WEEKLY 2
(I’m too lazy to format this like I usually do sobbing)

PART ONE

From the 14th to 17th century, in the continent of Europe, there was a rebirth. Not of a person, or a place, but of a concept: Art. Literature, classical art, and philosophy. Now seen in a new light, this rebirth acts as a new beginning for these concepts. Not only that, but when new art techniques surface, creating a new era for the arts, this is a turning point for art’s development. Not only that, but developments in the arts will eventually lead to brand-new major advances in science, exploration, and politics. With art as a major point in this period of time, many of the artists we know and love today came from this era. Such as Leonardo DaVinci and Michealangelo. Painting a new era for art in this time period, a focus was put on achieving realism, which helped develop more advancements in human anatomy. In this period, the concepts of art and science came together, in order to make advancements for each other mutually. Alongside that, architecture became geometrical, another revival, this time of Roman styles that emphasized symmetry, proportion, and geometry. This period was when arts, science, and maths were brought together. This was the Renaissance Period.

201 words

PART TWO

On the bustling streets, filled with people rushing by working clothing wafting with luxurious clothing of velvet and silk, to linen and wool. With tight corsets and full skirts, women held their skirts up, preventing them from dirtying, before walking past.

A large church loomed overhead, it had been built not too long ago. The top of it, a large dome. Alongside that, quartz columns stretch from top to bottom, and a large arch is where the church’s entrance is. A staircase led up to the entrance. Intricate sculptures surrounded the building, and delicate murals were painted onto the walls. Without a doubt, there were likely even more paintings featured within the church itself. There has been an awful lot of those these days after all.

The streets were filled with grime — a far cry from hygienic. Smudged on the ground was dirt and all sorts of other impurities. From a chimney a large amount of smoke exited, spewing through the sky like some sort of large storm cloud. The endless sky was far from clear, the weather was in a constant state of unpredictability these days.

The surrounding buildings, with intricate and complex designs lined the streets. The architecture itself was impressive — but the overall sanitation of them was questionable. Nonetheless, that was the norm for the time, so the bustling streets didn’t care very much for it. The building's architecture was able to make up for it, perhaps. For the buildings had magnificent pillars, arches, and domes. The building's symmetry was intentional by all means.

Every surface seemed to have a painting of some sort on it, intricate strokes visible at a moment's glance. They all were hauntingly realistic, that was what was idolized. Art was a major part in the life of the civilians of the time. It was close to impossible to spend a day without seeing art of some sorts when out and about. None really minded all that much, it was the norm after all.

A distant bell chimed, signifying the start of the next hour. Merchants stood in the streets, offering their goods to whoever would listen. A nearby river was full of people with pails, grabbing their share of water for their day, their source of somewhat sanitizing themselves and their homes. The city was for the upper class, so the homes were rather comfortable for living, for the time at least. The homes still lacked running water, and they were all cold and damp.

413 words

PART THREE

Catherine is a noble girl who has turned freshly 18. Societal norms at the time encouraged her to get a spouse, but she wished for nothing more than to become an artist. This, however, went against what was considered to be the norm at the time. People believed that men should be the ones to be artists, hence why she was met with nothing but backlash and skepticism when she voiced her dreams. Despite it, it only fueled her undying desire to become an artist, in order to prove those who doubted her wrong. Her passion for the arts started at a young age, and despite the fact others told her to give up, her goal was only to

Catherine is still ‘ladylike’ in her personality. After all, she grew up in a noble household that followed the norm very closely. Having been born in a family built on legacy, she had always had the norm instilled in her. She only strayed in her lady-like demeanor when she had dreams to be an artist. She is still polite and listens to others, and follows closely to what was considered to be the traditional way in which women should act. It still was that she acted in a way considered appropriately for her day and age.

Not only did she gain dreams to become an artist, but she also began to develop extreme wanderlust. She admired painters from afar, yet her life still was centered around staying at her home. She often stayed at home, sewing and cooking because that was what she was meant to do as a woman. And since she was conditioned to be ‘ladylike’, she didn’t question it much, and only did as she was told. But it eventually drove her crazy, being locked in the confines of her home. She wanted something new, rather than the regular routine of normalcy. Having lived a sheltered life, she wanted nothing more than to break past the walls she was confined in and explore the world on her own.

Due to her wanderlust, she’s rather impulsive when it comes to new opportunities, jumping at the idea of having one. After all, she was willing to experience anything new after having lived in routine for so long. This had brought some criticisms, and it got her in trouble quite a few times.

Overall, Catherine still closely follows the societal norms for women for her time, yet she still strays from it slightly in her wanderlust and pursuit to be an artist.

421 words

PART FOUR

In a blur of strokes, in shades of azure, a landscape was painted. It was a representation of what Catherine saw outside, a magnificent blur of beautiful blue. Of course, it was nowhere near the degree Catherine wishes the sky were. For one, a foggy cloud of smoke covered bits of the sky, pouring out like smudged ink on a perfect painting. Nonetheless, Catherine could fill it in with something from her imagination.

She snuck off—as she had been a lot these days. She grew tired of the walls she lived in—hence why she decided to venture out for a breath of fresh air. She’d, no doubt, be reprimanded for this. However, Catherine found it’d be worth it to be able to see the bright sky outside. She had taken a couple of paints from the old attic in her house—she didn’t have any of her own. Her father refused to purchase her any when she asked—she was only called delusional and insane whenever she even whispered the prospect of being an artist.

But what could she do? Whenever she saw something new—which was rare—it was an urge for her to find a way to get it on a canvas. She once painted with the dirt on her shoe because she couldn’t find any paints. In a world so large—so beautiful, so full of life, she was confined to her home. She was told to cook, clean, and sew. Not only that, but now that she was 18, she was pushed to get a spouse, though she had no interest in that. Her heart only lied in art, painting strokes across a canvas until it became a picture Catherine could enjoy, look at for years upon years.

The sun began to set, making the blue sky turn into a dark orange. As much as Catherine wanted to stay, she knew that was an indicator to make her way home. After all, if her arrival was late, she’d have to endure a harsh scolding from her family.

She packed her paints, picking up her canvas and carrying it in her arms. It was only a matter of time until her father would grow unruly with her absence, and Catherine would rather make her scolding swift and sweet—as Catherine didn’t enjoy being yelled at. No one did.

When she arrived home—a larger home for the upper class, she swung open the door, met with the bitter and damp air of her house. However, she was met with dark silence, it seemed no one was home. Catherine mentally chastised herself—she could’ve stayed out painting for longer. Nonetheless, she made her way in her room to store her painting.

When she opened the door to her room, she froze.

Ripped to bits and pieces of the ground, her paintings laid in ruins on the hard ground. Paints were dotted around the floor, strewn about terribly. Catherine stared blankly at the ruined state of what she had worked so hard on—her paintings that were her passion, and what she hoped could be her livelihood.

He didn’t lose her passion for art that day, but a bit of her was missing at the sight of her painting’s destruction.

