those stories when she bought the beautiful brick Colonial that sat right below the cemetery. But it wasn’t long before she got acquainted with what locals call “The Blue Lady of Wilton.”
She found it “creepy,” she says, and thought about moving, especially since her 8-year-old granddaughter Alex was reluctant to come for sleepovers.
Shoen decided to write a children’s book for Alex, to reassure her with “a kinder, gentler approach to our new ’neighbor.’” The result is “Grandmother’s Guest: The Blue Lady of Wilton” [Hobby Horse Publishing, $16.95].
Told from her granddaughter’s point of view, it’s a lovely, mostly true, story of grandmother and granddaughter learning that the Blue Lady is “simply a shy and misunderstood woman” who is not to be feared. The story takes an interesting turn when the two buy a teacup from an old children’s tea set and find a note in it with the actual name of the Blue Lady, Mary Ritter Spalding. What happens next, you’ll have to read.
The book is beautifully illustrated by Gail Hoar. Her drawings exhibit a certain otherwordliness appropriate to the tale being told. At the same time, they realistically replicate the antique features of Shoen’s lovely home and property — and the cemetery behind it.
Children will enjoy this story, and adults will enjoy reading it to them.


Sex. Lies. Greed. Power. Scandal. Politics.
Political strategist, Elizabeth McNeal has been called a lot of things throughout her career—bitch being at the top of the list—but she doesn’t let it get to her. She’s bold, she’s blunt, and she takes orders from no one. This is how she’s survived working in a man’s world. She’s the master of diversion, and her specialty is winning an election—no matter the cost.
That is, until she meets her new client, Democratic candidate, Congressman William Baxter. Kind, considerate, insanely handsome, honest, and ten years her junior, he’s a unicorn among politicians. He infuriates her. He challenges her. Most of all, he makes her see past the scandalous world of politics and helps her to discover the heart of the woman inside her.
With sparks flying between them and the election rapidly approaching, the last thing either of them need is to be caught in a compromising position. Some lines are meant to be crossed and some rules broken, but for Elizabeth and Liam is it worth the cost of being politically incorrect?
Elizabeth McNeal is a successful woman in a man’s world. As a political strategist, she has to be. When she’s enlisted to manage the campaign of a man 10 years her junior who is to run for a seat in the Senate, she finds herself unnerved by his good looks, infuriated by his need to be in the midst of everything and challenged every step of the way. This is rather difficult for a woman used to be in control, calling the shots for her clients without being questioned because face it, she’s the best there is and that’s why they hire her.
William “Liam” Baxter is a young Congressman from Texas. He is charismatic, engaging and charming in his public persona and a strong, dominant man in private, but he’s always honest and that proves his most disarming quality. He is not one to shy away from a challenge and that’s what his new campaign manager is from the moment they meet: a challenge he’ll take head on both professionally and personally.
The chemistry between Liam and Elizabeth is insane from the moment they meet and, despite Elizabeth’s initial apprehensions, they develop an amazing work relationship that will eventually lead to so much more. With the backdrop political intrigue brought by the race for the Senate seat, they will have to navigate a blooming relationship and the consequences it might have to both their careers and public images.
This book is a fast ready that has romance, intrigue, some really steamy sex and great main and secondary characters. I enjoyed the writing, the characters’ interaction, the banter, not only between Liam and Elizabeth, but with Aaron, Scout and even Jordyn, and the great storyline. In a nutshell, I really liked this book and I hope others will too.
4.5 Book Corner Stars
*A copy was provided by the author in exchange for an honest review*


Review: The Book of Candlelight by Ellery Adams
Today Kerry Hammond is throwing caution to the wind and jumping into book three in a new-to-her series.
The Book of Candlelight by Ellery Adams was published on January 28, in Hardcover, by Kensington Books. It is the 3rd book in the Secret, Book, and Scone Society series. I had never heard of this series, but am always drawn in by a good premise. A book store owner who has a great group of female friends to help her solve a murder was right up my alley. I decided to throw caution to the wind and jump in at book three.
In the book, our protagonist, Nora Pennington, finds herself knee deep in tourists at her bookshop. The town is experiencing torrential rains and shoppers are looking for respite, not only in the stacks, but in her café. One afternoon, she heads to the local flea market to replenish her store’s stock of knickknacks and ends up buying a beautiful bowl from a local man named Danny, a Cherokee potter. The day after Nora buys the bowl, she discovers Danny’s body floating in the river. Nora enlists the help of her friends in the Secret, Book, and Scone Society to not only try and make sense of Danny’s death, but to figure out who killed him and why.
I could tell that there was more to the backstories of each of the characters, information that was presumably given in books one and two. However, I was still able to enjoy the mystery and didn’t feel like I needed to stop where I was to go back and read the earlier installments. The author gave me just enough information to allow me to follow along and enjoy the story as is.
I consider the book a cozy mystery, but Nora’s character isn’t light and fluffy. She’s been through some things in her life that she is still working out. She’s bonded with her group of friends and shared part of her secret with them, but there still seems to be more that she’s holding back. I think this character will grow a lot as the series progresses. I really enjoyed spending time with the Secret, Book, and Scone Society.
This book was provided to Mystery Playground by the publisher. The review was fair and completely independent.
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The story continues...
When you decide on the ‘statement’ that your story can make how deliberately do you work it in?
Always, the story is the thing. It has to be entertaining enough to hold the interest of the reader and to be honest, my interest as well. I am a fiction writer, not a polemicist, plus I am writing in a pretty narrow genre, with a certain expectation of action and pacing. I certainly cannot go all expository on my readers.
At the same time, the thought is always in my head of what true thing am I trying to say here. Unlike Epic Fantasy, in Sword and Sorcery our protagonists are seldom trying to save the world, so making the stakes high enough lots of times involves a moral dilemma of some sort. Just as in most of the other pulp-born genres, there is usually a poor decision made, followed by the protagonist’s struggle to rectify the mistake, whether the story is a western, hard-boiled detective, noir or S&S.
I've seen you refer to your stories as 'inventory'. Do you then consider writing a profession or a hobby?
I think that comes from my years of writing freelance non-fiction for newspapers and magazines. The only way for a freelancer to make any money is to be prolific, and treat it like a job. And in truth, most people who write with the idea that it is a hobby will tend to produce hobby-quality work. As a reader I have very little time, and I want to feel that regardless of how much I paid to read something, or how much or little the writer was paid, that what I am reading is a professional-quality story.
What sort of process do you follow, beginning to end, for your stories?
There are two things that I need to have before starting a story. One is at least one interesting idea of a scene or a character in an uncomfortable position. The other is an idea of what truth there is to be told from that situation. It sounds corny, and a little contrived, but I really think that for any story to really have an impact it must tell the reader something deeper, in some way illuminate the human condition.
The process itself is pretty simple. Because I have very little time, the main obstacle is slotting in writing time. Fortunately I am a pretty fast writer, and having spent some time as a reporter I am not one to agonize. I do almost no re-writing; usually one draft and a clean-up.


