I Started Out Reading A Fantasy Novel. A Simple Police Procedural In A City Far Away, That Straddles

I started out reading a fantasy novel.  A simple police procedural in a city far away, that straddles an old slow river.

But no, it was about ethics.  It was about knowing the difference between what’s allowed, what’s legal, and what’s right.  And that fairly often those three don’t line up.

Or it was about gender politics.  About the first person in a society willing to step up and say “You’ve called me by this name, and this pronoun, all my life.  But that isn’t me.  This is me.  No, we don’t even have that pronoun yet, but this is still me.”

Or it was about racism.  That constant social whine of “well, everybody knows what they’re like.”  The blame game that’s based on the whispered mutterings that never have a source, and always boil down to “I’m terrified because they are different.  I’m terrified because when I look at them, for a second there I can see myself in their eyes and if I was wrong, then all I’ve said and done…”

It was about giving voices to the voiceless, and hearing how much they’ve been trying to say this whole time.

It was about what it means to be human.

I always start out reading a fantasy novel when it comes to Pratchett.  And somehow it ends up in a moral philosophy lesson from a professor with a grasp of humanity that still leaves me astonished.

im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

I too recommend the publishing order/chronologically. That's how I read the books first, and yeah, The Colour of Magic was a bit difficult for a the initial few pages, but once you get into the flow of it, it's brilliant. And then as the books go on, each one gets subsequently better!

Thanks @fuckyeahgoodomens for the video!

Terry reading the introduction to The Colour of Magic ❤❤❤ which is the first Discworld Novel :). If you haven't tried it yet I recommend so so much! :) It's so brilliant and glorious ❤. (I usually recommend to go chronologically to see how he is getting greater and greater but there is also this nice flowchart:)

Oohh, got it! Had forgotten about Don't Panic! - new book added to TBR! I actually first encountered the humorous use of footnotes only in the Discworld novels, and was sort of surprised by all that could be done with them, so assumed Sir Terry was the first.

Hello Mr. Gaiman!

Idk if it has been asked before, and sorry if it has, but whose idea was it to include footnotes in Good Omens? I'm guessing Sir Terry's, mainly because his books usually have them in abundance while yours usually don't (haven't yet read Stardust, Neverwhere, Norse Mythology and Anansi Boys - hope to get to them soon! - so don't know about those, but i don't think i remember any in American Gods, Coraline, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, The Graveyard Book, or in The Neil Gaiman Reader).

Also, once you agreed on including them, who wrote more footnotes? Or was that also a collab thing, to get to the next funny bit, even in footnotes?

Thank you for your books and being. Hope the WGA strike comes to a good end, however long it takes.

I used to be really big on footnotes -- you'll find them all the way through Don't Panic! (1987). You couldn't really do them in comics, and by the time I got to Neverwhere it felt like Terry had sort of claimed Footnotes for himself, so I didn't use many after that -- I think there's one in Anansi Boys.

There were already footnotes in William The Antichrist, the first 5,000 words of Good Omens I showed Terry, that he asked if he could co-write with me, so they were already part of the style of Good Omens.

Sometimes the one of us writing the bit would also write the footnote. Sometimes the other one would notice a bit that would footnote nicely, and write it.

Infighting only helps our oppressors.

Infighting only helps our oppressors.

Infighting only helps our oppressors.

Infighting only helps our oppressors.

Infighting only helps our oppressors.

“There is strong evidence that reading for pleasure can increase empathy, improve relationships with others, reduce the symptoms of depression and the risk of dementia, and improve wellbeing throughout life, new research carried out for The Reading Agency has found.”

—

http://readingagency.org.uk/news/media/reading-for-pleasure-builds-empathy-and-improves-wellbeing-research-from-the-reading-agency-finds.html

Read this article. Spread it around. And then point out to others that when you have your nose in a book, you are not being antisocial, and that the world would improve if they read too…