523 words

Daily 16th November - Advertising

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The Victorian Era usually refers to Queen Victoria’s reign over the vast British Empire, from 1837 to 1901. The industrial revolution took place during this time, creating extreme social divisions- high society becoming ultra wealthy, working class conditions dropping to an unimaginable level. The art was beautiful, with Victorian Medievalism being a particularly famous movement, motifs drawing inspiration from the Middle Ages. These impressions were not always accurate, with the women being depicted as dainty maidens with long golden hair when the beauty standards at that time actually required the ‘egg look’ with a plucked hairline and oval face. Fashion was at its peak of extravagance. With bustles, frill, shirring and puffed sleeves adorning the females’ dresses and smart suits being the rage for men, owning a Victorian Era dress is still considered wealth. Correction- some may be dainty, some were an outright collision between a fashion magazine and a nightmare. Hats with stringy ostrich feathers were considered pleasant-looking, which I don’t think many of us girls in the 21st century would agree with. There was a standard ‘hourglass figure’ for women as well, which many attempted to achieve using corsets, super unhelpful for their internal organs (if you know, you know). Anyways, that’s it for now- I need to speedrun the rest of the weekly!
It's 7am in the morning, and you are running (in an unladylike way, of course- how could running be graceful in the extremely modern days of 1890?) towards Alivesque ‘Sewing Supplies’ Street. You are an apprentice at Madame Cecile Latourette’s millinery shop- an incredibly fortunate position as Madame supplies all of the fashionable noblewomen (and on one occasion, even the Queen) with hats. You pause at the recent architectural marvel by the name of Trafalgar Square. You do not think much of the name- it would do better to name it Her Majesty the Queen Victoria Square. However, the square itself is not wanting in beauty. After a few blissful minutes, a cool breeze rushes on your face, waking you up from your daydream and reminding you of your true work- millinery, not daydreaming. You glare at Trafalgar Square and resume your mission to get to work in two minutes. Stepping in, a quaint bell rings to signal your arrival to the shop girls. A girl seems to appear out of thin air, bedecked in a checked blue and white pinafore. She breaks into a wide grin on hearing your new role. “My name’s Hester Gray. You seem a jolly sort- welcome to the club!” she says, ushering you into the seating area. The plush, ornate seating area will never fails to hold you in awe. Yet, its extravagance feels far from beautiful. On the contrary, it seems suffocating with chintz and plush everywhere. You wonder if it’s possible for a place to be too beautiful. This place certainly seems overwhelming. You look out of the rain-stained window, hoping for some relief from all the glamour. No such luck. You sigh. It’s 1890. Modern times call for extravagance. The street is dotted with shops named in curly letters. ‘Frett’s Fantastical Fabrics’ and ‘Elliott’s Emery Bag Hub’ have unconventional names, but their insides look rather interesting, you decide. Suddenly, you tear your eyes away from the sight. Then, you draw a deep breath. Trick statement- how’s that even possible? Corsets, ye olde genius. In anticipation of the occasion, you laced the strings a bit too tight, to look more respectable with a smaller waist. This is an opportunity of your life. It could make or break your life. In the case of the latter, you’d be sent to some country bumpkin and have your life ruined. You are woken up with a jolt at Hester’s voice.
“Mademoiselle, Madame is ready to receive you. Good luck.”
Character:
• Her name is Grace Hartman
• She’s twenty years old
• She has an older sister by the name of Cassandra
• She’s a child of a nobleman, living in Victorian High Society
• She was formerly a scholarship student
• Used to have a part time job at the Fairy Glen Sweet Factory as a designer
• Formerly worked on the factory floor

Hey, you. Yes, you. Turn around, look over your shoulder. Behold me, Gracie Hartman. I’m twenty years old, a ripe old age indeed. Onto physical description. I’m tall, slender (my family calls me thin but let’s look on the bright side) and I have red hair. My only affliction, my hair. That’s the reason I have to work at Madame Latourette’s millinery shop. The other option is being a courtesan- which I refuse to do. I used to work at the Fairy Glen Sweet Factory, first on the factory floor, and then in the designing room. That is, until Father was officially made a nobleman. So, I was made an apprentice at Madame Latourette’s shop. Don’t judge me! Madame supplies all the noblewomen with hats- and I DO have a flair for embroidery and design, you know. That’s most of what you should know about me.

Well, there’s ONE more thing.

My name is technically Grace Rosalind Elizabeth Hartman, but let’s not talk about that. It’s a mouthful. I know. It reminds me of my poor, ill-fated cousins over in Edinburgh. They are twenty three years old. Yes, all of them- they’re triplets. Their names are Faith, Hope and Charity. Faith never believes in anything, Hope is a born pessimist and Charity is a notorious miser. The same pattern followed with me- I am not graceful or look ladylike in any habiliments, springy hoop skirt or iridescent silver ball gown.

While we’re on the subject of clothing, dare I mention the torture of CORSETS? Wearing a chemise is fine, sure. But. Not. A. *. Corset. *Oops, I cursed. Accidentally, of course. I’m very respectable, and so are the other Hartmans. You know, I’m not that respected, but my parents’ reputation is at stake. Cassie already ruined it * Now, you’re thinking- Who’s Cassie? Is that her real name? If so, why the heck did her parents name her that? Have they no sense of the appropriate?

I’d love to avoid all these questions. So, I’ll be giving you some context! :sparkles: :zany: Cassie, short for Cassandra Warbeck Delacour Hartman, is my older sister. Of course my parents didn’t name her Cassie. Who would dare in 1890?

That’s REALLY what YOU should know about me. Adieu!

Story:

“You, child, are going to the children’s training area and will learn how to sew. I do not tolerate untrained girls, nobleman’s daughter or not. At my shop, training makes perfection.”

I had expected Madame Elise Latourette to be a warm, endearing lady. No way. She was the POLAR OPPOSITE. I almost went into hysteris when I met her. Almost. She is actually a demanding and elegant person.
Her voice seems both masculine and feminine, the chords fading into one another, stumping even Billy the Magician.
I was tongue-tied and trapped. What could I say or do? I liked millinery. Not just that. It was the only way I could earn nd preserve my decency. The other option is being a courtesan- which I refuse to do. I used to work at the Fairy Glen Sweet Factory, first on the factory floor, and then in the designing room. That is, until Father was officially made a nobleman. So, I was made an apprentice at Madame Latourette’s shop. Don’t judge me! Madame supplies all the noblewomen with hats- and I DO have a flair for embroidery and design, you know.
Her voice hardened. “Cooperation is a necessity for survival at my shop. If you disobey, you’re going back to your posh little noble mansion. You’d be more use lounging around there than here. Success is pain. I suppose you won’t like to be stripped of your senses, will you? Unless you already are, which I don’t doubt.”
Enough about that,here
Stepping in, a quaint bell rings to signal your arrival to the shop girls. A girl seems to appear out of thin air, bedecked in a checked blue and white pinafore. She breaks into a wide grin on hearing your new role. “My name’s Hester Gray. You seem a jolly sort- welcome to the club!” she says, ushering you into the seating area. The plush, ornate seating area will never fails to hold you in awe. Yet, its extravagance feels far from beautiful. On the contrary, it seems suffocating with chintz and plush everywhere. You wonder if it’s possible for a place to be too beautiful. This place certainly seems overwhelming. You look out of the rain-stained window, hoping for some relief from all the glamour. No such luck. You sigh. It’s 1890. Modern times call for extravagance. The street is dotted with shops named in curly letters. ‘Frett’s Fantastical Fabrics’ and ‘Elliott’s Emery Bag Hub’ have unconventional names, but their insides look rather interesting, you decide. Suddenly, you tear your eyes away from the sight. Then, you draw a deep breath. Trick statement- how’s that even possible? Corsets, ye olde genius. In anticipation of the occasion, you laced the strings a bit too tight, to look more respectable with a smaller waist. This is an opportunity of your life. It could make or break your life. In the case of the latter, you’d be sent to some country bumpkin and have your life ruined. You are woken up with a jolt at Hester’s voice.