Justice in literature essay
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Harry Potter and Psychology
by Whitney Caitlin
I find it difficult to read the Harry Potter series without using psychology to interpret it, a feeling that has been exacerbated by having two college psychology courses under my belt.
I’ve always found Freudian psychology, in particular, very interesting and that feeling hasn’t been deterred by most academics’ never-ending scorn for Freud’s more “creative” theories. However, Freud has made quite a mark on modern thought: people (without realizing it, of course) use Freudian psychology all the time. Many people are familiar with his theory of the defense mechanisms. If you aren’t, here is my Psych book’s definition: “When realistic [coping behaviors] are ineffective in reducing anxiety, [one] may resort to defense mechanisms that deny or distort reality” (Passer and Smith, 2001). Most people have heard of the defense mechanisms denial, repression, and rationalization and are able to relate to them personally.
Not too long ago, I was reading the definition for the defense mechanism “reaction formation,” which is the repression of a thought or belief that causes one anxiety and its replacement with an exaggerated expression of the opposite behavior. What struck me was the example given in my textbook for reaction formation: A mother who harbors feelings of hatred for her child represses them and becomes overprotective of the child. Now who does that sound like? Petunia Dursley, perhaps?
I will admit that this theory is a bit far-fetched, but reaction formation is a very interesting way to interpret Petunia’s hatred and adoration of Harry and Dudley, respectively.
So what on earth makes me think that Petunia has any feelings of hatred for Dudley? How about her relationship with Lily? We don’t know much about how the two sisters interacted, but it is obvious from Petunia’s tirade in Sorcerer’s Stone that she was extremely jealous and resentful of Lily’s powers.
“I was the only one who saw her for what she was a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!”She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.
(p58 US edition)
Now we cannot be sure of this, but if Petunia were the younger of the two sisters, she would be especially resentful of Lily if she were hoping to receive a Hogwarts letter as well. Thus, Petunia’s deep resentment of Lily would most likely stem from wanting to be a witch very badly. (If Petunia is in fact older, it does not completely obliterate my theory but, admittedly, it won’t work as well.)
My next point is that parents often want for their children what they themselves never had. For example, my dad is really insistent that my brothers and I do well in school, because his parents never really seemed to care. Think what would have happened if Dudley had gotten a Hogwarts letter. It was possible; his aunt was a witch. If my Petunia-as-the-younger-sister theory holds, I’d bet that she would be secretly delighted, never mind what Uncle Vernon thought. Having her son triumph over her sister’s son would have brought real satisfaction to Petunia. Remember the quote above. It seems that Petunia had to compete for her parents’ attention for much of her life. However, it was only Harry that got the letter. Petunia and Vernon’s suspicion about Harry (that he was a wizard, just like his parents) was confirmed as soon as they read that letter. I wouldn’t be surprised if seeing Harry’s letter brought all Petunia’s resentful feelings back to the surface. Thus Harry officially became the ideal that Petunia so desperately wanted to live up to as a child. Dudley, however, didn’t live up to that ideal; he ruined Petunia’s chance to best Lily once and for all.
Thats where reaction formation kicks in – you can’t hate your own son, right? So, Petunia represses the unwanted thought and instead dotes on Dudley non-stop, while treating Harry (the ideal) like dirt. Furthermore, the definition of reaction formation explains that the repression of the anxiety-causing thought is coupled with an exaggerated expression of the opposite sentiment. Anyone who has read the books can attest to the fact that each interaction between Petunia and Harry or Petunia and Dudley is exaggerated. (Petunia in tears over Dudley’s diet in GoF, Petunia nearly hitting Harry over the head with a frying pan in CoS, etc.)
Now for the most problematic part of my theory: it insinuates that deep down, Petunia doesn’t hate Harry. This is the heart of the definition of reaction formation. My only reason for accepting this theory as somewhat plausible is the interaction between Harry and Petunia in the second chapter of OotP.
“Back?” whispered Petunia.She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. . . .Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at Harry like that before. Her large pale eyes (so unlike her sisters) were not narrowed in dislike or anger. They were wide and fearful. The furious pretense that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harrys life that there was no magic . . . seemed to have fallen away.
(p37-8, US edition)
We could say that Petunia has repressed all knowledge and ties with the magical world after Lily’s death and the stressful events of chapter 2 caused her Freudian slip about Azkaban, just as the stressful event of seeing Harry about to be whisked off to Hogwarts did in SS. So if she could look at Harry like that, then how much does she really hate him? I can’t wait to find out more about Petunia Dursley.


"WITH LOVE FROM EDITH": THE GODS ARRIVE, 1932, INSCRIBED BY EDITH WHARTON
WHARTON, Edith. Gods Arrive. New York: London, 1932.
First edition of the last novel Wharton completed, the work she considered her "greatest challenge," praised as one of her "final attempts to sum up the artist's life," a lovely presentation copy inscribed by her in the month of publication, "For Simon & Molly With love from Edith, September 1932." $6800.


