Story #6, CPE Review “Paradise Lost” By John Milton

STORY 15 which is another CPE review "A Little Book of Hygge" by Meik Wiking

The prompt: A literary magazine has invited readers to submit reviews of non-fiction books. You decide to submit a review of a book that has influenced you greatly. Your review should briefly describe the book, explain what aspects of your life have changed after reading it, and assess the importance of non-fiction literature.

Imagine yourself waking up in the crisp blue morning, snuggled in a soft, warm blanket, still hazy and disoriented, but well-rested and content. Imagine yourself taking that feeling of coziness and comfort, bottle it up, and carry it with you throughout the day: no stress, no chagrin, just pure joy and happiness. 

“The little book of Hygge” by Mike Wikking is your guide to the Danish concept by the same name of life devoid of anxiety and tension. Step by step, from picking the right light for your bedroom to planning weekend dinners, you’ll learn to recreate an atmosphere of the place where you feel shielded from the outside world and can let your guard down. The principles of this 10-part manifesto, full of gorgeous photos and illustrations, can be applied in the familiar space of your house, in the office environment, while traveling or walking by anyone from executives and mere employees to homemakers and students.

To me, Hygge is the epitome of tranquility. Curled up on my couch, with the ripple pattern baby afghan I had knitted for my daughter, I read through the book in a couple of nights. Prompted by the Wikking’s work, I put on the rubber gloves to clean the apartment of junk piling in my bookcase, my wardrobe, my cupboards. Little magic rituals like cocoa by candlelight and a game of Monopoly with kids on a Saturday night naturally implemented themselves into my routine. Hygge was that magic ingredient in my recipe for a stress-free life.

Lost in a hectic race to achieve some bigger goals, people forget to appreciate little mundane pleasures, such as a smell of a fresh-baked cake, or a bedtime story to children. Meanwhile, what could be a more effortless way to be reminded of the value of life? It’s the very time to turn to books of facts. They might not provide a fantasy world to escape like fiction, but become our tools for a quick-time solution, an answer to a burning question, or just a piece of advice. Perhaps, next time you ponder what kind of read to indulge in, attempt reality over imagination.

Photo credit: @stellarose Unsplash

Story #76. Based on the prompt: 'Surprise!' They cried, leaping out from behind the door.

“Surprise!” They cried leaping out from behind the door, and the glass of water she was holding, slipped out of her grasp and shuttered.  She bolted down to clean the mess and peered sideways at her unsolicited guests shifting from one leg to another. One of them, Tom - she recalled vaguely - tiptoed around the shards and intercepted her hand, reaching for paper napkins in the bottom drawer of the desk. 

“I’ll do that, don’t worry.”

The words broke the spell, prompting others to hurtle towards the couple on the floor. Flowers were put into vases, cake was set on the desk, candles were lit, and presents were stored in the corner of the room. 

“Didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you.”  Someone offered and the woman huffed a laugh.

She took a moment to meander around the office, gauging mentally whether she’d be able to take all the wrapped-up boxes and bouquets to her car in one go and then backed up and plonked down on the chair. A high tower of a cake leveled her eyes. 

“Make a wish,” Tom encouraged.

I’d like this day to start over, she said in her head and blew the candles.

Story #57 "You gotta stay away from work to work better"

Said A. in our yesterday’s lesson when I asked her about Women's Day. Hell, yeah, I replied, would be nice but kind of hard to do your work not working it. We laughed it off and got back to our good old lexical items but the thought stuck. 

It played on the loop later as well, when I thought back to my last year's holiday. And two years back. And basically all the holidays of the last 10 years. The first thing I pack with me is my laptop. I take it out to the airport to check the student's homework. I take it out on the plane to outline a workshop. I take it out in a hotel to upload some extra materials for them and then write some more. 

The children run around asking for a cable car trip, or a dip in a swimming pool. The husband is pulling me under the blanket in his subtle attempt to make out with his seemingly relaxed pre-holiday wife. The dog we don’t have (thank god!) scratching the door desperately to remind us about its basic needs, would complete the picture perfectly. 

Yet, I have my laptop on my knees. The wheels are already set in motion while I’m getting ready for my lesson in the room I set up for my study in our two-bedroom suite. 