YEEHAW weekly || 1846 words || Weekly No. 2

The Victorian era began in 1820 and ended in 1914, roughly aligning with Queen Victoria’s reign. During this period, Britain was at the height of its power as a world empire, although it began to decline slightly towards the end of the age.
Victorian society was divided into various statuses, the predominating factors being gender and class. The ideology of separate spheres for men and women (pertaining to work, religion, and the home) was widely spread throughout all classes, although in practice, the lower working classes tended not to live out this doctrine as closely – it was impossible to support a family on only a man’s wages. When considering the weights of upholding beliefs or feeding your children, the scales are by no means equally balanced. For most, starvation versus survival was an obvious choice.
There were three main classes in Britain during the Victorian era: the lower class, which made up 70-80 percent of the population, the middle class, who held the position of moral leaders in society, and the upper class. Despite its diminutive size, the upper class held power in a tightly clenched fist; its members had wealth, titles, land, and a firm grasp on Britain’s politics. This mirrored Britain itself – a small isle spidering out into the big world with many long, strong-fingered arms.
Nestled into this compact empire was its beating heart, the largest city in the world – London.
London of the Victorian era was nicknamed the “Monster City,” a place full of coexisting contradictions. Foggy nights and bright lanterns, shimmering wealth and squalid misery, pickpockets on one corner and a theater around the other. In the dark and smog, it was easy to lose one’s way. In previous times, wayfarers had to rely on “link boys,” young men with crude torches that led them through the opaque midnight – sometimes to their destination, sometimes to a dark alley where they would be robbed. But with the Victorian era dawned – or rather lit – a new age: the age of lamplights, and lamplighters.
Lamplighters were responsible for lighting the lanterns that lit London’s streets. Far from the sticky-fingered link boys, lamplighters were thought to be trustworthy and dependable. Their job included lighting and extinguishing lamps, bright flames winking in and out of existence, cleaning the lamp, and mending broken glass. They carried ladders and lighters with them, and when they came to a lamp they would rest their ladder against the specially constructed ladder bars (which lent stability and support to the ladder), climb up, and go about their work. Although this practice has become obsolete today, the lamplighter’s influence is still seen today in the design of old-fashioned lanterns – the distinctive ladder bars, now merely decorative, still branch gracefully from the main stem of the lantern.

Cobblestone slick with rain gleam yellow in the light from lamps and shops, rain still softly drizzling from murky clouds onto the streets below. Carriages roll down the streets, hooves clopping rhythmically and splashing in puddles as wheels throw up even more slush into the air, spattering any unlucky passersby with mud. The streets ahead are murky, shrouded in a London Particular – if not for the softly radiant pockets emanating from the gaslamps, it would be almost impossible to see.
The breeze carries the bitter tang of coal fires and horse droppings, mingled with the damp, wet-stone scent of the weather. A less unpleasant smell rises from the street vendor on the corner, buttery brown chestnuts roasting to sweet, hot nuttiness. Coats are buttoned up, shawls pulled close against the raw chill in the air. Voices cut through the smog: newspaper boys waving the latest scandal in the face of anyone who’ll stop long enough to glance at it, costermongers displaying their wares. An indignant shriek goes up from a lady clutching at where her purse used to be – “Pickpocket! I’ve been stolen from!” – as a dirt-smeared urchin weaves his way through the crowd with a lopsided grin, tugging his cap down over his eyes, nimble fingers dipping in and out of private spaces.
A girl in rags holds up her wares with trembling fingers, eyes round and wide in her hollow face, collarbones jutting like a bird’s wings. “Matches… matches for sale…” she calls in a thin voice, stumbling as her foot catches on a loose cobblestone. Another girl, only a bit older, wields a muck-smeared broom, sweeping filth out of the streets at the crossing. Her face brightens as a passing gentleman tucks a coin in her palm, but wrinkles when his companion jostles her. She quickly smooths her expression and returns to her work; not everyone appreciates the crossing sweepers, and there is nothing she can do about it.
An omnibus rattles down the street, once-garish advertisements painted on its sides. Time had eaten away at the bright colors, leaving them dull and chipped. The horses’ heads are low-slung and weary, tails flicking from side to side as the driver flicks the reins and clucks encouragingly.
On the side of the street, shops beam cheerily, windows displaying their wares. One display is filled with gleaming, ticking watches, another with crisp, newly printed books displaying titles like Oliver Twist and Vanity Fair.
As the evening winds down, the streets become less crowded. Finally, there is nothing but the occasional wanderer or carriage. Fog continues to snake through the streets.
This is London, the largest city in the world.

Thomas (Tom) Crimmage is a lamplighter in his early thirties. His features are average and friendly-looking – brown hair, brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles. He wears dark, practical clothing in shades of gray and brown: trousers, shirt, coat, and cap, along with sturdy leather boots. Tom is of average height and build, without many distinguishing features. His work is concentrated mostly in the night hours – at dusk and dawn he lights and extinguishes the lanterns on his route, and in the time between he serves as a watchman, patrolling the streets with a lantern to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. He smells of oil and smoke – the scent clings to his clothes and skin year-round.
Tom began working as a lamplighter when he was 20, after several years of working as a crossing sweep. Although not luxurious by any means, his wages are enough to steadily support him – he’s solidly in the working class, but not destitute. He’s unmarried and doesn’t have a family to support, and he tends to treat his money fairly sensibly.
Tom is kindhearted and amiable, the kind who smiles at waves at everyone he meets. He’s unambitious and content, and enjoys his job as a lamplighter. He’s rarely heard to complain, and his friends all agree that he’s a goodnatured fellow. Tom’s faults would be that he’s rather too complacent. He addresses surface problems without digging to the root cause unless pressed, and practicality often takes the place of generosity. That isn’t to say he can’t be generous; he just tends to do it – and many other things – in a heldback manner, wary of going all the way in.
Tom has limited education, although he’s learned enough to get by. He has some basic knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic, but not much else. More important to him, though, is learning London – its people, its streets, its weather, its moods and temperaments. A decade of walking his lantern-lighting route in the dark, fog, and rain has left him with the ability to navigate London’s uncertain streets and dodgy corners, and his work as a watchman means he’s usually up-to-date with where trouble might be brewing.
Venture into Victorian London, and you might just see a lamplighter carrying a pole and a ladder in the fading light of dusk, whistling merrily as he meanders through a pea-souper in search of his next lamp to coax a flame out of.

Let me show you London in a fog.
First, it is important to understand that there are different kinds of fogs. There are the gray-white mists, light and cool, the kinds of everyday fog you can find most anywhere. Then there are the industrial fogs, the thick, choking black clouds that descended around factories like dragon’s breath, breathing poisonous fumes into the air.
Then there are the pea-soupers, sometimes known as London Particulars. This is the fog London is famous for, the yellow-brown haze that distorts sound and shrouds streets from view. The kind of fog that catches a little in your throat as you breathe, scraping against lungs not meant for whatever gases inhabit this funk. It is a mysterious thing, this fog; some have even described seeing shifting colors in its murky depths, flashes of green in the yellow and brown.
This evening brought a pea-souper with it, whispering around feet trodding home, swirling over carriages and obscuring their view, settling into corners and crannies and exhaling over the city.
A light bloomed in the darkness, a twinkling flame popping to life and waving cheerily at London. A moment later, a figure descended the ladder, raising it off the ladder bars and tipping his hat at the small group of children that had gathered to watch.
Tom Crimmage set off towards his next lamp, whistling as he went. A few more lamps on, the children would begin to dissipate, to home or mothers or neither. He never minded them, though; their round eyes as they watched another flame hiss to life sparked an echoing warmth inside of him.
He adjusted the position of the ladder on his shoulder and propped it up against the next lantern, spending a moment or two rubbing the glass with a stained cloth. Within a few moments, the panes were as clear as he could get them, and he lit the mantle, checked that it had caught properly, and closed the lantern again. It was repetitive work, and some might find it tedious, but it suited Tom just fine. He liked the way the light bloomed in the fog, pushing back the gloom with a small circle of radiance.
It was damp and rather chilly tonight, and he pulled his coat a little tighter around himself as he walked. Just a few lamps left on this route, and then he’d trade his pole and ladder for a lantern, staff, and rattle and begin his watchman’s patrol.
A voice spoke from behind him. “Matches?”
He turned on the ladder, saw a pinched face staring up at him. A young boy, holding a bunch of matches.
Tom tipped his hat to him. “Just finished my last lamp, lad,” he said, not unkindly.
The boy’s face fell, and he wavered, unsure whether to tuck the matches away and look for a new customer or keep offering his wares. Tom dug through his pockets, coming up with a halfpenny, which he gave to the boy. The child’s face lit up, and he shoved a bundle of matches at Tom and then scurried away as though afraid the lamplighter would change his mind.
Tom smiled to himself, descended the ladder, and walked on, disappearing into the night.