I shouldn’t have come back.
An alcoholic shouldn’t just wander into a bar. Every sound, every smell, every familiar image … they invite you back in like a warm hand on your shoulder.
But I need to know.
The spine is crisp, and color explodes from the cover. I open it … just for a moment. For research.
Just for a moment.
And in a matter of moments … I’m lost.
On a Saturday afternoon at Dr. Volt’s Comic Connection, the back room is buzzing with middle schoolers. They sit perched over their colorful treasures, animated chatter flying back and forth. “I’ve got three of those,” one says as another peruses a rare sample. “You can have that one.” A generation ago, the subject of this conversation would have been the comic books. Not now. Now it is trading/gaming cards with titles like Magic and Yu-Gi-Oh!.
In Hastur Games & Hobbies, kids take root at a dozen networked computers, playing first-person shooter games for hours at a time. Parents and grandparents try to pry them away, only to be greeted with pleas for another half-hour or even flat-out refusals to leave.
Welcome to comic book store culture, circa 2003.
“We’re right across from a junior high,” Dr. Volt’s owner David Landa says of his card-playing clientele, “and you’ve got to hook ’em on something so they keep coming back.”
But they too rarely, it seems, get hooked into the comics—despite the fact that characters from comics and graphic novels have never been more prominent in pop-culture consciousness. The WB’s Smallville keeps the Superman characters on the small screen. Last year’s Spider-Man movie made $400 million at the U.S. box office. This year has already seen an adaptation of Marvel’s Daredevil, with the X-Men sequel X2: X-Men United, The Hulk and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen all on tap for this summer. Even non-superhero graphic literature has crossed over, with recent film adaptations of From Hell, Ghost World, Road to Perdition, Bulletproof Monk and the upcoming Sundance award-winner American Splendor. Comic book culture should be booming, but instead it seems stagnant. Where are all the new readers?
Where are the kids?
I had known comic book culture at its zenith, during the early 1980s. It was a period when writers and artists broke free from the shackles of the traditional superhero comic, giving birth to longer form stories, often with more mature themes, that would be called “graphic novels.” Frank Miller reinvented Batman as a bitter retiree in The Dark Knight Returns. Writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons turned the world of masked vigilantes upside-down in Watchmen. Art Spiegelman won a Pulitzer Prize for turning Nazis and Jews into cats and mice in the Holocaust saga Maus. New publishers granted unprecedented ownership rights to their talent. Creatively, it was a new Golden Age.
Economically, things were looking pretty golden as well. Sales soared throughout the decade, fueled by a speculative market where people bought multiple copies of issues popularly perceived to be instantly collectible. Comic book specialty stores flourished. Everyone was lighting cigars with mint copies of “The Death of Superman.”
Until the bubble burst. Short-sighted publishers flooded the market with titles of inferior quality and made it difficult for readers to follow storylines by creating multiple titles featuring popular characters. Readers lost interest and patience in tales that demanded too much monthly expense for too little payoff. The speculative market collapsed. Marvel Comics—publishers of popular titles like X-Men, Incredible Hulk and Fantastic Four—went into bankruptcy. Hundreds of comic book stores closed. Robert Scott, a San Diego-based comic book retailer who founded the Comic Book Industry Alliance (CBIA), says the industry had to embrace the gaming side of the culture during the lean years of the late 1990s. “Diversifying was something a lot of retailers had to do to survive,” he recalls.
The numbers made it look like the comic-book culture was about to become an anthropological footnote—and personally, I mourned. That subculture had been my place of adolescent refuge, a community that shared delight in both thoughtful stories and flights of pure fancy. Call it a piece of sociological research or call it a pathetic grab at a youth receding ever more rapidly into the rearview mirror. I wanted to reconnect with that community one more time, to find out what the culture had become in the years since I walked away.
Michael Braithwaite sports a familiar physiognomy. Apparently creeping into his early thirties, he carries a few extra pounds around the middle. Hair from the forehead and temples has migrated south to form a sketched-in beard. If he wore a ponytail, you’d swear Matt Groening had drawn him that morning.
“On The Simpsons, The Comic Book Guy?” he says, leaning back as comfortably as a plastic folding chair will allow. “No one’s really going to deny that persona. Yeah, that’s us. I’ve been accused of being Comic Book Guy.”
Braithwaite looks the part. Currently an employee at Hastur Games & Hobbies—and a veteran of other now-defunct Salt Lake Valley comic book hangouts, including the recently closed Comics Utah—Braithwaite is a comic book geek in the classic mold, and he has no problem with the designation. He notes with a self-deprecating grin the wedding band on my finger, saying, “I see that you’re married, so basically you’re an outsider. Sorry, but as soon as you got married …” He quickly qualifies the statement to include his married co-worker, store manager Roland Williams: “Roland’s a little unusual. He’s married, but she’s a comic book person, too.”
The “g-word” pops up with regularity when you talk with comic book fans and never with a hint of shame. Mimi Cruz, manager of Night Flight Comics, says of herself and her staff, “We love to make fun of ourselves and call ourselves comic book geeks.” Shane Nielsen, who operates a kiosk out of Dr. Volt’s Comics called Blacksmythe’s selling fantasy-themed weaponry and memorabilia, enthuses, “Yep, I’m a geek.” Nielsen is also married—to another comic book reader, just to further prove Braithwaite’s point.
Having returned to the center of comic book geek culture, I find every nuance comes rushing back. It’s more than a shared lexicon, though naturally insider terminology flies between comic book devotees. Shane’s wife Jennifer invokes the name of Gwen Stacy when discussing the recent Spider-Man film. She didn’t explain the reference to Peter Parker’s ill-fated comic book flame. She realized she didn’t need to.
There is also a shared accent, a manner of speaking that seems to appear whether the comic geek hails from California or Connecticut. Sometimes it’s a wide-mouthed turn of phrase or the use of exaggerated, precise diction; sometimes it’s the self-conscious, staccato laugh that punctuates a sentence. But it’s there, something that has evolved in an outsider subculture almost as a way of helping them identify one another, maybe the same way that stereotypical gay male vocal mannerisms emerged over time. Just because they don’t all sound that way doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
I knew them when I heard them. These were my people.
I was also, much to my surprise, part of a fairly typical demographic. The average face at the new release shelves in the comic book stores was not speckled with acne, but closer to 30-something. The comic book audience, everyone agreed, was graying. Why weren’t comics today attracting the 11-year-olds, like I was when I first fell in love with the adventures of the X-Men?
In part, the insiders blame the publishers. According to Braithwaite, since emerging from bankruptcy Marvel in particular has limited potential growth with an ordering policy that requires retailers to estimate sales two months in advance, without allowing the opportunity either to reorder or to return unsold books. “[The increase in interest] might happen if Marvel wasn’t being such creeps,” Braithwaite says. “When Spider-Man was coming out, we thought, OK, we should order more, there may be an upswing. But given the market, I was scared to order too much, because [Comics Utah] was hurting.
“If you’re a stockholder,” he continues, “they [Marvel] are making fantastic decisions. They’re not really too concerned about the collectors.”
And it’s not just Marvel, according to CBIA’s Scott. AOL Time Warner, which owns both Superman publisher DC Comics and The WB, has a golden opportunity to cross-promote in Smallville, but doesn’t take advantage of it. “When you sit down to watch Smallville,” Scott says, “you see advertising for Warner artists whose music was heard during the show. But nothing about Superman or Superboy comics.”
At the same time, comic book readers acknowledge that publishers are fighting an uphill battle against preconceptions about the medium—one that the industry may not be willing to expend resources to fight. Dr. Gene Kannenberg, Jr., a professor of English at the University of Houston and creator of ComicsResearch.org, has his own view of the problem. “There is still a general societal bias against the comics form among the wider American populace,” says Kannenberg. “I see lots of adults walking around in $40 Spider-Man T-shirts, but I have my doubts if even half of them would consider spending $2.25 on a new issue of a Spider-Man comic book.”
Braithwaite summarizes the popular perception of comic books by recalling a cartoon he saw years ago of a man talking with a caricature of a matronly socialite. “He says, ‘Words on a page …?’ ‘Literature!’ ‘Pictures on a page …?’ ‘Art!’ “Words and pictures on a page …?’ ‘Absolutely horrible, obscene pieces of trash!’”
“Since the 1950s, there’s been this stigma that comics are not for literate people,” Night Flight’s Cruz agrees. “You can’t convince people who don’t want to be convinced.”
And the battle may even be harder when it comes to promoting the more sophisticated material that has reached a mass audience in some other form. Not many viewers were aware that last year’s critically lauded film Road to Perdition was adapted from a graphic novel by writer Max Allan Collins and artist Richard Piers Rayner—perhaps because the studio wanted to maintain an aura of literary respectability for the production. As Robert Scott notes, studios may not be interested in trumpeting that a film is based on a graphic novel because “they don’t want to taint the apple and feel they might scare people off.”
Fair enough as it might apply to older audiences, but it’s hard to imagine the “stigma” of comics scaring off a 12-year-old. So why is it so hard to bring in new, young readers? Economics could be a factor, since prices have jumped to upwards of $2 for a regular monthly issue, but that’s nothing compared to the cost of new video game.
The picture returns to those kids intently trading their cards and playing their computer games, and a sad refrain emerges: Comic books involve reading. And reading is something too many kids just don’t do.
“It’s almost impossible to compete with video games, movies and the Internet,” says Cruz, who works vigorously to promote youth literacy.
Briathwaite adds, “Some writers do ask good questions, you know. And kids just don’t want to think about different issues. That, and I don’t know if they have the attention span for ‘tune in next month to see if Spider-Man gets out of this.’”
The kids themselves, perhaps predictably, are not terribly reflective about their lack of interest in comics, though one teen insists, “I read, just not comics.” Other responses run from a shrug of “I just never got into them” to a slightly more emphatic shrug of “They’re not my thing.”
Also not surprisingly, an industry that no longer sees an upside in reaching out to younger readers has made decisions that make it even less likely those younger readers will get drawn in. I discovered comics walking home from junior high school to buy a Slurpee, but the convenience store racks of my youth—wire carousels topped with a sign that yelled out a pitch of “Hey, kids! Comics!”—have all but disappeared, victims of publisher policies that made it economically impractical for non-specialty outlets to stock single-issue comics. Today’s teen might have to be driven across town to a comic book specialty store to have any sense for what’s out there.
Content, too, has contributed to the comic book generation gap. As the audience matured, so did comic book and graphic novel stories and art, resulting in material that may not be appropriate for younger readers. “As things get a little more edgy, more controversial, more graphic,” says Robert Scott, “it is possible that even if kids wanted to read that we have no product for them.”
“I’ve read some Spider-Man books that I’d be embarrassed for an 8-year-old to have,” Cruz concurs. “You never would have had that years ago. If we decide that we’re not going to carry things that a younger reader will enjoy, that’s our fault.”
“Marvel’s gone off the Comics Code Authority,” Braithwaite adds, referring to an advisory body that was created in the 1950s to oversee the appropriateness of comic book content for younger readers. “Marvel is purposely trying to kick it up a notch. So I’m basically stuck showing parents Archie and Sonic the Hedgehog, because there isn’t a whole lot that’s mainstream anymore that some parents wouldn’t find offensive.”
The comic book industry, it appeared, was fighting against an ever-shrinking pool of potential new readers. Most adults still viewed comics with either condescension or suspicion. And younger kids generally weren’t readers at all. It was like the punch line to some clichÃ©d joke about sexually frustrated nerds: Comic book geekdom could be an endangered species because of an inability to propagate itself.
“If you look at the big picture and say, ‘We aren’t going to offer anything to younger readers, we’re going to appeal to the adult male reader,’” remarks Cruz, “that would really be limiting our future potential.”
The industry does seem to be taking baby steps. DC published 10-Cent Adventures featuring Batman and Superman as loss-leader efforts to attract kids. Last year, publishers and retailers joined forces for a national Free Comics Day tied to the release of Spider-Man, a rousing success that will be repeated this year as specialty stores try to get you hooked with a free taste on Saturday, May 3 (the day after X2 opens in theaters). Even city and county libraries will be getting the freebies thanks to Night Flight Comics.
Reading is at the heart of the comic book story and not just because you have to read them to know the story. Christine Sabo, a psychology student at Moravian College in Bethlehem, Pa., wrote a thesis analyzing the comic book collector sub-culture and discovered that “the two possible values that seem to be held most highly and consistently among members of this group were creative fantasy, and an appreciation for art and literature.” The stories of comic book readers themselves are stories of falling in love with storytelling, often at an early age.
“I started as a child,” Cruz recalls of her own love affair with comics. “I was nine years old, growing up in Seattle, and a neighbor lady around the corner gave me a huge box of comics and Motown records. It was like the greatest treasure she could have given me. I learned how to read with comics.”
Cruz guides me through Night Flight’s Cottonwood Mall store, quizzing me on what I remembered from my own comic book youth before pointing me towards her favorite works. “Of course you knew Frank Miller,” she says. “You have to see 3000 [a graphic novel story set in ancient Greece].” I examine the book—an Italian language version—as she seeks out samples by other popular current writers like Brian Michael Bendis. She seems to smell in me the equivalent of a lapsed Catholic looking for a reason to return to the fold, and she’s eager to share the love—not merely as a prudent entrepreneur, but as a fan.
Shane Nielsen leans against his Dr. Volt’s counter, nattily attired in his own Spider-Man T-shirt and cap as he recalls his own first comic book experience: “I was actually six years old. I was playing piano, and my aunt, as a reward, gave me an Incredible Hulk.” He stopped collecting during his Mormon mission, got married, and was prepared to give up comics entirely until his wife Jennifer—previously an avid reader, but not a comic book reader—picked up a few of his back issues.
“Then she got addicted,” Nielsen says, “and we started back up … She said, ‘You can’t drop it, you can’t drop it.’
“Every time you try [to quit], you go, ‘But there’s this new, good story out. I’ve gotta read it. I want to read it again and again and again.’”
A conversation at Hastur Games & Hobbies turns to the crossover between the world of role-playing gamers and the comics world, and Michael Braithwaite dashes off to the shelves. He returns with Knights of the Dinner Table, a crudely drawn black-and-white comic book about the interaction between a group of regular gamers. “It’s a fantastically written series,” he beams. “The artwork is nothing, basically just a bunch of guys sitting around a table. It’s basically the same picture over and over. But the storylines and situations are absolutely hilarious.”
I begin to recognize something else familiar about that comic book fan “accent,” because I’ve heard that same manner in theater people. The members of both groups probably weren’t the Big Men on Campus or the prom queens, but they were people whose fascination with storytelling transformed them. The hands, the diction, the voice—they’re all part of continuing that conversation about intoxicating narrative.
It was through comics that I came to appreciate the power of storytelling, whether through words or images. I couldn’t resist a well-told tale. Statistics suggest that I was already an anomaly in 1978—that the average comic book reader in the late 1970s and early 1980s was well into his or her 20s—but the format was there to attract me.
Twenty-five years later, it is a world of Xbox and GameCube and PlayStation, a world of PokÃ©mon and Yu-Gi-Oh! and Magic. The young geek culture that in years past would have found narrative even in its games—they played Dungeons & Dragons, creating characters who moved through a story—instead has to decide whether to hold an AK-47 or a 9mm handgun during a marathon session of computer gaming.
Comic books, scorned though they have been by generations of parents, have been a gateway drug for a passion for storytelling and for love of reading. As a lover of stories, I wonder what it means when today’s 11-year-olds are engaging their eyes and their carpal tunnels but not their sense of wonder.
In some respects, the comic book industry itself may be as healthy as it has ever been—though the absence of research into demographics makes it hard to nail down readership numbers beyond the observational. Comics Utah has closed—the victim, according to Braithwaite, of disinterested out-of-state ownership—but Night Flight has opened a new location in the new City Library Square and Dr. Volt’s recently expanded. The investor/collector boom period has been replaced by a time when those who buy comics actually read them, instead of stashing them away in boxes and Mylar sleeves like artfully decorated savings bonds. Mainstream bookstores like Barnes & Noble feature entire sections dedicated to graphic novels. A more diverse marketplace of titles and formats has begun appealing even to the long-under-represented female readers, slowly but steadily eroding the “boys club” atmosphere recognized by women in the hobby, like Mimi Cruz.
And then there are people like me—people who had drifted away for years but may be finding themselves attracted to fond memories. “What we’re seeing now,” says Robert Scott, “especially with the nostalgia factor, is parents who hadn’t looked at comics for 15 or 20 years who now have kids of reading age. They come in with their kids to show them what’s going on.”
But we’re mortal, we 30-something comic addicts of both the active and the recovering stripe. The newbies have to come from somewhere. More of them will be 21 than will be 11 and maybe that doesn’t matter for the comic book industry. I wonder, though, how many 11-year-olds will never learn to swoon over words and images that can transport them, exercising mental muscles no video game console will ever touch.
It’s not about “kids these days” as much as it is about a culture these days—a culture of parents who buy their kids video games but hustle them past a comic book store like it was a porn theater, unable to grasp how these silly stories of superheroes could be far more beneficial than they could ever be damaging. My 4-year-old son already knows Batman and Spider-Man. His games are games of imagination. Soon it will be his turn to learn to read, and I hope the stories he turns to will thrill him.
I’ll be back here soon.
I never should have left.