That begs the question - why the hell is it so hard not to work at all? And If I strip myself of any opportunities to be engaged in any work-related environment, can I break that vicious cycle? 

What’s your holiday like, guys? Is it a real work-free holiday or do you tend to squeeze in a few lessons/homework checks/course supervising/etc. in between a morning beach stroll and an evening family dinner?

October 2024 fic roundup

👶☑️ Beginnings by @television-overload

The most perfect follow-up to Of Our Own Making! Seeing m&s fall in love and go on their first date AFTER getting married and having a child together is just precious. (Especially Mulder’s “will u go out with me” note!) I love their unconventional relationship so much.

🐓🍽️ Untitled by @aloysiavirgata

This little fic is hilarious! I love Mulder getting the chance to be subtly petty towards Bill. I also love to see MSR being so domestic and settled down in the unremarkable house.

blue prints by @foxmulders

(Couldn’t find an ao3 link to this one)

Oof. This one hurts in the best way. It’s everything you want for these characters that they never got to have. It’s fluff, but it feels like angst because it’s a reminder of what the Mulder-Scully family could have been. I love it!

🛁🫧 the alchemy by @leiascully

I absolutely adore “platonic” intimacy that happens when they’re not quite together, and this fic starts out that way and ends in some incredibly satisfying RST. For such a short fic, this one sure does pack a punch! One of my favorites from fictober.

🕳️📍 You Send Me by spookynerd

The silliest premise leads to the sweetest romance! I love to see Mulder all pathetic and pining. My favorite line: “I’m in love. I think it’s terminal.”

🧜‍♀️💍 mermaids, native to montana by @foxmulders

I read this one a while ago and recently stumbled across it again. It’s the type of fluff with an undercurrent of sadness that creates such a powerful sense of longing. If you’re a fan of an unconventional marriage fic, read this one!

🛌🚂 Untitled by @myassbrokethefall

I usually steer clear of revival fics (I haven’t even been able to bring myself to watch it yet) but this one is just so darn sweet! I’d like to go back in time and show CC a copy of this fic so he writes it into the show.

🎂💌 Birthday Blues by Donnilee

I’m a fan of an author who can turn the silliest, most improbable situations seem probable, and this fic delivers. Read it if you’re a fan of tropey goodness and smut that’s as adorable as it is hot.

💇‍♀️💥 By the Dim and Flaring Lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience

I was in the mood for a historical setting, and this Civil War AU fit the bill! One of my favorite things was its exploration of 19th-century gender roles, not to mention the unconventional romance.

🇮🇪🏰 Katherine of Ireland by Jenna Tooms

If you’re a fan of Hiraeth (as I am), you’ll love this one! It has a very similar setting and plot. The writing styles are very different, though, so it’s not like they’re carbon copies of each other or anything.

Anyway, this fic is achingly romantic, with plenty of lines that take your breath away.

(If you want the epub for easier reading, let me know!)

🏝️👻 Waldron Island by @sisterspooky1013

Like Gaslight, this fic features M&S not being able to trust their own minds. However, this time, it’s for horror reasons, not sci-fi reasons. Regardless, that concept is one of my favorites to explore in fiction, so I absolutely devoured this spooky fic! (And the ending scene? 😫🔥🥵🥹‼️)

😈🪞 Succumbing to the Truth by OnlyTheInevitable

If you liked Waldron Island, you’ll love this one! It’s a similar concept, but lies more in the casefic genre rather than straight-up horror. I loooove the way it uses the plot (a succubus demon) to force M&S closer together and finally talk about their feelings. It’s one of those fics where you can see where it’s going, which adds anticipation and makes the ending so much sweeter!

🥤🛍️ Inevitable by @thefinestmuffins

This alternate version of the car conversation in Tooms is an incredible Scully character study that’s absolutely dripping with UST. For a short fic, it truly packs a punch! One of my favorite parts is this: “On the Dana Scully list of priorities, want figures very, very low. It’s not that she doesn’t possess it in great quantity, it’s just that she fights like hell to rate it less highly than ambition, dignity, control, pragmatism, self-sufficiency, stability.”