Alarm Clock Ad || 250 words || Daily No. 16

Tired of being late to school? Weary of never knowing what time it is? Yawning over the boredom of plain old wristwatches? Introducing the alarm clock – a timepiece that does the hard work for you!
Alarm clocks, as stated in the title, will let you set alarms on them. These alarms can be used to wake up, remind you of things, and perhaps even go to sleep (though we’re not sure how, exactly, one would achieve that). The majority of people use them for waking up, as that’s what seems to be hardest for them to do. The shrill, whining screech has been proven scientifically to be very effective in rousing people from sleep. Side effects may include mumbled curses, fumbling for the snooze button, and general grumpiness because very few appear to enjoy the novel experience of being woken by an alarm clock for some reason.
Not only are alarm clocks effective for waking you up, they also tell the time of day! No more being unsure what time it is; just take a look at your handy alarm clock. The digital display comes in five bright and cheery colors, perfect for brightening your mood. Just seeing what time it is will bring a smile to your face. After all, the alarm isn’t going off right now! That’s cause for celebration in and of itself.
Alarm clocks are truly wonders of today’s world, a fantastic marvel of technology that allows us to get to work and school on time!

16.11.25 ★ Advert Daily
254/250 words

I know that what you're looking at may look like an ordinary trash can, but I assure you, it is not. This Trash Can holds something very, very, special in it. And I'm not talking about your moldy egg sandwich. Oh, no, this Trash Can holds proper trash. Look inside- no- not like that- you'll get a most unpleasant smell of the contents. Yes, lean over slightly. You see? This Trash Can holds the best, worst, trash in the world.

Look, down there, can you see? Do you want to borrow some opera glasses- oh yes. You've got it. That little pink thing, that's jumping up and down. That's Umbridge, from Harry Potter. And look, over there. That group project you worked on years ago - gosh, that was something. At least it made its way to the best pile of trash in the world. And that pen that simply refused to work.

These are just a few examples of how great this Trash Can is. The lid comes with a sound-proof feature to block out any noise, as well as an odour seal so you don't smell anything!

It really is the beauty of a Trash Can that brings you to this product. While this may be overlooked or disregarded, where would you be without a Trash Can? Probably living in Landfill, I'd expect- with nowhere to put your trash, things would get messy. So buy a Trash Can now, and live a mess-free life, without any Trash stinking up the place!

✪ Daily Task 16: Advertisement Daily ⊹ ₊

Are you bored? Do you have nothing to do? Well, I’m about to change that! How, you might ask? With this amazing thing called Paper. Paper is not just your average, everyday item. No, no. Paper is a revolutionary product that can make even whole governments, airplanes, and even worlds.

What can I do with paper? Well, you see, there’s lots to do and make with paper. For example, you can make airplanes! You just fold a piece of Paper a few times and BAM! There you go! A whole airplane!

Airplanes aren’t the only thing you can do with Paper. You can also make animals through the ancient art of origami. You just fold the paper in the correct ways and BOOM! You have a dog or a frog!

Did you know that you can make people come to life on paper? You just need to get this thing called a pencil (sold separately) or a pen (also sold separately) or some coloring tool (ALSO SOLD SEPARATELY) and then drag it across your piece of Paper to make a beautiful artwork. We call it drawing!

Something else you can do with your piece of Paper is get your pencil (sold separately) or a pen (sold separately) and write words on it. These words will form sentences and then whole stories! With just one piece of Paper, you can become the next Edgar Allen Poe!

So come on down to Sage’s Paper Emporium and buy some Paper! You never know what you can create!

jingle plays

♬♪Come down today and buy some Paper
Or your hospital bill will be major ♪♬

» — ⋙ 271 words total ⋘ — «

Daily #16- boring product daily
Word count: 279/250
Notes: Teehee em's first daily of the session because she has a horrible memory and forgot to sign up…

*segue music plays*
Em: Thanks for listening to that segment of our podcast. And now it’s time for a word from our sponsors! Say hello to Bruce the Goose, the esteemed owner of the one and only Laundry Hamper Company™, that sells… *checks notes* … chair legs. Anyways, welcome Bruce!
Bruce: *goose noises*
Em: Yes, that’s true! I’m glad you find it an honor to be on the show!
Bruce: *goose noises*
Em: So, Bruce, tell us about owning the Laundry Hamper Company™. What’s it like selling chair legs to people in need?
Bruce: *goose noises*
Em: Yes, I agree! Chair legs are such a crucial part of life. So what inspired you to make the Laundry Hamper Company™? Did you see a need in your community?
Bruce: *cow noises*
Em: *nods in agreement* I see. And why should people invest in chair legs from the Laundry Hamper Company™?
Bruce: *chicken noises*
Em: And what about the quality of your chair legs compared to your price? Would you say that Laundry Hamper Company™ chair legs have a good value?
Bruce: *water noises*
Em: I see. Well, you heard the goose! Buy Laundry Hamper Company™ chair legs today! And thanks to the Laundry Hamper Company™ for sponsoring this episode of Em’s Amazing Interviews™. And I hope you all have an awesome night! Say goodnight, Bruce!
Bruce: *crash noises* *beeping noises* *cat noises*
Em: Um, yeah… GO BUY CHAIR LEGS.
Bruce: *cricket noises*
*segue music plays*
Em: And I hope to see you all next time on another episode of Em’s Amazing Interviews™! Don’t forget to subscribe and support my podcast by buying chair legs from the Laundry Hamper Company™. Goodnight!

Daily 16:

Dawn dish soap? Boringgg! But I’m sure you could find a way to make it exciting— how about those little ducks on the bottle? That’s right, today we’re going to be making something boring… brilliant! Pick your favorite “boring” product, be it cleaning supplies, a pencil brand, or even toilet paper, and write an advertisement for it. It can be as wacky or as silly as you want— the goal is to make us want to buy it, after all! This advertisement should be at least 250 words and is worth 300 points, with 150 extra points if you share proof. Advertise away!

Are you tired of stuffy noses, allergens, and not being able to sleep at night because of said stuffy noses? Well then you need… nose spray! The spray-y-est nose spray ever. Here to clear your nose of all those icky boogers, nasty allergens, and dirty dust making you stuffy and uncomfortable. It comes in a perfectly sized, beautiful white bottle, perhaps with a picture on the front, with an unscrewable white lid that covers the lovely white nozzle, making it easy to quickly uncap it whenever needed, and it’s not tiny or round so it won’t roll away when you set it down, while still making sure your nose spray is safe and sound, and not going to leak in your bag. It is the perfect size to hold, and take anywhere! How to does one use the nose spray, you might ask? Simply unscrew the cap, take the nose spray bottle, stick the nozzle in your nostril, and gently squeeze the bottle til an uncomfortable liquid comes out into your nose. Then remove the nose spray bottle’s nozzle from your nose nostril, and blow your nose with a tissue to get all that gunk out. Then wipe off the nozzle with a tissue, and then screw the lip back on, and enjoy your day (or sleep, if you happen to about to go to sleep)! Now, if you’re ready to say goodbye to stuffy noses, allergens, and dust, then get your nose spray at the closest nose spray store! Order today!