I’ve neglected you, my reader friends, immersed in writing the sequel to ‘Course of Mirrors’ and a few interludes. Like, my writing fixation was pleasantly disrupted last week through meeting my son at Covent Garden, and later attending the launch of ‘The Inflatable Buddha’ by András Kepes at the Hungarian Cultural Centre in London.
It is the newest project of my to-be publisher http://www.armadillocentral.com/ András’s novel offers a more subtle perspective than officially recorded history, showing the fictional lives and wits of three ordinary, idiosyncratic Hungarians during the twentieth century. The sample readings enticed me, and I’m now looking forward to reading the book. The well-attended, grand launch event also gave me a taste of what is to come – being exposed to questions about my own epic .
Then came a traumatic interlude to my writing …
During the last two days, to the grinding noise of chainsaws and a shredder, I mourned the loss of a beautiful poplar/aspen tree in my neighbourhood, which has grown too high for its owner. The now mutilated tree (the image shows a third of its size) will be gone completely next week. I’ll miss the shimmer and the watery music of its leaves, produced by the slightest breeze, and the golden hearts trailing into my garden come autumn. I picked a few early leaves to treasure, pressed to dry in my dictionary.
Today a most pleasant surprise … a poetry book arrived unexpectedly in the post, sent by a Scottish friend/poet, who is at this moment working with a visual artist on a project about Tin-mining in St Ives. Due to blank spots in my education I rely on stumbling upon poets less publicised, and was delighted to receive this gift of an expertly edited ‘New Collected Poems’ by W S Graham. So I thought I’ll share excerpts from his poems – on themes that will chime with fellow writers .
W. S. Graham (1918-1986) grew up in Clydeside, Scotland, and initially followed the footsteps of his father, who was a structural engineer in the ship-building trade. However, a year studying philosophy and literature at an adult education centre outside Edinburgh set him on the path of writing poetry for the rest of his life, irrespective of meagre financial rewards. He travelled to London and New York City, but later lived with his wife in Cornwall.
I was delving into the book this morning. Here some facets, unconnected lines, the first from THE NIGHTFISHING (1955) – a melodic composition, speaking to the seen and unseen, from a night in a herring boat out on the North Sea.
… Gently the quay bell
Strikes the held air …
Strikes the held air like
Opening a door
So that all the dead
Brought to harmony
Speak out on silence …
I am befriended by
This sea which utters me …
… Far out calls
The continual sea.
Now within the dead
Of night and the dead
Of all my life I go.
I’m one ahead of them
Turned in below
I’m borne in their eyes
Through the staring world.
The present opens its arms …
… Each word is but a longing
Set out to break from a difficult home. Yet in
It’s meaning I am …
… The bow wakes hardly a spark at the black hull.
The night and day both change their flesh about
In merging levels …
The iron sea engraved to our faintest breath
The spray fretted and fixed at a high temper,
A script of light …
… The streaming morning in its tensile light
Leans to us and looks over on the sea.
It’s time to haul. The air stirs its faint pressures
A slat of wind …
… The white net flashing under the watched water,
The near net dragging back with the full belly
Of a good take certain …
Some of the last lines of – THE NIGHT CITY – a turning point … I found Eliot and he said yes … T S Eliot was then with Faber and Faber. He became Graham’s publisher.
… Midnight. I hear the moon
Light chiming on St Paul’s
The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea …
Between the big buildings
I sat like a flea crouched
In the stopped works of a watch.
From IMPLEMENTS IN THEIR PLACES (1977) I picked a refrain from WHAT IS LANGUAGE USING US FOR ?
… What is the language using us for?
It uses us all and in its dark
Of dark actions selections differ …
And last – AIMED AT NOBODY – Poems from Notebooks (1993)
It does not matter who you are,
It does not matter who I am.
This book has not been purposely
made for any reason.
It has made itself by circumstances
It is aimed at nobody at all.
It is now left just as an object by me
to be encountered by somebody else.
* * *
This may well be how it feels for most writers who simply can’t help sculpting experiences into words. What do you think?


