There Are 8394 Fanfic Tropes I Need To Read After Mulder Comes Back Fuckkkkkkk

Story #67 is about all the would have beens in my life.

Everything changed. 

For better or worse is a pending question. 

My typical day now is more or less the same flurry of commotion as for any other teacher slash blogger. I teach Present Perfect and Conditionals, check CPE essays, attend another how to organize your language classroom webinar or let’s-read-or-write-or-watch-together club. However, unlike those multitaskers who somehow manage to tick every box on the list, I always have something in between. 

That something is kids. Every bullet point of my agenda is broken by “feed the kids,” “walk the kids,” “wash the kids,” and “do a million other things with kids.” And believe me, you better do, otherwise they will howl like werewolves on a full moon until someone finally draws a gun and shoots the poor bastards.

I could have done so much more with my life if I hadn’t had kids. I would have written the book I had been putting off for a decade. I would have designed a few writing courses of my own. I would have set up a gazillion of new projects. At the very least, I would have felt marginally less frazzled, drained and comatose.

Where’s that Jen who dreamed about driving along the Atlantic coast in a speeding red convertible, doing a Master’s in LSE and living in Belgravia right across Westminster Abbey? Does she know what my life would have been like if I had made other choices? Does she know what I would have missed?

It took me years to make peace with all the uncertainty those questions brought to my life, but I accepted the idea of only one true choice - all the roads would have eventually taken me right here, to this moment, when I’m sitting and typing that post. 

Indeed, my life is a far cry from anything I have imagined, yet it’s perfect in its failures. 

And even if I could turn back time, I wouldn’t change a day.

Some more factual information behind the CPE fiction article "The local hero". You can find a full article here https://www.nytimes.com/1995/10/05/nyregion/girl-s-death-is-attributed-to-rabid-bat.html

Story #65 is something to be said about bones.

“Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.”

Said Henry David Thoreau probably talking about finding your vocation and yada-yada-yada. Sitting in a wooden gazebo of my mother’s country house and looking at our twelve-year-old orange ball of a Pomeranian gnawing at a raw steak bone makes that quote a bit of a joke.

What does it take to know your own bone? How do you even know if that fucking thing is your true bone? Damn right. This is where you had to start, dear Mr. Thoreau.

I wanted to be a forensic pathologist. No, seriously. I thought I was going to cut skin and muscles and all. Literally. I would slice and dice and get to the very essence of a bone.

A human’s body is a temple, so often vandalized and violated by a few who believe they’re omnipotent - criminal offenders, abusers, perpetrators - doesn't really matter what you call them. By unraveling the mysteries of the body's destruction and gathering all the clues it left behind, I’d solve the puzzle and bring the body its dignity back. Restore it. Make it whole again. Make it more than just a set of bones.

I never became a queen of an autopsy bay. Somewhere along the way, I took another turn to explore my other obsessions. The writing was one of them, and this time it’s all down my bones.

The thing is, I didn’t recognize my bone when I first saw it. Sometimes it takes years to find it. It may take a few more to understand that it, indeed, is your true bone. However, one thing Mr. Thoreau was right about is, whatever your bone turns out to be, once you find it – gnaw at it. Gnaw at it with all your might. 

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 #63 is a review of "The Craft: Legacy" movie

“Let the ritual begin,” says the slogan of the supernatural horror film “The Craft: Legacy,” catching the attention of those starving for spectacular special effects and magic rituals. Based on the story of 1996, which had set a pretty high bar, the Legacy is yet to beat its prequel.

The protagonist Lilly, masterfully portrayed by young Cailee Spaeny, seems to be your typical kind of teenager with her ups and downs. And while the story efficiently tackles the issues teens usually face on their way to adult life, it is heavily steeped in feminism, tolerance to LGBTQ+, and all that kind of thing. There are no “normal” male characters in the film. The fiancé of the heroine’s mother she moves in with is a tyrant figure ready to scold his daughter-in-law for hitting a boy twice her size. His brood of teenage sons acts like snitches, ratting on their newfound sister on every occasion. Her classmates crack vulgar jokes over a piece of blood-drenched clothing and ask out loud about her sex life.