Story #9 “Stolen Socks”

To the chief of police

From George W. Harrison

Alexandria, Virginia 

Statement

That’s one hell of a byzantine plot I’m going to unfold here, but bear with me, please. I’ll have to go back to square one to explain myself. It all started with The Blue Lagoon. I never watched the movie, it’s a 100% girly thing, but when Mary invited herself into my apartment to watch Brook Shields and her caveman skinny-dipping and necking in crystal clear waters, I couldn’t say no.

Detailing the story point by point - I cleaned my abode and bought some staples. A six-pack of Shiner Bock, lots of popcorn, and even butter. She loves it with butter like a true American. I changed the sheets on the bed. I didn’t mind making out on my oldie creaky couch, but hey, it’s about Mary, and she deserves better. Also, I’m a guy pushing my forties, so you can’t really blame me for wanting to get comfortable! Back in the day, that little black thing saw lots of action. Not like I was going celibate these days, I’ve just been waiting for the only woman I’ve ever been interested in, and finally, slowly, we were making some progress. Earlier that day she said that dating me was like taking a leap of faith. I deem it necessary to bring to your attention, officer, that I wasn’t about to disappoint this woman. We were finally getting down to business of getting down to business.

Anyway, as I started getting dressed for my first in 7 years date, it dawned on me that it was my laundry weekend. No clean undergarments. I felt fine with going commando, a t-shirt and jeans would just do that, but not with my feet bare. Bare feet were a no-no. That’d be like an invitation to skip all the pleasantries and jump each other’s bones right off the bat. Don’t get me wrong, Mary has stuck to my side for what feels like forever, but I didn’t want her resolve to waver at the sight of such neediness. I couldn’t let her have any second thoughts. You see, she’s the woman anyone is lucky to get a date with. She’s way out of my league and I’m considered off the rocker. So, yes, I am one lucky son of a bitch.

A glance at my watch let me know that I still had some time to drive to Giant and buy new socks. This is how I found myself maneuvering through the aisles in search of a stall with socks. When I did though, I grabbed the item and strode towards the checkout, only to realize that I forgot my wallet!

Usually, I am an exceedingly calm man, but at that moment, my stomach got knotted and I felt panic rising within me. Sweat broke above my upper lip. Oh man, that wasn’t nice at all. Actually, nice was too flat a word, too squishy. It was anything but nice! OK, I seem to go off on a tangent here again. I knew it was now or never. I couldn’t get back without a pair of clean neat socks. I rejected out of hand the idea of rushing home, finding my wallet, and then driving back to the mall. Mary was going to show up at my door in 15 minutes! So, when I noticed that the item in my hand had no anti-theft magnet on, I sneaked into the dressing room, shimmied up the socks, and in a matter of seconds was on my way out. Unfortunately, my little escapade was caught by the security camera, with a hell of a powerful zoom lens. Well, there was also an eager operator (maybe even too eager) who miraculously noticed that I went in with socks and went out without ‘em. 

I know that I am liable to the proper punishment here and I’ll cover all the costs. It’ll never ever happen again, officer. Scout’s honor!

 The thing is, as it turned out, Mary doesn’t care either for clean socks or for me having a record! Otherwise, she wouldn’t come here to bail me out with that beautiful toothy grin all over her lovely face. We probably still can make it to my apartment and spend a nice evening together. Maybe even skip the movie part. God, how I love that woman.”

__________________

That’s when the officer raised his eyes from my statement and looked me in the eyes. Uncertain, I mumbled, “So, what d’ya say, officer?”

Story #29

The X-files fanfiction "We only heal together" 3/3

Read it on AO3

3.

When Mulder opens his eyes, the darkness instantly evolves into a hazy grayness. No snow or harsh blinding light. No screeching metal cabinets behind his back, no blinking fluorescent ceiling lamps, no whirl of snowflakes around. It’s not their office. 

His head feels heavy and Mulder draws a deep breath and takes a look around. He’s lying on the tiled floor in what looks like a spacious conference room. He can hear Scully’s ragged breathing somewhere close but not quite there. The pounding in his head is the pounding on the door. Slowly, he comes to the conclusion that what they have just experienced was no more than a hallucination. A dream of sorts. It’s sickening cruelty chilling him to the bone.

“Scully?” he croaks. There’s no answer.