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Have questions about eBooks? Check out our eBook FAQs.
|Format: DRM Protected ePub|
Vendor: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: 2007
Essie Mae Laveau Jenkins is a 78-year-old sweetgrass basket weaver who sits on the side of Hwy. 17 in the company of her dead husband, Daddy Jim. Inspired by her Auntie Leona, Essie Mae finally discovers her calling in life and weaves powerful "love baskets," praying fervently over them to affect the lives of those who visit her roadside stand. When she's faced with losing her home and her stand and being put in a nursing home, Daddy Jim talks her into coming on up to Heaven to meet sweet Jesus-something she's always wanted to do. Once there, she reunites with Gullahs and African ancestors; but soon, her heavenly peace is disrupted, for she still has work to do. Now Essie Mae, who once felt powerless and invisible, must find the strength within her to keep her South Carolina family from falling apart.
Sandra Dodd5 Stars Out Of 5October 19, 2007Sandra DoddThe presentation and plot are very good. Our book club had a lively discussion! Ms.Seitz sets a stage for deep Scripture searches and growth for the novice and old timer as well.Very good read.
Michelle SuttonArizonaAge: 45-54Gender: female4 Stars Out Of 5September 10, 2007Michelle SuttonArizonaAge: 45-54Gender: femaleWell here is another book that makes me go hmmmm... because it's supposed to be a Christian book yet there is so much contained in this story that is simply not biblical. However, the fictionalized character of Essie Mae is a delight to read. I think it's important to note that what the above description from the publisher doesn't mention is that the love baskets that Essie Mae "powerfully prays over" also has voodoo rituals attached, only she calls it hoodoo. Essie would weave the hair of people into the basket in hopes of matchmaking. And in this story the hoodoo techniques always worked.While I found some of her thoughts hilarious and her culture entertaining, this story contained quite a few weird theological moments...like when Essie thought they needed to help Jesus out when they were in heaven, and some of the things they did in heaven were "way out there". But this is a fictional story. So if you don't take it seriously and read it for mere entertainment you will enjoy the book. I'd love to believe that I will look young, beautiful, and get to make love to my husband in heaven, too, but that simply isn't so. And I found it odd that her voodoo practicing aunt was in heaven along with some other folks that practiced similar things. Like somehow that was irrelevant to their faith in Jesus? Hmmmm...I dunno.The writing and characterization of the story was excellent, however, and I commend the author for her creativity and ability to engage the reader, but I don't think it should've been marketed as Christian fiction by a Christian publisher. But I'm only one opinion. If you can get past the warped theology and you are seeking a book that is compulsively readable, you'll like this story.
Harriet Klausner5 Stars Out Of 5December 21, 2006Harriet KlausnerSouth Carolina septuagenarian Essie Mae Laveau Jenkins sits by the side of rural Highway 17 as she has for decades making sweetgrass love baskets. The weaver insists to those who worry about her that she is not alone as husband Daddy Jim sits by her side though he died years ago. Essie Mae believes her "love baskets" helps those who buy them from her roadside stand though she takes no chances as she adds prayers for those in need just as her beloved Auntie Leona taught her decades ago.Now her loved ones want to place the seventy-eight year old weaver into a home. Daddy Jim tells her to join him in Heaven where Jesus awaits her coming. She does, but besides her beloved spouse and the Sonof God, she meets her recently deceased African-American relatives and ancestors from Africa making her feel complete and at home. However, back on earth her descendents are in trouble needing Essie Mae to return to give them the strength to come together.This deep character study will provide inspiration to readers as Essie Mae deals with mortality, deaths of loved ones, sacrifice, the radical changing of her world, and coming to heaven. She keeps the story line flowing on earth and in heaven as fans will be fascinated with how the sweetgrass basket weaver puts love into her work. Though local dialect adds a sense of locale and to a degree purpose, it also adds some difficulty to the read. Still this is a magnificent profound look at a person who has an inner strength few contain.Harriet Klausner
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A methotrexate (MTX)-resistant HeLa subline (R5) has been developed in this laboratory with impaired transport due to a genomic deletion of the reduced folate carrier (RFC). In the current study, this cell line was utilized to examine the impact of loss of RFC on the activity of other antifolates. Despite the complete loss of RFC activity, R5 cells were only 2-fold resistant to pemetrexed (PMX), but 200- and 400-fold resistant to ZD1694 and PT523, respectively, as compared to parental HeLa cells when grown with 2 uM folic acid. When folic acid was replaced with the more physiological 25 nM 5-formyltetrahydrofolate, R5 cells were 2-fold collaterally sensitive to PMX while still 40-and 200-fold resistant to ZD1694 and PT523, respectively, as compared to HeLa cells. Under these conditions there was a marked contraction of the cellular folate-cofactor pool in R5 cells. Sensitivity to PT523 and PMX could be completely restored, and to ZD1694 nearly restored, by transfection of RFC cDNA into R5 cells indicating that the defect in drug transport was the only, or major, factor in resistance. The preserved PMX activity in R5 cells could not be related to the very low expression of folate receptors since inclusion of 1 uM folic acid, to abolish any folate receptor-mediated transport, had only a minimal effect on the PMX IC50. Rather, retained PMX activity in R5 cells was associated with residual transport by another process that exhibits good affinity for PMX (Kt=12 uM) with much lower affinities for ZD1694, MTX, and PT523 (Ki’s of ∼ 90, 100, 250 uM, respectively). PMX transported by this route was rapidly converted to higher polyglutamates and, when grown with 25 nM 5-formyltetrahydrofolate, the rate of formation of these derivatives and their net accumulation in R5 cells was comparable to that of wild-type cells. These data suggest that selective preservation of PMX pharmacological activity is due to (i) partial preservation of transport by an unidentified process with a higher affinity for PMX than the other antifolates evaluated, (ii) the contraction of cellular tetrahydrofolate-cofactor pools associated with loss of RFC when the growth substrate is a reduced folate that utilizes this transporter for entry into cells.
[Proc Amer Assoc Cancer Res, Volume 45, 2004]


What is it to “pray without ceasing”? (1 Thess. 5:17) Hans Urs von Balthasar in his book Engagement with God gives us this thought from Origen:
Boyd draws heavily on Origen when setting up his proposal for what he calls the Cruciform Hermeneutic. Origen doesn’t explain away the violent passages of the Old Testament. He has a way of looking at them that brings us to the “lens” of the cross.


Heaven and Hell
Warning, this is not only yaoi it's DARK yaoi. Don't like? Don't read.
“So, ready for tomorrow?”
Midvalley looked over at the young priest.
“That assignment. Over in New Oregon.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
Midvalley sighed and walked to his quarters. He turned on a small lamp light next to the table and poured himself a drink. He was tired again. This was a bad sign. He figured even while being with a guy like Wolfwood, he could still be so discontent. He removed his coat and shoes and poured himself yet another shot of burgundy. He drank it in one gulp. He walked over to the couch and sat down debating to himself if he should get some rest. Just then he found his body violently twisting it’s self into a very painful position. He gave a sharp cry of pain.
“I find it rather fun to hear it when you yell like that…”
His eyes jerked to the corner to see an all to formula figure standing there.
The blue haired man laughed quietly.
“Yes… struggle not to scream so loud… I’m enjoying it immensely”
Midvalley gritted his teeth. He’d be damned before he let that twisted bastard be so satisfied with him.
Legato walked over to him, kneeling down to the musicians level.
“You’re mad at me aren’t you? That doesn’t surprise me in the least… I wonder… are you afraid?”
He stood up and ran his hand down Midvalley’s backside.
“Do I ever tell you why I do this?”
He ran his hand under Midvalley’s stomach, down to his crouch. Midvalley winced slightly. Legato unbuckled Midvalley’s pants and slowly pulled them off. The musician felt the cold air along his naked body. Legato pulled off his own cloths. He grinned evilly. His own penis hardening.
“You’re my replacement… you give me what He denies me.”
Legato climbed on top of Midvalley who struggled to break free of Legato’s control.
Legato scoffed “Trying to escape are we? You weren’t so reluctant the last time I offered myself to you.”
The golden eyed man ran his hand under Midvalley’s crotch and gave it a squeeze.
Midvalley gave a cry of pain and all of a sudden released in horror that his own penis was erected.
Legato chuckled again as the musician released that his man hoods excitement wasn’t entirely fault of his own.
“Well.. now it’s my turn. Believe me.. I shall be extremely entertained by you.”
Midvalley’s face turned red as he found himself ejaculating into Legato’s hand. Legato pulled his hand out and licked it from his own fingers. He then smiled evilly once again and wiped it across Midvalley’s mouth. Midvalley found himself licking his own seamen from the corners of his lips. He winced at the bitterness of it. He had started to breathe frantically. Two strong hands continued to massage his crouch while he felt Legato’s own erect penis rubbing against his ass. He wanted to scream, but he figured that even if he had gathered the courage to do so. Legato would probably have made sure that he didn’t. He shuddered as he felt a warm wet tongue along his neck. He felt it go lower along his back side, lower until it reached were his ass begin. He was sweating horribly now… he couldn’t remember the last time he felt in so much pain, and Legato hadn’t even gotten to intercourse. He winced as he felt teeth marks along his back. This time he did cry out as the hands squeezed his genitalia even harder. He felt it go stiff again. He prayed that this humiliation would be over soon.
“Do you really think it will end that quickly? And here I am, trying so hard to pleasure you… you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Legato slowly raised up the musicians hips, ruffly grabbing Midvalley’s thighs and pulling them wider. He squeezed the chocolate-eyed man’s buttocks and pulls them wider as well. Slowly Legato stuck just the tip of his penis into Midvalley’s ass. Midvalley sighed to himself. At least he was slow this time at least-
Biting his lip to keep from screaming was the lest Midvalley could do as Legato violently trusted the rest of it into him. Oh God it hurt. He didn’t know how painful that could be.
“Enjoy this world of pain Midvalley… I know I do..”
The blue haired man continued to thrust repeatedly and violently. Harder and harder. And each time it became harder for Midvalley to keep himself from screaming. He could feel Legato’s man hood inside of him. Finally he opened his mouth to scream.. and released with horror that he couldn’t.
“Now why would I want you to make so much noise? After all… you’re suppose to be enjoying it aren’t you?”
Midvalley ejaculated again.
Finally in what seamed like forever, the pain stopped and he felt the penis slowly pull out from him. His body finally regained control and he collapses on the couch. Legato calmly got dressed and headed towards the door. “Well.. that was highly enjoyable.. next time I’ll let you be on top…”
Midvalley felt a small amount of blood starting to trickle out of where the golden eyed killer’s manhood had once been only a few minutes ago.
He lay there too sore to move. So this is what his life had come to. No one asked him if he was happy. His life was a nightmare. He was in hell.
--end of this first part