Of course, Lilly and her witchy girlfriends decide to punish one of such guys, bringing out his “better self”. In the blink of an eye a yesterday’s bad boy magically turns into a sensitive and gentle spirit, defending all the weak and powerless, unable to tolerate low-waist jokes, he felt absolutely comfortable with before. But is he your poster child for an ideal man? I doubt it.

Taking up so promisingly, the story becomes a mere disappointment in its final leg, reaching its peak in a poorly directed battle between Good and Evil. Here the theme of feminism re-emerges again, as Evil is represented by a single male figure and Good is carried out through a bunch of school girls. “Legacy” turns out to be no more than a maudlin melodrama with the moral in the idea that magic is the panacea for any failure.

Story #56 is a one-shot #3 written at the X-Files writer's workshop in 15 minutes.

A “yes” was forced out of her mouth, but she couldn’t find it in her to say no. She had some good days back at school. There were old halcyon days. Some people she had hit it off right off the bat, and some people she missed. 

Didn’t she use to have a tight-knit network of friends back at school?  Where are they now? Who are they now? There were people from all walks of life. 

“What have you got here?”

“Nothing,” she said as quickly as she could, but he was already reading over her shoulder.

“Oh. Will you go?”

“Only if you join.” It wasn’t an invitation though, more like an easy way out. Of all the people she knew, Mulder would be the first one to bail out of another dull exhausting reunion.

“Gladly.”

One reddish brown arched in confusion mixed with amusement.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” 

A challenge in his look. Say yes, I dare you. I double-dog dare you. 

“Is it a date?”

“Could be.”

Mulder made a complete 180, picked up his jacket, and headed off, leaving her all alone and confused. It was his turn to keep her guessing.

Story #59 is a CPE essay on positive psychology.

Positivity. A shibboleth and a trend of modern society. Body positivity. Workplace positivity. All day everyday positivity. A cliché the proponents of stand tall with, encouraging people, as Samuel Beckett once said, to try again, fail again, and fail better. That said, is the happiness-first approach the only means to succeed, and is it fair to assume that not everyone is designed to be an “always over-exuberant smiley” person?

To be a happy individual and a better person for society, one should strive to reframe any negative mindset and adopt “happiness” principles, as the opposite brings feelings of stress into life. What the aforementioned concept fails to take into account, however, is that negative emotions are far from being something that should be just tolerated - these have to be examined through the lens of a more nuanced view. Stress is a natural physiological response a person not only suffers but also benefits from. Anecdotal as it sounds, stress serves as a medicine, which means that in healthy doses it facilitates achievement and contributes to a positive emotional state.

However, in some cases, it is simply impossible to maintain that “always happy” practice. There are people, known as defensive pessimists, whose broodiness and fatalism are the normal state of affairs as it is their way to think ahead and prepare themselves for challenges, hence the conclusion - what is acceptable for one is not for another. While riding on the pessimism bandwagon provides defensive pessimists with a unique tool to cope with stress, having an overly negative mindset may lead to clinical depression and anxiety.

Optimism and pessimism are two opposites, both of which are fundamental to mental development. That notwithstanding, it is natural for an average person to regard hopelessness, sorrow, and the like as something one has to avoid at all costs; thus, the popularity of the positive thinking concept will continue to increase.

(word count 316)

(I should also mention that my tutor said that wasn't an academic style intro - the very beginning:) It would be great for a review or an article, but too bold for a discursive essay!)

Story #62 "My best learning experience"

Originally written as a CELTA admission essay.

It’d be fair to say that one of my best learning experiences was the one I gained being a member of the “Teachers Teach Teachers” project. In a nutshell, that’s a program created by a teacher trainer and business coach Anita Modestova, where teachers are given a unique, almost once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be taught by their fellow teachers, teach their peers themselves, discuss the methodology aspects of the overall teaching process, as well as receive the extended detailed feedback.

As a basis, we used Hugh Dellar’s “Outcomes Advanced” coursebook, implementing both the communicative and the lexical approaches. Every month, one of the participants, was nominated to teach their colleagues and Hugh, himself, hosted workshops for teachers of the month. We discussed strategies, shared our ideas for exercises, planned the whole lesson together, and in the next meeting exchanged good and bad outcomes and what needed to be improved.