252 words

Snap.

Oh, no! Is that the sound of your pen breaking in two, scatter terrible splinters of lead and wood all over your super important paper due tomorrow morning? Has your pencil sharpener said “adios” and has promptly disappeared into the abyss? Are you completely and utterly out of other pencils in your entire household? Is the only thing left that terrible ballpoint pen that barely works anymore?

Well fear no more, for you can buy our super awesome mechanical pencils and won’t have to worry about that anymore!

Snapping in half? Unless you put your mind to it! These babies aren’t going to snap like those measly little yellow pencils your school provides.

Broken lead or running out of it? No worries! Just twist the pencil or click on the eraser and the lead will come right back out!

It’s become your favorite pencil on the whole planet and it’s completely and utterly out of lead and you loathe to replace it? Don’t sweat it! You can buy our super awesome lead replacements for it, so you can keep on using your favorite pencil on the whole planet until the end of time!

Oh? You hate the yellow of your boring standard school pencil? Me too! But our super awesome mechanical pencils come in every color under the sun! Red, blue, purple, green, orange, yellow, black, or brown!

So come on over today and buy our super awesome mechanical pencils and/or our super awesome lead replacements so you don’t have to hear that awful snap of your pencil breaking!

Weekly 2:
PART ONE:

The 1810s were very different from life today. The richer part of the English population lived in mansions and townhouses, fancy and secluded. Those who were less well-off had the misfortune of being squeezed into tight spaces, crowded and hard to live in. The poorest were forced to live in workhouses, and occasionally even the streets. It was easy to tell from just the size of a person’s house how wealthy they were, if they were poor, rich, or somewhere in between.
Property and land was always - sad as it was - passed down to male heirs, never female. Didn’t have any sons? The property went to the closest male relative possible, or a daughter’s husband. So if none of a man’s daughters were married when he died, they’d likely lose their house to some second cousin and be kicked out. This factor causes many mothers to be frantic to marry their daughters off as soon as possible.
Women often wore dresses - thankfully lightweight - typically with scooped necklines. However, even if the dresses were light, they wore many, many layers of undergarments beneath, making it incredibly hot even on the coolest of days. Well-off women wore colorful, bright dresses, while the lower class’s garments were decidedly paler. It was considered customary for women to wear hats when outside, and often the wearers would use lace and ribbon to personalize them.
On the other hand, men usually wore handsome white shirts, long pants, and either knee-high boots or leather dress shoes. If one was on the wealthier side, he’d often wear long waistcoats or tailcoats over their shirts, usually paired with a top hat.

PART TWO:

The sun glared down at Edgesworth Street. Gentlemen mopped sweat from their brows with intricately embroidered handkerchiefs as young ladies fanned themselves and searched for a shady spot to rest.
Young children giggled as they tossed stones at birds, and laughed when they flew off with a screech of alarm. They threw rock after rock, pretending not to hear their scolding mothers.
A woman clad in rags crouched by a teashop, muttering as she sorted through the rubble in search of a forgotten piece of bread. All of the noblemen cast disdainful looks down at her as she begged for scraps.
Occasionally a kind soul would bend down and offer a shilling, and the beggar would thank her over and over, but soon enough it was spent and she was again left with nothing.
A wealthy young woman glanced at the scene from her window high up in her father’s manor, her eyes darting from person to person, taking in the sights of shopowners, lovers, orphans, peddlers, messengers, and soldiers.
A man about her age gazed up at her with a wistful air about him. The girl caught his eye and abruptly shut the window.
The scent of flowers drifted through the air in no particular hurry as a carriage bumped down the gravel road. Pedestrians scrambled to get out of the way and stared at the strange intruder. Nothing much ever happened on Edgesworth, you see, and visitors were quite rare.
The carriage stopped at a large townhouse, and an older man - presumably the butler - opened the door to let the young lady who had taken the time to travel there into the house. She didn’t so much as glance at anyone else, just smiled sweetly at the butler and disappeared into the house.
All those who had stopped to watch stayed like that for only a moment longer before realizing she was likely a visiting relative and would be gone fairly soon, and it was very probable that none of them would ever see her again. They shook their heads at themselves and continued with their everyday business, whatever that was for them.
“Buns! Fresh buns!” A bakery worker advertised, waving her hands back and forth in a ridiculous attempt to gain anyone’s attention. “Three shillings apiece!”
Nearly everyone ignored her, and the only person whose eye she caught raised an eyebrow and shook his head before focusing back on his destination.
She sighed and dragged herself back inside to explain to her boss why no one was buying anything.
An ordinary day, just like any other.

PART THREE:

Eleanor “Nora” Westing is considered the perfect picture of what a lady should look like in her time. She is wealthy, delicate, proud, good-tempered, and loyal. She never gets angry and does her duty to the world with pleasure. The lower class may perceive her as somewhat cold and unfeeling, but Nora knows that they are beneath her, and therefore their opinions don’t matter (or so she tells herself).
To be good-tempered in the 1810s is to laugh at any and all jokes made by noblemen - no matter how bad they are - , to treat everyone with respect and dignity, to cater towards her company’s personal preference no matter what she thinks, to wholeheartedly agree with everything her company says, and to accept any offer made to her by someone of equal or higher class than her.
Nora doesn’t love all of it, but tells herself she has to or she is not a good person. If she makes the smallest mistake, she punishes herself severely for it with things such as depriving herself of something she loves or confessing her slip-ups to her father.
Her father is even more perfect than she is; he has never made a single mistake as far as she knows. If his daughter messes up, he punishes her much worse and much more publicly than she would herself. He would ridicule her in front of his wealthy friends or lock her in her room for days and tell anyone who asked that she had ‘brought her seclusion upon herself with her ineptitude’.
Those ‘beneath her’ often find Nora fanning herself in the shade of a tree or chatting pleasantly with an equally wealthy friend. If they approach her asking for anything, Nora will laugh in their faces and tell them to go away or she’ll call the workhouse. Occasionally she’ll shove them or, mercifully, wholly ignore them.
Perhaps if she was poorer, she’d have pity for them, but she’s grown up spoiled and petted by her mother - now dead - so she is as prim and proper as she could possibly be.
When Nora’s mother died when she was twelve, her father came home from his trip abroad and began to teach her the ‘right’ way of doing things in a much less gentle way.
The combination of her mother’s petting and her father’s aggression has shaped her into a quite self-absorbed, vain, egotistic young woman who is obsessed with social status.