Left Drowning - Jessica Park
|Left Drowning, is haunting, heartbreaking, and emotionally charged. It will leave you reeling long after you have finished. It is a MUST READ!|
What does it take to rise from life’s depths, swim against the current, and breathe?Weighted down by the loss of her parents, Blythe McGuire struggles to keep her head above water as she trudges through her last year at Matthews College. Then a chance meeting sends Blythe crashing into something she doesn’t expect—an undeniable attraction to a dark-haired senior named Chris Shepherd, whose past may be even more complicated than her own. As their relationship deepens, Chris pulls Blythe out of the stupor she’s been in since the night a fire took half her family. She begins to heal, and even, haltingly, to love this guy who helps her find new paths to pleasure and self-discovery. But as Blythe moves into calmer waters, she realizes Chris is the one still strangled by his family’s traumatic history. As dark currents threaten to pull him under, Blythe may be the only person who can keep him from drowning.
**This book is intended for mature audiences due to strong language and sexual content.**
Left Drowning Amazon.com
Left Drowning Amazon.ca
Left Drowning Amazon.uk
"I see perfection in things that are likely considered imperfections to others."
I am writing this review directly after finishing Left Drowning, in order to process. This book was a very emotional 5++ stars!
I created a new shelf on my Goodreads lists just for this book!
"Reality is not necessarily my friend - then again, neither are dreams - but this moment, this reality, is beautiful. I am alone without being lonely, for once, staring across the water and watching the sun begin its climb into the clear blue sky."
A young woman suffers an incredible loss, while at the exact same time a young man escapes the fear and torture that has become his life. While two die, three escape with their lives.
Scarred, tormented, broken, but they survive. ..
"Death and grief make everyone around you vanish because death and grief are intolerable."
This book builds slowly, when I first met the characters Blythe, Sabin, Chris, James, Zach, Eric and Estelle, I was taken aback by how real they were. I mean truly real, in a non apologetic, honest, and realistic way. They are college students and they act like college students. The banter and conversations that take place, I could actually hear them in my mind. This book played out in in front of my eyes as clear as if I watching it on the big screen. It was heartbreaking, realistic, traumatic, unapologetic, honest and unwavering. The subject matter in this book is difficult to read in many places, as the memories of the abuse, the emotional and physical scars are so vivid, you are transported to their world. I was so engrossed in this book, everything just faded away, and when I finished I was just.... just.... breathe.
"And he thinks about the future and how this present hell is not forever. It's just pain."
Two people drawn together by events uncontrollable. Lives intertwined so completely you cannot see where one begins and the other ends. The characters in this book are family, in every sense of the word. Love unconditional, unyielding support, patience, undeniable chemistry, compassion, forgiveness, and healing, are what makes this book extraordinary.
"I am. It's a constant struggle to stay near the surface. I have just enough air to stop me from totally going under, but not enough to thrive."
The author breaks your heart over and over, throughout this book
"You are the great love of my life that I'm never going to have."
"She raises hers, too, and they reach out as though they are touching palm to palm. Her fingers fold as if they are falling between his, and Chris makes the same motion. She has become part of him, this girl, and he lowers his hands to rest over his heart. He will keep her there always."
I felt like I was on a roller coaster, throughout the entire read. That being said, what she shatters, she heals, and in the end, you are left, just sitting. Processing, smiling, crying, and sighing with relief and happiness. Happiness that love can heal, truly heal and help you move forward. Love can heal you, you can move past survival, it can let you live, freeing you from the past, allowing to look forward and finally accept and anticipate your future.
"I am overwhelmingly in love with you," Chris says as he matches my steps. "I've spent most of my life thinking that my father never gave me anything but pain. But that's not true. He did give me something. Someone. You. He gave me you."
Left Drowning, is haunting, heartbreaking, and emotionally charged. It will leave you reeling long after you have finished. It is a MUST READ!


On October 25, 2014, I lost my auntie Crystal and experienced loss like I never had before. I felt the lowest I’ve ever felt, and I cried the hardest I’ve ever cried. This was after weeks of praying the most I’ve ever prayed and believing more than I’ve ever believed for a miracle. When that didn’t happen, I found myself asking God, “Why?”
Today, I’ve turned that weakness into strength. After many sleepless nights and what seemed like a never ending heartbreak, I realized that she’s in the safest place she could ever be. That helped me shift my thoughts to why she lived instead of focusing on why she died. My auntie was a true angel on earth. Her life was one that had a lasting, personal impact on everyone she touched. She did all she could to help any and everyone around her who was in need, even perfect strangers. She walked in her purpose and lived a life that was intentional. She was never afraid to try something new or go after what God put on her heart to do. Most of all, she loved her family and treated her friends as though their blood ran through her veins.
So, as I begin this journey of truly pursuing my purpose, it’s important to note that she is the reason I am pushing past my fears to walk in the fullness of my future. She taught me that we can’t take anything or anyone for granted. I love harder, work harder and live fuller because of her. She’s my heroine. She’s my angel. And she will forever and always be my reason.
Rest in paradise, auntie.


’- Don’t you think she’s ugly?
- Or fat?
- Or an embarrasment, or worthless?
- No, just stop it. No, right. No.
- What do you want to say to that little girl? If she said that she felt that way about herself, what would you tell her?
- That’s she’s fine, that she’s perfect.
- Then that’s what you need to tell yourself. Every time you feel that panic, that anxiety. You need to soothe yourself as you would soothe the little girl. You need to tell yourself that everything is going to be okay. If you commit to that, then I promise you that you’ll be able to face anything, and it starts right now. Everything starts right now.’


The Fountainhead (1949) Screenwriter(s): Ayn Rand
Architect Howard Roark (Gary Cooper) made a closing summation (of author-screenwriter Ayn Rand’s treatise on Objectivism) to a jury, defending his destruction of housing project buildings that had perverted his original design plans – his words were so powerful that the jury found him not-guilty:
Howard Monologue: Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light, but he left them a gift they had not conceived and he lifted darkness off the earth. Throughout the centuries, there were men who took first steps down new roads, armed with nothing but their own vision. The great creators, the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors, stood alone against the men of their time. Every new thought was opposed. Every new invention was denounced. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid, but they won. No creator was prompted by a desire to please his brothers. His brothers hated the gift he offered. His truth was his only motive. His work was his only goal. His work, not those who used it. His creation, not the benefits others derived from it. The creation which gave form to his truth. He held his truth above all things and against all men. He went ahead whether others agreed with him or not, with his integrity as his only banner. He served nothing and no one. He lived for himself. And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement.
Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. But the mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain. The man who thinks must think and act on his own. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be subordinated to the needs, opinions, or wishes of others. It is not an object of sacrifice. The creator stands on his own judgment – the parasite follows the opinions of others. The creator thinks – the parasite copies. The creator produces – the parasite loots. The creator’s concern is the conquest of nature the parasite’s concern is the conquest of men. The creator requires independence. He neither serves nor rules. He deals with men by free exchange and voluntary choice. The parasite seeks power. He wants to bind all men together in common action and common slavery. He claims that man is only a tool for the use of others, that he must think as they think, act as they act, and live in selfless, joyless servitude to any need but his own.
Look at history. Everything we have, every great achievement has come from the independent work of some independent mind. Every horror and destruction came from attempts to force men into a herd of brainless, soulless robots, without personal rights, without person ambition, without will, hope, or dignity. It is an ancient conflict. It has another name – ‘The individual against the collective.’ Our country, the noblest country in the history of men, was based on the principle of individualism, the principle of man’s ‘inalienable rights.’ It was a country where a man was free to seek his own happiness, to gain and produce, not to give up and renounce. To prosper, not to starve. To achieve, not to plunder. To hold as his highest possession a sense of his personal value, and as his highest virtue his self-respect. Look at the results. That is what the collectivists are now asking you to destroy, as much of the earth has been destroyed.
I am an architect. I know what is to come by the principle on which it is built. We are approaching a world in which I cannot permit myself to live. My ideas are my property. They were taken from me by force, by breach of contract. No appeal was left to me. It was believed that my work belonged to others, to do with as they pleased. They had a claim upon me without my consent, that it was my duty to serve them without choice or reward. Now you know why I dynamited Courtland. I designed Courtland. I made it possible. I destroyed it. I agreed to design it for the purpose of seeing it built as I wished. That was the price I set for my work. I was not paid. My building was disfigured at the whim of others who took all the benefits of my work and gave me nothing in return.
I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life, nor to any part of my energy, nor to any achievement of mine, no matter who makes the claim! It had to be said – The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing. I came here to be heard in the name of every man of independence still left in the world. I wanted to state my terms. I do not care to work or live on any others. My terms are – A man’s right to exist for his own sake.