Dizzy and confused from their ordeal, Mulder manages to roll on his back and spots Scully lying a few feet away from him in the fetal position. From where he is, it looks like she’s still imprisoned in their mutual delusion, her eyes darting beneath her tightly shut lids. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge his presence at all, and on unsteady legs Mulder rushes to her, almost crashing down onto the floor in his haste to get to Scully. Not sure whether it’s safe to wake her up, Mulder nonetheless cannot resist reaching out and brushing her shoulder tenderly. At his touch Scully jerks sharply and a weak moan falls from her lips. 

“Don’t,” she says in a small voice. Mesmerized and terrified at once, Mulder watches how the lashes of her closed eyes get wet, and when a single tear escapes and runs down her temple, he is overwhelmed with horror. A shocking, stomach-churning realization sinks in.

The pounding on the door becomes almost unbearable in its discordance and in a matter of seconds the noise turns into a thunderous racket. The door gives up under the assault of whoever stands behind, and a bunch of police officers along with paramedics burst unceremoniously into the room.  

What happens next happens so quickly that even hours later Mulder struggles to reconstruct the whole evening in detail. It comes in increments, and he knows next to nothing as to which are real and which are just figments of his imagination. 

Scully is put on a gurney and whisked away outside to the ambulance, he himself has to endure a disgustingly long and meticulous examination by a young paramedic. When it’s finally confirmed that he sustained no physical injuries and is free to go, he’s held by another officer to explain his involvement. Around him, the place is swiped for evidence. Mulder does his best to deliver his version of events, which feels pretty much like an after-sleep groggy recollection. The police disclose that there was an anonymous call about people being subjected to torture at the location. They have yet to determine the source of the call, but the Portaverros were arrested on the spot upon trying to flee their office. They are being taken to the station at the moment and the agents are welcome to pay a visit and interrogate the couple as soon as they want. Mulder advises the cops that it might be reasonable to separate the couple, and confirms they’ll drop by the police station first thing tomorrow morning.

At last, he ventures out of the building to look for his partner only to find Scully already waiting for him in a car. Not a word is said as Mulder starts the engine and heads off to Georgetown, anticipating how tedious their journey back home is going to be. The silence is uncomfortable and seems to scream even louder than the noise he heard at the crime scene, and it makes him shift anxiously in his seat. His partner’s head rests against the side window, her eyes closed. He can’t stand the thought that she might be pretending just to steer clear of him, so he chooses to believe Scully is dozing off, exhausted.

When Mulder pull the car up to the front of her apartment building, she wakes up only to notice that the car is double-parked and the engine is running, the key still in the ignition. Obviously, Mulder has no intention of inviting himself in. Carefully, as if not to touch him, Scully extends a hand under the steering wheel to turn and pull the key out. The engine dies and the silence stretches like a taut skin of a drum. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts and then measuring each word carefully, she says:

“Come inside, Mulder.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” his voice is a bone-tired whisper. 

“We’ll just talk.”

“Scully,” he stops her with an exasperated sigh.

“Mulder, please. We can’t just sweep it under the rug and hope it will sort itself out.”

In an attempt to catch his eyes, Scully cups his chin and turns it to meet her steady gaze. Mulder surrenders to her willingly, secretly elated that she has no trouble touching him. Not like in the Portaverro’s residence. It’s only a moment before he drags his eyes away again, his face contorted in pain. 

“Did I really do that?”she knows he’s talking about their shared nightmare, and logically she understands it wasn’t real but it hurts all the same. They will bring it to the surface and acknowledge the damage done. They will deal with that. There’s no way she's going to put her head in the sand and circumnavigate his question. Withdrawing her hand, she says calmly. 

“Not for real, no.”

“It felt real.”

“It did.”

The knuckles of his hands turn white from the power of his grip on the steering wheel. All of a sudden he’s a wild animal trapped in a cage, the quiet and limited space of a vehicle suffocating him. He wants to launch himself off the seat, pace around, circle the table, topple a chair, shove his hands in his pockets, put some distance between them, punch someone. He doesn’t do any of these things. Deep down in his heart of hearts, he knows that Scully is right, they have to talk it through. Stealing a quick glance at his partner, Mulder is relieved to see that her expression and posture are open. 

“What was your fear?” he finally asks.

“Betrayal,” that makes him jerk his head up and search for her eyes. 