PART FOUR:

Lady Margaret Thornsbury- called Daisy by her friends - was not in the mood to go to a ball. She had gone to several over the past few weeks, and she was quite worn out from all the dancing. She knew exactly what her father would say, but all the same she was exhausted and wishing desperately for some minor illness to swoop in suddenly and confine her to her bedchambers for two days at least.
“Oh, Nora, dancing is the utter bane of my existence just now! How I wish something would come up, and prevent me from going!” She complained to her friend.
“I do wish you would spare me the complaining, Daisy, when I have been wishing so hard to go myself for days! You are the luckiest girl in town, and all you do is tell me how dreadful it is that you are allowed the privilege of attending Mr. Hartley’s famous Christmas Eve Ball!”
Daisy sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. No one can, you see, unless they are in the very same position as me. If you had danced five times over the course of only three weeks, I know you’d feel just the same as me. I am so tired, Nora, that nothing except my silk sheets could possibly comfort me!”
“Well, there’s no use complaining. You’ll have to go, unless you can find some look-alike to take your place!” Nora told her as she fixed a ribbon in her friend’s hair.
“A look-alike, you say? A splendid idea! But who in town could possibly look exactly the same as I do?” Daisy mused to herself. “Not a single girl in England has the very same eyes, the very same hair, the very same complexion as me . . .. It’s impossible!”
“I was making a joke, you know,” Nora said, finishing up with the ribbon. “You do actually have to go.”
“Oh! Daisy! I’ve come up with a positively wonderful idea!” Daisy exclaimed suddenly, sitting straight in her chair.
“Oh, dear. Trust me, Daisy, when I say any scheme of yours is not going to end well at all.” Nora stepped back to admire her job.
“Never mind that, Nora, I’ll be careful! Here it is: I have never met Mr. Hartley before - he only invited me because of my father - so if someone completely different than me attended his ball, he’d never know the difference!” Daisy beamed at her friend and waited for her to tell her it was brilliant.
“Your father would never approve, and you know it, Nora. What on Earth has gotten into you? You’re never like this. You must be going mad!” Nora scolded her, frowning.
“Don’t talk like that, Nora, I’ve not gone mad! I think the plan is quite genius, on the contrary. Just think of it! I can stay home in my bed, while some other girl can go enjoy herself at the finest ball in all of England!”
“Well, don’t expect me to be your actress. I will most certainly not participate in this preposterous scheme!” Nora scowled. “It will most certainly blow up in your face, and I will most happily laugh at you when it does!” And with that she gave a little sniff and paraded out of the room.
“Just think of it! How unladylike! How improper! It would only be right for me to never associate with her in a friendly manner ever again!” Nora said to herself once she was out of her former friend’s house.

AAAH I DID IT YAYY!!!!

⋆ sunday, november 16th: advertisement daily

‘a can of paint?’ you might be saying, ‘what could i possibly need an entire can of paint for?’ you’re probably already content with the color of your wall, or you’re probably not a dad working on a big wooden project in the garage. although this might seem like our target audience, you’d be very wrong.
‘well, what else could i use a can of paint for?’ imagine this: you have the power to make anything you want, blue. or purple, or red, or green - it’s really up to you! we carry all the colors of the rainbow and can mix them to make even more. alternate to the common misconception, buying a big quantity of paint does not always correlate to a big project. what if you wanted to make 10,000 rubber ducks a new color? buy our paint!
to add on to this, we’d like to remind you that you have free will. imagine taking your comically big can of paint out to a brick wall in the middle of nowhere, and painting whatever your heart desires… a cat with its tongue out, a birthday cake, a message to the people. or going to the house of someone you don’t like, and painting a frowny face on the sidings. sweet revenge! (manufacturer disclaimer: we aren’t legally allowed to encourage vandalism, so shh… you didn’t hear these ideas from us!)
think of having a can of paint as a superpower - you can change the color of anything!! you can draw whatever, however large you want!! you can even buy many and multiply the extent of your power! and if it sells us to you, each can of paint we produce comes with a funky fresh and fun design. no cans of paint will look the same.
(or, if you’re really still unconvinced, i heard from a little birdy that paint can be a fantastic snack… the pink is strawberry flavored…)
so, come out to buy a big, sloppy, colorful can of paint, and unlock all the possibilities your heart desires <3

Part 1 - write 200 words of story-esque research for your selected time period. Jesus period ♥️255 words

In Galilee, in the 1st Century AD, the place was very Roman controlled. Galilee was specifically filled with lots of small fishing villages. The landscape was filled with a wide variety of thick dusty roads, rolling hills, olive groves, wheat fields, vineyards, rocky terrain, and of course the sparkling blue Galilee sea. The summers were hot and dry, and the winters were rainy and mild.

Most families lived in simple one or two room houses made of mud or brick that had flat roofs. They also had courtyards to prepare meals or keep animals. Their food was bread, fish, olives and olive oil, dates, figs, grapes, goat cheese, and more. Meat was for rare occasions.

Everyone would get to places by walking. Sometimes if it was a long journey, they would have camels and donkeys. Everyone tried to travel to Jerusalem for major festivals such as Passover, Pentecost, and others. The families would celebrate a sabbath every week, which is from sundown on friday to sundown on saturday. On the sabbath, there would be no working since the sabbath is a day of rest.

At the time, there was a lot of political tension. Roman soldiers patrolled everywhere and there were taxes, which most people did not like. Herod Antipas ruled Galilee and Pontius Pilate governed Judea and was known for being harsh.

Galilee was less strict than Jerusalem. It’s full of farmers, shepherds, and fishermen. The land is more rural and peaceful. It was filled with bustling markets, nets hanging on beaches, and boats.


Part 2 - write descriptions for the time period and/or scene in at least 400 words - 418 words

In the city of Capernaum, a market was going on today. Children ran through, chasing after each other and playing games. Vendors were selling animals, food, and clothing, exchanging it for food. A small salt breeze drifts through the town, kicking up dust into the air as well. The smell of warm bread drifts through from a clay oven.

At nighttime, small lamps will flicker on in homes and the sound of snoring can be heard from a few houses. Occasionally, a sheep will bleat in the distance and waves can be heard from the sea. Occasionally a lamp will pass by a home as a group of Roman soldiers march by, their steps then fading in the distance.

The sun rises and birds fill the air with song. The sound of boats being pushed into the water fills the air. Smells of olives, bread, and grapes drift through the small town. Through the city, vendors walk through with worn out sandals pulling a donkey behind with a load on his back. The clopping of the donkey’s hooves and the steps of the sandal add to the chaos of the town.

Stone houses sit on grass covered hillsides, pale and sunbleached. Wheat sways gently in the wind. A shepherd sits on a rock, keeping watch over a flock of sheep as they graze in the small field. Vineyards stretch across the hills, vines twisting around beams of wood. Olive trees thousands of years old are spread out with trunks that are twisty and knotty.

Women grind grain in a mill as men fix broken fishing nets with their callused hands. Children listen to a story from a travelling storyteller and then play games while running in the grass. Laughter can be heard. Vendors shout out prices into the marketplace. All of the sounds blend together into a cheerful mix.

Near wells, women chat while drawing water. The buckets creak as they are lifted up out of the water in the well.

The clanking metal of Roman soldiers marching along the dusty roads, mixed with the hooves hitting the dusty roads as horses trot along the paths.

Markets are filled with colorful fabric and clay jars filled with flour, water, and sweet wine.

On the beach the salty air is more prominent. The water laps at the sides of boats as fishermen toss the nets into the water with little plops. The sun warms down on the fishermen's back as they float on the rocking boat over the cool water.