It had been a full day that Jackie Leves had personally brought his men to look for Serene Silas, but he still hadn’t found her. Jackie couldn’t find her and her safety was unknown. He could only feel as if his soul had been taken away, wandering in the valleys between the mountains. Misty Mountain covered a vast area, it was impossible for Serene, an injured person, to get out of the forest alone… As he thought of her being injured, a thought flashed across Jackie’s mind. Just as he was trying to catch the fleeting thought, he was interrupted by Daryl Leves. Daryl had came over to report on the progress on the search. He turned around and asked coldly, “What’s the matter?” Daryl said cautiously, “Young Master, there is a call from Mr. President. He wants to meet you.” Jackie turned his head and looked at Daryl coldly. He didn’t say anything, but Daryl knew what he was thinking. He didn’t have time to see anyone before he could find Serene. In other words, nothing was more important than looking for Serene. Daryl added, “Mr. President said they have found Miss Silas.” “What?” Jackie turned around and grabbed Daryl by the collar and growled, “What did you say? Say it again?” Daryl was frightened by his master’s expression. A few seconds later, he said, “Young Master, Miss Silas must have been taken by the President’s people. He called to talk to you about Miss Silas.” When he heard that Serene had been rescued by Nathaniel Cooper’s men, he knew that she was still alive, Jackie let out a sigh of relief, but soon his anger and jealousy erupted. “Did his men take Serene back? How does his men know where Serene was?” Before this, Daryl had reported to him that Nathaniel had never sent anyone to keep an eye on Serene so how could he know where Serene was? He decided to give Nathaniel a chance to explain for himself. Now it seemed that Nathaniel’s words might not be credible. “Young Master, do you want to meet Mr. President?” Daryl asked carefully again. He shrank his neck, worried that Jackie who was in a rage, would twist his head off his neck in anger. “Of course, how could we not meet?” Nathaniel took the initiative to come to him. This is his domain, who could possibly hide from him? What else could they do if they didn’t meet? Nathaniel came to see Jackie this time as himself, not as the President, so only the driver, Jamie, and his personal bodyguard, Horatio accompanied him. The car drove slowly on the winding road, and it took them almost half an hour to get to the villa. Nathaniel had heard of the beautiful scenery on Misty Mountain and he thought that he could use this opportunity to experience it for himself. It was true that Misty Mountain was a fairyland, now that they were halfway up the mountain, it felt like they were on the clouds. “Sir, we’re here.” The one who spoke was the bodyguard, Horatio, who first got off the car and looked around to make sure that surroundings were safe before letting their Mr. President alight Horatio was particularly careful as his vision was severely limited by the massive fog. He stood close, next to Nathaniel and was constantly observing the surroundings. “Okay.” Nathaniel got out of the car and nodded. His tall body stood in the fog and looked up at the building in front of him. “Sir, this is it.” Horatio pointed to the building in front of him. Horatio frowned discontentedly because no one had came forward to welcome his master. Seeing that his master did not show any dissatisfaction, he quickly calmed down. After Jamie had parked the car, he got out of the car and stood behind Nathaniel. Just like Horatio, every nerve in his body tightened as if he was ready to deal with any sudden attacks. “Sir, I’m going to knock on the door.” Horatio informed his master and stepped forward to ring the doorbell that could be found beside the gate of the villa. After the doorbell had rang for some time, someone came out from the villa. This person was Daryl, Jackie’s most trusted subordinate He said, “My master was exhausted and he is now taking a bath. If you’re not in a hurry, Mr. Cooper, please wait in the study for a short while.” The President came in person, but he said that his master was taking a bath. To choose to take a bath at this time, in other people’s eyes, he was being disrespectful. Horatio and Jamie looked at each other and were very dissatisfied. They wanted to voice their dissent on their master’s behalf, but Nathaniel opened his mouth first. “Please lead the way then.” Nathaniel spoke politely, without a trace of anger on his face. If it were someone else, Nathaniel would definitely make him pay for taking up his time. However, this man was his best friend since childhood. Although they were not really brothers by blood, but they were closer than any real brothers could be. Besides, when the Levees Family was exterminated a year ago, it was indirectly related to him, so how could he ever get angry at Jackie? They entered the house, went upstairs, and arrived at Jackie’s study. Horatio and Jamie never left Nathaniel’s side, they were afraid that he would be in danger. “Wait for me outside.” Nathaniel gestured with his hand, indicating them to leave. “Sir, no!” Horatio and Jamie said at the same time. They were worried about leaving their master alone in this dangerous place However, Nathaniel insisted on doing so. He said indifferently, “Are you going to defy my orders?” Of course not. They wouldn’t dare to disobey Nathaniel’s orders. It was because they were too loyal that they were worried that Nathaniel would be in danger, that was why they didn’t want to leave Nathaniel had spoken twice but Horatio and Jamie was still standing by his side, like a mountain. They did not move at all. “He is my best friend. Anyone in the world may hurt me, but not him.” A man who was born at the exact same day as him, grew up together with him, and even his family was destroyed because of him. Even if that person wanted to take his life, he would let him do it. Moreover, he was absolutely sure that that person wouldn’t do that. Over 20 years of brotherhood, 20 years of going through thick and thin, he knew that person more than he knew himself. Horatio and Jamie looked at each other and didn’t say anything. They nodded and withdrew themselves from the entrance of the study room As soon as the two of them closed the door, there was a loud applause in the room. A man who was wearing a black suit and half of his face hidden under a mask said, “I’ve heard about Mr. President for a long time. You are really fearless to have come to meet me.” Nathaniel looked around and saw a man with a mask. Half of his face that was exposed was unfamiliar to Nathaniel, he had not seen this face before. His voice was also unfamiliar to him, he had never heard of it before. But the man’s figure was almost the same as the person he had in his memory. He thought that this man with the unrecognizable features was probably the man he was looking for, but Nathaniel was not sure. He just looked at him repeatedly. “Sure enough..” Jackie sneered. No matter how close they were before, he still couldn’t recognize him.


Om shanti. Those who make spiritual awareness a focus in their lives want to act in a benevolent way. It is as though there is a natural inner enthusiasm to do good deeds. Do intense meditation and then do service from the heart.
Attachment and greed distract us and prevent us from performing elevated actions. With real renunciation your intellect will not be pulled anywhere and you will not want anything. You will not become upset or disturbed. You will become a beautiful flower and seeing you others will become the same. Don’t think too much; let many benefit from your fragrance.
Rethink your mindset. Set your mind with a determined thought, and then there is no need to think about it any more. “I have set my mind, and this is what I am going to do.” Have faith in yourself, faith in others and faith in God. These are deep, subtle aspects that I am sharing with you.
If you think too much, you waste a lot of time. To ask too many questions, to get agitated and to get confused is all a waste of time. When your mind is clear, you get the right touching at the right time to do the right things. Even if you have children and work, you can still remain detached. Stay pure, stay clean, and don’t think too much. Whatever you need to do, do it now. You belong to the Father, and so always remain loving and detached.