Having lessons weekly, it took us roughly three years to go through the whole coursebook. Not only I became more confident as a teacher, but I got plenty of insights as a student, especially on teaching online. It was a safe place for me to implement new ideas and experiment with my own teaching style as well as test out any unconventional methods. For instance, at one point my third-year mentor Ben Brooks pointed out how much better it might be to let all students stay in the main room for an active discussion instead of dividing them into pairs. That was when I saw that sometimes the MR works better than break-out rooms, and later that year I gave a speech at the “Meaningful Weekend” conference about the whole thing and how beneficial it could be.

All in all, I’m extremely grateful for that experience and believe that it is partially responsible for what kind of teacher I am now.

Story #10

This story is my translation of the poem "The Key" by Boris Slutsky. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did while working on the translation and the video for it. Big thanks to all the people who helped make it happen.

"The Key" by Boris Slutsky

I had a room with a separate entry,

I lived all alone, single, no help.

At moments of lust, no double entendre,

I held that door open for ladies to step.

My married buddies lived with mothers-in-law,

And wives that were looking like mothers-in-law

Some overly fat, some overly skinny

But comfy like rain, though they looked pretty weary

Watching them turning another year older

Bearing more daughters and sons to behold

Wives turned into muses of travails and scolding

Symbols of sufferings kept untold

My married buddies cherished their wives,

More and more often they wanted to know

If I get married, saying ‘Idiot, jeez!

Marriage is bliss, can’t you see it, my bro?’

My married buddies resented their wives,

They yearned for ladies with unwrinkled hands,

Ladies, with eyes like wells deep enough

To fall into the abyss and never get back.

I felt repulsed by the thought (well, you know me),

But opted to mind my own business instead.

They needed a room with a separate entry

And I gave them the key from the room with a bed.

The original text:

"Ключ" Борис Слуцкий

У меня была комната с отдельным ходом,

Я был холост и жил один.

Всякий раз, как была охота,

В эту комнату знакомых водил.

Мои товарищи жили с тещами

И с женами, похожими на этих тещ, -

Слишком толстыми, слишком тощими,

Усталыми, привычными, как дождь.

Каждый год старея на год,

Рожая детей (сыновей, дочерей),

Жены становились символами тягот,

Статуями нехваток и очередей.

Мои товарищи любили жен.

Они вопрошали все чаще и чаще:

- Чего ты не женишься? Эх ты, пижон!

Что ты понимаешь в семейном счастье?

Мои товарищи не любили жен.

Им нравились девушки с молодыми руками,

С глазами, в которые, раз погружен,

Падаешь, падаешь, словно камень.

А я был брезглив (вы, конечно, помните),

Но глупых вопросов не задавал.

Я просто давал им ключ от комнаты.

Они просили, а я - давал.

Story #17 which is a CPE article about traveling.

That was based on a prompt that asked to describe the experience of “Traveling with a companion who spoiled your vacation”.

Imagine a pretty woman in her prime age traveling worldwide five times a year. Imagine her sacrificing tour adventures for such mundane things as raising a child. Imagine the woman jumping on a plane and flying to the seaside after three years of home-locked existence. Wasn't she all that excited? I bet she was! Well, I am that woman. 

After my long-standing maternity leave, I was finally ready to head off somewhere to dig my toes into soft ivory sand and feel the vanilla-scented breeze. I envisioned myself with damp hair sticking to my neck and sun-kissed cheeks, jogging along the beach at the crack of dawn and buying strawberries in a Styrofoam cup at the local market. The only thing dissimilar from my past pilgrimages was my infant daughter Ann standing as my travel companion. I thought ahead of everything: a hotel with high junior chairs, an allergy-free menu, and a childcare center nearby. My suitcase was filled to the brink with diapers, pacifiers, soft packs of fruit smoothies, and formula Ann was still sipping first thing in the morning. There was nothing I failed to consider. Or that's what I thought. 

Our private paradise ended abruptly on the third day. I remember reaching for Ann at night, wincing suddenly as if my hand had been burnt. I've never felt her so terribly hot trembling as if she was close to having a seizure. Next several days we would have spent in a hospital. On the 10th day, the GP gave her a clean bill. On the 11th we left for home. 

It could be argued that our situation was no more than an "unlucky" break, but there is something I have to say if you are a parent traveling with a kid. Take it easy. I bet if you try, try really hard, you’ll be able to find something good even in that seemingly terrible predicament. Good memories are priceless. For everything else there's MasterCard.

Photo credit: Marissa Grootes (Unsplash)