“Remember that case we were working on in Braddock Heights? With the vhs tapes?” Scully continues. “At the time, I thought you were in cahoots with the cigarette-smoking bastard. I was terrified of being betrayed, most of all by you. I guess this time that fear manifested itself in the cruelest way possible.”

Her hands are slightly shaking and she hides them between her thighs, so Mulder wouldn't notice and poses the question back. 

“What was yours?” 

“Hurting you,” Mulder replies without preamble, raw emotion in this voice. His eyes burn, pain filling him up to the brim, threatening to spill over the edge. “I was afraid…” he drops his head, no longer able to endure her sea blue penetrating gaze. “I am afraid to end up doing something that will hurt you, Scully. I fucking hurt you all the time.”

“Mulder…”

“I do, Scully. You can’t assuage my guilt by saying it was your choice. I know what you're gonna say, it's always been your choice, and you stay by my side of your own volition. I know that! It doesn’t make me any less responsible for all the bad things that keep happening to you.” He’s looking at his upturned hands, fingers splayed wide until Scully’s small strong hand comes into his view and cradles his tanned and big one. The contrast is mesmerizingly beautiful. When she tugs on his arm and brings their intertwined fingers to her mouth, kissing each of his knuckles lovingly, his eyes cloud with tears. 

From the moment they were partnered, Mulder had the unshakable belief that Scully needed his protection. If he could… if she let him, he would put her into an inner pocket of his jacket to hide her from the perils of the outside world. As far as she was concerned, he was simply scared out of his wits. Mulder is well-aware that despite being a diminutive woman, seemingly fragile and vulnerable, Scully is stronger than anyone he knows. Stronger than himself. Her petite frame is no more than a facade. On more than one occasion, he bore witness to her easily overpowering her male counterparts. Hell, for the seven years they’ve been together she probably incapacitated more offenders than he had done in all his years in the FBI. Scully is his strong little partner, best friend, and staunchest ally. She’s the love of his life. 

“Mulder, listen to me. You are intransigent. Adamant. Moderately aggressive, dominant and assertive. Maybe even the most grandiose narcissist in the flesh I know. But aside from being all those things, you’re also kind, compassionate, empathetic, loving. And you are not a rapist. I trust you with my life, Mulder.”

Her soft breaths dance across the skin of his hand still pressed to her warm cheek, lips grazing lightly on his calloused fingers. 

“You’re my guiding light, Scully. My touchstone. I wouldn’t be sitting here now if not for you.” 

It feels like a moment of distilled creation. He might have chosen other words but their meaning echoes her own: they are not going to let it drive a wedge between them, leaving their lives in disarray and their souls emotionally crippled. As Scully’s hand reaches the door handle ready to get out of the vehicle, Mulder doesn’t hesitate to follow. 

Story #68, which is a negative travel experience.

Here I am in my late 30s. Now scroll down my Instagram and see what I was like nine years ago - practically the same woman but with her first child (and don’t forget to wow me with “you haven’t changed a day!”) So when the baby girl turned 18 months old, our little family of three adventured off to Bulgaria - our first holiday in the status of parents.

It is not unheard of for a newly-minted mother to be cautious and plan everything ahead when a child is involved. That’s what I did. A hotel with a kid’s pool and a playground - ticked. A restaurant with a menu for picky toddlers - ticked. A suitcase filled to the brim with diapers, fruit smoothie pouches, formula, and every medicine imaginable - ticked. I was prepared for everything.

What I couldn’t have been prepared for was that three days into the holiday, Ann, my unlucky daughter, would start burning - not under the hot Bulgarian sun, but with a fever. A nasty virus, caught somewhere at the airport, and oral thrush, caught when she wined and dined herself with the beach sand are both quite innocent, but a deadly bouquet when worsened by a child violently teething. 

We made it through the holiday watching cartoons (frigging Blue Tractor), eating the suitcase of smoothie pouches, and pushing a stroller along the most deserted streets of the town. 

The hardest part was to watch her looking at the pool through the balcony bars, knowing that she couldn’t join the other kids there. The lesson learned hard - I hadn’t taken my second child on an abroad trip until all his teeth claimed their rightful places in his mouth. 

Story #72, which is a 'Truly like lightning' review.