In this episode of “Humanities on Demand,” we join John Ward at the McArthur Public Library in Biddeford for “Robert Frost: The Impossibility of Interpretation.” This talk was held on July 15, 2015 as a Taste of the Humanities event.
Scholar John Ward, formerly of Centre College and Kenyon College, reads and discusses a selection of Frost’s poems. The poems read by audience members were not picked up in our recording, so they are reread here by Kate Webber.
Readers have seen quite a profound shift in the critical reception of Robert Frost’s poetry and life. Frost remains hard to pin down, by any critical standard: his ironic messages shimmer, defying easy paraphrase. Precisely because he is so tricky, Frost deserves and rewards our most careful attention.


Projects per year
Transmissivity of fluids along fractures in rocks is reduced by increasing normal stress acting across them, demonstrated here through gas flow experiments on Bowland shale, and oil flow experiments on Pennant sandstone and Westerly granite. Additionally, the effect of imposing shear stress at constant normal stress was determined, until frictional sliding started. In all cases, increasing shear stress causes an accelerating reduction of transmissivity by one to three orders of magnitude as slip initiated, as a result of the formation of wear products that block fluid pathways. Only in the case of granite, and to a lesser extent in the sandstone, was there a minor amount of initial increase of transmissivity prior to the onset of slip. These results cast into doubt the commonly applied presumption that cracks with high resolved shear stresses are the most conductive. In the shale, crack transmissivity is commensurate with matrix permeability, such that shales are expected always to be good seals. For the sandstone and granite, unsheared crack transmissivity was respectively 2 and 2.5 orders of magnitude greater than matrix permeability. For these rocks crack transmissivity can dominate fluid flow in the upper crust, potentially enough to permit maintenance of a hydrostatic fluid pressure gradient in a normal (extensional) faulting regime.
|Number of pages||24|
|Journal||Journal of Geophysical Research: Solid Earth|
|Early online date||20 Jan 2018|
|Publication status||Published - 20 Jan 2018|
FingerprintDive into the research topics of 'Influence of normal and shear stress on the hydraulic transmissivity of thin cracks in a tight quartz sandstone, a granite and a shale.'. Together they form a unique fingerprint.
Mitchell, N., Mecklenburgh, J., Rutter, E., Huuse, M., Finch, E., Chandler, M., Chang, Y., Zhao, Z., Shi, W., Bashir, Y., Ardo, B., Newton, A., Cox, D., Lloyd, C., Putuhena, H., Sarkar, A., Nnorom, S., Owolabi, O., Malah, M., Soutter, E., Dunlevy, E., Balila, A., Alhammami, S., Olobayo, O., Serié, C., Chenrai, P., Sharples, A., Le, A., Lamb, R., Harding, R., Gulmammadov, R., Calves, G., Bureau, D. & Muniz Pichel, L.
Structural geology and rock physics
Mecklenburgh, J., Covey-Crump, S., Rutter, E., Chandler, M., Ardo, B., Bashir, Y. & Tielke, J.
Shining light on shale:geomechanics and 4D fracture characterization.
Mecklenburgh, J., Lee, P., Rutter, E. & Taylor, K.
30/11/14 → 2/03/18


“For the needy shall not always be forgotten…” (Psalm 9:18a)
As I read through the book of Proverbs, two scriptures caught my attention.
“The one who oppresses the poor insults his Creator, but whoever shows favor to the needy honors him” (Proverbs 14:31).
“The one who is gracious to the poor lends to the LORD, and the LORD will repay him for his good deed” (Proverbs 19:17). These scriptures got me intrigued, and I thought for a while, “the poor ought to be remembered”.
Anytime the word remembrance is mentioned, it gives an idea and a hint that something has been forgotten and needs to be brought back to memory and practice. In my opinion, remembering the poor is one of the most important things a Christian should think about apart from God and His work. In fact, the act of remembering the poor is in itself the work of God.
“Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labor, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that need”. (Ephesians 4:28). No wonder the scriptures teach us to work so that we can give to the poor. Giving to the poor is the primary reason for work before every other. The poor ought to be remembered. I sometimes ponder over how we eat the best of meals and have the best of everything even in excess, yet very few people really remember and consider the poor. Statistics enumerates that one billion children worldwide are living in poverty. According to UNICEF, 22, 000 children die each day due to poverty. 805 million people worldwide do not have enough food to eat, while more than 750 million people lack adequate access to clean drinking water. A personal experience I had with a team on a missionary engagement last two years in a village was heart-breaking and pathetic, where village folks drunk from the same stream with their livestock insinuating that they had no access to potable drinking water. It explains how deadly poverty can be and as such we must ensure in our individual capacity to contribute our quota to if not eradicate, to alleviate its effect on its victims.
The World Bank, International Organizations, Churches, Foundations and many Affluent individuals in the world have contributed immensely to the reduction of poverty significantly. Notwithstanding, there are still many individuals in societies living in abject and extreme poverty meaning there is still a lot of work to be done. Given the numerous reasons why most ladies go into prostitution, the root cause is undeniably poverty. Many individuals have become school dropouts and many have indulged in all sorts of vices because of poverty. A lot of these individuals carry great potentials and talents, yet subjected to poverty, hindering their impact and influence. Imagine the number of great, influential, gifted and skilled individuals the world would have had if these individuals were helped.
Many a times, many people accuse and attribute the poverty of others to the greediness of political leaders and those in authority, yet these same individuals have not in their small way contributed to helping any poor or needy in their sphere. This shows that they would have done likewise, having the opportunity to assume such positions. The act of remembering the poor and the needy should be seen as a personal concern and not to be left for those in authority. “Blessed is he who considers the poor”. (Psalm 41:1). The bible is clear with regards to making it a personal endeavor and responsibility and not only a corporate activity to help and consider the poor. The bible is emphatic and conspicuous; Blessed is “he”, not “them”. The Lord Jesus Christ demonstrated this act by giving humanity a portrait and a template of the extremum on considering the poor according to (2 Corinthians 8:9) ” For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake (humanity) he became poor, so that you (humanity) through his poverty might become rich”.
But I ask myself, do we really care?
Do we care about the street children who always approach our vehicles in traffic pleading melancholy for their daily bread?
Do we care about individuals we see each day who cannot afford a three square meal?
Do we care about individuals with tattered clothes and worn out shoes who attend church day in and out?
Do we care for and show interest in widows and orphans who are impoverished, whose daily livelihood is at the mercy of a Good Samaritan and occasionally benevolent NGOs and foundations?
Do we care about the destitute we see at night whose bedtime is left to the discretion of a storekeeper and the weather?
If we really care, what are we doing about it? The poor ought to be remembered. In Deuteronomy 15:1-11, God commanded the nation of Israel to remember the poor and needy among them and not to shun them. He instructed that they give to them sufficient for their need without a grudging heart. God vehemently warns and commands not to oppress the poor especially widows and orphans, for it’s an insult and dishonor to the most high. (Proverbs 14:31).
God told Israel not to harvest all the proceeds of their crops but leave some in the fields for the poor and needy as God’s plan of helping the poor. It is making provision for the poor and less privileged in our endeavors. In light of this, we are required by God to incorporate into our plans and yearly resolutions as a deliberate provision to cater and help the poor.
WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT REMEMBERING THE POOR.
- As part of the myriad outstanding virtues outlined in the book of Proverbs that characterizes a virtuous and good woman is one who opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hand to the needy. It adds to the unique virtues and commendable values of a good and virtuous woman. (Proverbs 31:2).
- Remembering the poor is the first of the signs and works of the coming upon of the anointing and spirit upon an individual. Anyone anointed by the Spirit has it as a personal ambition and interest to help the poor. “The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor…”. (Isaiah 61:1).
- Remembering the poor is equivalent to amassing treasures in heaven. Giving and helping the poor guarantees our treasury in heaven from which we can be helped in the day of need. (Matthew 19:21).
- The voice and cry of the one who considers the poor will always be heard by God. God hastily responds to their plea and prayer always in the day of trouble. (Proverbs 21:13).
- The one who gives to the poor lends to God and He will repay in abundance, because to Him belongs gold and silver. (Proverbs 19:17).
- He that considers the poor shall be delivered in the day of trouble. His life is insured against the day of trouble. (Psalm 41:1).
- He shall be preserved, protected and kept alive. He is immune to death against the set time. (Psalm 41:2a).
- He will be called blessed in the land. In other words, his blessings will be so much that it will be impossible not to be known in the land where he dwells. His blessings will be known to all and won’t be hidden. (Psalms 41:2b).
- He won’t be handed over to the desires of his enemies. (Psalms 41:2c).
- The LORD will sustain him on his sick bed and restore him from his bed of illness. (Psalms 41:3).
It is of a worthy course to have it as a personal responsibility to remember the poor and needy in the society, nation and the world. This will make the world a better and happy place for everyone to live. The heart of God deeply goes out for those who engage in this endeavour and has it as an interest to consider the poor.