Part 3 - create a character and write 400 words on their personality and core motivations - 455 words

Jeriah is 11 years old.
He lives at home with his mom, dad, and younger sister who’s name is Lael
His name means ‘Taught by God’ or ‘God has seen’ because he was the firstborn of his family.
They live in a small, two room house in the city of Capernaum in Galilee.
His dad is a fisherman.
Jeriah helps his dad with fishing a lot by cleaning the fish, fixing the nets, and assisting at the marketplace.
Jeriah finds Lael annoying most of the time since she isn’t quite old enough to help out yet, but deep down Jeriah still cares and wants what is best for her.
Some day, Jeriah wants to be a fisherman like his dad. But, he also has an interest in someday apprenticing under a teacher. The Torah and all of the holy books interest him very much.
When Jeriah was around five years old, a man who called himself Jesus came by the town when Jeriah had been playing in the streets. The man told all of the children to come to him and Jeriah thought that he was really cool and wanted to be like him someday.
Jeriah has been told quite a lot that he is a little reckless, and that he should act more like a man. He doesn’t quite not what he wants just yet, so he’s confused on whether to act more like a child or man.
His mom does all of the household chores, sometimes with the help of Lael.
Their family would be considered middle class. They aren’t poor, but they also aren’t wealthy.
One of Jeriah’s favorite things is when they travel with a few other families for a trip to Jerusalem. It usually takes them a little under a week, since it’s so far away, but he enjoys getting to play with the other kids when they stop to rest.
He enjoys taking his sister to the markets, collecting small figs with her, and taking her to see the sheep since she really likes how fluffy they are.
Their family owns a goat who Jeriah likes to call her Pita because she’s small and round.
He has a stick that he calls his spear. Sometimes he will use it to fend off imaginary lions to protect his sister.
He’s easily distracted by anything. One time, a small mouse had run near him and his mother while they were cooking and Jeriah had run after it, but ended up wandering too far and he got lost in the fields. Thankfully, his mother had realized and found him before sunset.
He’s very talkative and goofy around friends and family that he knows well, but around strangers he’s very shy and timid.

Part 4 - write a story in at least 500 words incorporating all of the above elements - 677 words

Jeriah ran through the dusty roads of the city with his little sister, Lael, and she giggled as he chased her with his stick which he called his spear. The warm sun beat down on their backs as the day stretched towards the end. Once the sun started setting, Jeriah dragged Lael back to their home. Their mom had made fish and bread for them to eat for dinner today.
Jeriah went over and sat on his cot and recited a passage of one of the holy books to his dad and he nodded along. Afterwards, once the sun had set he lay down his head on his pillow made of fabric and hay and snuggled close to his little sister Lael. She had already passed out, sleeping peacefully after a long day. His mother sang him a lullaby as he drifted off to sleep.
The next day, his father woke him up bright and early and they walked down to the beach near his father’s boat. The sky was full of pink and orange as the sun rose up over the hills. Roosters crowed and Jeriah yawned, since usually he wasn’t up so early. He and his father climbed into the wooden boat and his father had to steady him since usually Jeriah didn’t help his father with fishing. They rowed out to the middle of the sea of Galilee and cast the net down into the water.
Hours passed by and the sun was shining down on Jeriah’s back, making him sweat. They had a boat load of fish and so Jeriah and his father rowed back to shore to take a break for lunch and after, clean the fish to prep them for the market the next day.
Jeriah decided that he was too tired to go out fishing again and so he wandered into the city to explore, walking along the dusty roads with the salty air drifting along the breeze. He was approaching the house that people had said was Jesus’ house and saw a crowd gather outside. He squeezed through, bumping a few people along the way.
“Hey! Watch it kid,” a man yelled as Jeriah passed by.
Finally he caught a glimpse of the one that all of the men were gathered in the room for, Jesus himself. He was preaching the word to the crowd. Jeriah felt a light dusting fall on his head, and looked up as a part of the roof was torn away. He squinted his eyes as the sunlight poured into the room and everyone backed up. Four men lowered a man down on a board, a paralytic. They must’ve brought him here for Jesus to heal, Jeriah thought.
“Son, your sins are forgiven,” Jesus said in the clearest voice that Jeriah had heard.
Some scribes were sitting there crossing their arms and others had their eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Jeriah knew what they were thinking, they were probably confused on why Jesus could say that their sins were forgiven.
The crowd waited with anticipation on what the next response might be. The scribes were whispering to themselves.
“Why does this man speak like that? He is blaspheming!”
“Who can forgive sins but God alone?”
Jesus looked at the men and calmly said, “Why do you question these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk.’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins,” he then said to the paralytic, “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.”
Angry shouts could be heard through as the scribes got riled up but then the crowd went silent. Jeriah craned for a view to see what was happening and when he finally did, the paralytic was standing. The surprised crowd parted, giving him a path to leave.
Jeriah took this opportunity and ran home to tell his mom and Lael all that he had seen.

Week 2 Weekly – Historical Fiction

Part 1
203 words

In the 1870s, women were fighting for their right to vote, although they wouldn’t win it for nearly another fifty years. In 1869 the Wyoming Territory passed a bill that granted women suffrage, and women across the country demanded, when is it our turn? The decade brought much hope and disappointment, as recently many state constitutions had removed the word “white” from their voting criteria, but kept the word “male.”
Through groups such as the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, women organized and campaigned for their causes. Temperance was heavily intertwined with the suffrage movement. Women abused by alcoholic husbands pushed for prohibition, and many people thought that for better or for worse, if given the chance to vote, women would outlaw alcohol. Suffragists saw the liquor industry as one of their biggest enemies.
Women had limited job opportunities, and many were as domestic servants or seamstresses. But one way women could own businesses and support themselves was as dressmakers and milliners. By making beautiful custom dresses and hats for other ladies, they could earn a respectable living. Most of them were single women, never married, and lived independently for their whole adult lives. They supported themselves with their work, their craft, their art.


Part 2
411 words

The wood-paneled storefront was painted a pale blue, with a large sign overhead proclaiming MILLINERY. The large window displayed some of the store’s wares — colorful fans, dainty white gloves, and hats. Oh, the hats. The store’s finest items, the milliner’s specialty, her pride and joy. One was a deep violet velvet with black lace and a bow of purple silk. Another was straw with a yellow silk ribbon and large yellow and orange flowers. A third was made from pleated blue silk with a large blue feather across it. And a fourth was made from black velvet and adorned with fake fruit and a stuffed yellow and red bird.
Through the door, inside the shop, one wall was taken up by a cabinet filled with dozens more beautiful hats, safe behind glass doors. Hats of velvet, hats of silk, hats of straw, decorated with ribbons, lace, fur, feathers, and flowers. Hats in every color of the rainbow. Some were all black, to be worn while in mourning. Some were smaller and simpler, with long ribbons for tying — girls’ hats instead of ladies’ hats, for girls not yet old enough to have their hair up and use hatpins.
There was also a counter, also made from wood. The front of the counter was made up of numerous little drawers, all filled with hat trimmings. The rows of drawers were tiered, the ones on the bottom sticking further out than the ones on the top, so that all the drawers’ contents were visible and one could consider which trimmings one would want for one’s hat. The drawers were organized by color and type, so that one row of drawers made up a rainbow of different colored ribbons. The ribbons came in a range of thicknesses, from thinner than a baby’s pinkie finger to wider than said baby’s hand, and in a range of colors, from lavender to blue to green to yellow to orange to red to brown to black. There were also many drawers filled with spools of lace in a similar range of widths, each with its own delicate pattern. Not to mention drawers of feathers and fake flowers, also in an array of colors.
At the other end of the room, across the hardwood floor, was the door to the room where the milliner worked. In that room one would find many sewing and hatmaking supplies, as well as several half-finished hats. But customers normally dodn’t go into the backroom.