“The X-files” were my Bible throughout the 90s to 2000s. I fell in love with the character of Fox Mulder long before I fell in love for the first time for real. I didn’t think Duchovny could get any better than that until he started writing and I started reading what he had written. 

“Truly Like Lightning” is not David Duchovny’s first book, but it’s his best so far - it will strike you to the very core and leave you aching, with questions whirling like a snowstorm in the head. 

Set in the desert of Joshua Tree, the story centers around the former Hollywood stuntman Bronson Powers, now a converted Mormon living unplugged in a polygamous marriage. They raise their ten kids away from the evils of society until one day a young ambitious employee of a corrupt real estate company targets their land. Cultures clash. Faith is tested. Choices are made.

The book will hook you and won’t let you put it down… if you manage to push through the first fifty pages. Seriously, it took me two weeks to read that part, where Duchovny mostly explained the background of his characters, and only two days to finish the 445-page manuscript, when the story finally turned into an action movie-like narrative.  

All things considered, it’s worth every minute of reading. What made a successful man abandon all the perks of Hollywood and choose to live the life of an isolated nomad? What happens to Powers’ family once they are forced off their land and into the temptations of the world they left behind? What’s with the children who have never had a say in any of that? 

Read the book. And be prepared to be struck. 

Story #64 "Living a Life of Interruptions"

I wish I could say that writing comes naturally to me, and with a click of my fingers, I shift my mind into the subspace where my silly ramblings magically turn into coherent ideas.

Much to my chagrin, I can barely find time to transmit a few sentences to my journal on a daily basis. It should be easy, isn’t it? After all, you do it with everything else in your life - exercising, hobbies like reading or knitting, your work for crying out loud!

But…come on, in all candor, when are you ever alone? Exactly.

Peace and quiet is a gossamer door into a parallel reality allowed to exist in your head only. I’m hardly alone even when I pee, much less so when it comes to all my aforementioned ventures.

I live a life of interruptions. I’m interrupted when I read, when I run on a treadmill or sweat over another set of crunches or when I take a shower.

Notifications. Messages. Ads. Kids. Random thoughts. Things you forgot. Things you must not forget. Reminders. Whether these are your children, pawing through your desk with their little hands and naked curiosity or something else, be brutally honest with yourself - you are constantly bombarded with interruptions.

Is there a way out? There must be some, right? Mine is to write in the wee wee hours when everyone is asleep. In the dark and gloomy confines of my kitchen, surrounded by the smell of freshly brewed coffee that slips into my pores and receptors of my nostrils, I have found my safe place for writing. I’m all by my lonesome, and I love every minute of it.

I disciplined myself into writing. And if the muse happens to hover over my shoulder, I grab that resentful bitch by the neck and keep doing my thing, because if I don’t, she will slam the door shut out of my creative space so loudly that it will leave the void so vast, it will echo.

Be kind to yourself. No disparaging remarks. Only courteous behavior and soft-spoken words are welcome in that sacred place where creativity is harvested. Enjoy the crackling freedom you regain, when once evanescent thoughts, finally transform into actual printed letters, demystifying every nook and cranny of your brain.

That, indeed, is real magic.

Story #39, CELTA 2022

I’ve been wanting to take the course for the past three years or so, but somehow I couldn’t answer to myself “to what end”? And then it just clicked. So here I am.

I didn't want to do a full-time 4-week offline CELTA. Since we live in a digital age where people Zoom this and that, you don't even need to leave your apartment. Maybe even your bed.

My CELTA is a 12-week online course in ITI Istanbul.

We have a multinational group with people from Turkey, Iran, Russia, Japan, and even Argentina!

The workload is pretty heavy, but all the tasks are quite doable, and if you manage to organize your time properly, there’s just the right amount of time for work, side projects and family errands.

All the tasks mentioned below are compulsory; however, only the first two are assessed.

What it consists of: 🦋4 written assignments (up to 1000 words); 🦋8 45-minute lessons; 🦋6 hrs of teacher practice observation (including your tutor); 🦋7 weekly sessions; 🦋30 units of coursework on the Cambridge platform; 📛nerves, sweat, tears unlimited.

My teaching practice is starting at the end of November and finishing somewhere around December, 30. (Alas! no teaching after the New Year’s Day). The last week is dedicated to wrap up all the loose ends.

This should be the first step for taking DELTA afterward… so we’ll see.