Part 3
409 words

In her late thirties or early forties, Miss Nora Whitcomb is an old spinster who makes her living as a milliner. She has excellent manners, but always stands her ground. She is a master of passive-aggression and subtle insults, which she will employ if you get on her bad side. She has an air of dignity about her and carries herself like she believes she always knows best but is too polite to say it.
She is excellent at her craft — making ladies’ hats — and owns the best and only millinery in town, frequented by all the fashionable ladies. She never married, and instead lives with a Miss Agnes Tucker, whom she attempts to keep outfitted in the latest fashions (Miss Tucker is not the most receptive to her attempts, but puts up with them). If you asked, they would say they were cousins, though no one seems to know how exactly they are related. The irony of one of the most fashionable women in town living with a woman who couldn’t care less about her appearance is not lost on Miss Whitcomb, but she loves Agnes all the same.
Nora has achieved her personal goal with her millinery. She has her own business with which she can support herself and Agnes, a business where she gets to do what she loves, creating beautiful things and getting paid for them. She is well-respected by the local women for her work, and she has many friends within the community. Naturally ambitious and having achieved her personal goal, Nora has set her sights on a much bigger goal — women getting the right to vote.
She is a staunch suffragist, and slips the topic into conversation when possible. This is a point of some contention among her customers, some of whom believe it is women’s place merely to influence men, but she has learned who is on the suffragists’ side and who isn’t. She has also managed to recruit a few women to the cause, through careful, well-reasoned arguments that appeal to their interests. She has a knack for debate and is adept at figuring out through conversation what others’ values are and how best to persuade them. She is careful not to make enemies of other women over it, but she will get quite icy with men over the issue. In general, she avoids doing anything to offend her female customers, but makes no such effort with the men around town.

Part 4
550 words

“We need to be seen,” said Agnes. “Seen and heard if we want to change anything.”
A group of several women had convened at the millinery in the evening to discuss the matter of women’s suffrage. There was no official chapter of any suffrage organization in the small town, so it was an informal gathering, mostly among friends.
“We could pass out flyers,” suggested Mrs Curry.
Agnes nodded thoughtfully. “We could leave them on the counter, maybe,” she said, looking at Nora.
Nora shook her head. “I would prefer not to mix politics and business. Besides, most know of the issue already; I don’t believe the trouble is lack of knowledge.”
“We need to do something big,” said Miss King. “Something public, something hard to ignore.”
“The Fourth of July parade is coming up,” said Mrs Quincy. “I’m helping to organize it. We could do something then…”
“Interrupt it?” said Miss Henshie.
“Heavens, no. We could march in it.”
“That could work,” said Nora. “If we carried signs, passed out flyers there…”
“I could ask my husband to print them for free,” offered Mrs Curry, who was married to the printer.
“Of course, we need to decide what to put on the flyers…”
“Seeing as it’s for the Fourth of July,” said Miss King, “we could say something like, We celebrate DEMOCRACY when half of American Citizens CAN’T VOTE.”
“WYOMING women can vote, why can’t we?” suggested Miss Henshie.
Nora took a pad of paper, bottle of ink, and quill pen from the backroom, set them on a side table, and began writing down the suggestions, which came faster and faster in increasingly loud and animated voices.
“Women are bound by the laws just as men are!”
“We suffer from corrupt government as they do!”
“Does a man represent a woman criminal in prison? Does he serve her sentence for her? Why does he represent her only on the ballot?!”
After several minutes of this, Nora raised one hand in the air and called for silence. “We are all frustrated, and rightfully so. But now that we have aired our grievances, it is best if we move forward and share our words with others — in a way that they will hear, and not dismiss out of hand. Here” — she gestured to the paper — “we have a start for a flyer, though it will need more work to be presentable. Who shall be responsible for that?”
Mrs Curry and Miss King volunteered.
“Now, what else will we need?”
“Signs,” said Agnes. “Or a banner to carry.”
“And perhaps sashes,” said Nora. “I could work on those.”
“And a flag,” added Mrs Quincy. “It is a Fourth of July parade, after all, and we want to look patriotic. I should be able to find one for us to use.”
“We must work out what to wear,” said Nora. “We must look presentable, of course—”
“But not silly,” said Miss Henshie. “Sensible; we don’t want to seem like we only care about fashion.”
“White dresses, perhaps?” Nora suggested. “To look good and pure, and it can be a striking color.”
The discussion continued. By the time they all left for the night, they had made arrangements for who was doing what. This could actually work. Suffragists were going to march in the parade.

Weekly 2:


P1: Research (305 words including planning)

Pompeii based
Island off coast of Pompeii
Was able to escape pyroclastic flows but not ash and debris
No one aware of them existing

BOOM. Blazing fire and lava rushed down Mt. Vesuvius, reaching out with molten fingers for the frightened villagers. Everyone ran—businessmen and merchants, scholars, even religious philosophers. A small child, younger than nine, tripped over a stone pathway. No one stopped to help him, all musings of kindness forgotten. No one cared about their reputation or image anymore, carelessly shoving friends and colleagues aside in their rush to escape the frantic fire plundering through the town.

No one saw the fast, ground-hugging streams of hot gas and ash debris. No one realized that even if they escaped the smoke and ash, they were already {one word–redacted].

In their last few moments, they only cared about saving themselves.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles off the coast of Italy, an island watched the huge plume of smoke and ash rain down upon their roofs, even their superior technology collapsing under the raw, brute force of nature. Luckily, they had been spared from the {redacted one word} pyroclastic flows.

The only people who had a chance of fleeing the eruption and surviving had nowhere to run to.

Those who were smart took shelter in cellars and underground dwellings. The {two words redacted} above ground. Survival of the fittest, nature seemed to say. And that was how things were supposed to work.

But this island couldn’t care less.


The resurrection pods had been a new creation, kept a careful secret from the public. What use would we have for this? the head of technology had said, scrapping the working model immediately.

Two months later, after the casualties from the debris, the prototype was pulled out of the garbage. Get to work, the head said. This may be our best idea yet.

P2: Setting (442 words, including planning)

Island off coast of Pompeii
Mountainish terrain, low hills and wildflowers prominent
Buildings in old architectural style with extra high tech stuff

This story is set in an imaginary island off the coast of Pompeii, named (proceeds to forget) something with a V. As it is off the coast of Italy, it does have a similar sort of geography, with fertile plains towards the southeast side of the island before the coastal areas. In these areas, fruit such as apricots, plums, and oranges, as well as a specific type of wheat (durum?) for a cursed type of rice-broth, which is made of pasta shaped like rice (as you can assume, it takes a long time to make— luckily, the high tech creations can easily create this). This rice-broth is made from tomato sauce, jeera (I forgot the english word for it), salt and other seasonings (garlic, onions, oil, the usual), rice, lots of cheese, and a lot of water mixed into a pot. The water dilutes the mixture enough for the rice to be boiled and cooked, while as the substance thickens, the flavors are absorbed (kind of like the Indian khichdi but cheesier and a little more Italian). This is the region’s staple food, and oftentimes fish and available vegetables are added to it. Another staple food is a specific type of bread made from durum wheat and the fronds of a palm-like tree, resulting in a lightly spiced taste. This is often served with cheese.

Back to the rest of the geography—this island has low, rolling hills cutting through parts of the island, and the taller ones are often rugged mountain types hills where mountain goats (such as the one in the story) are found. However, these are the “home of the gods”, and no one dares disturb them for fear of losing their advanced technology and knowledge. However, the main character does enjoy climbing the lower hills, which are still considered risky as they are so close to the gods’ home.

The weather is pretty pleasant (like San Diego in the plains), while the rugged tips of the hills are slightly chillier with a little bit of ice. The rolling hills have the nice sunshine while still being a little colder, and the coastal plains are a refreshing perfect in-between temperature. Additionally, a lot of the buildings have an old architectural style like that of the people who had first found the island (they were native to Italy but somehow found their way to this island on a whale-watching tour gone wrong off the coast of Campania. They miraculously survived and— I don’t want to give away the lore).


Part 3: 430 words

Asha is the kind of girl who looks down upon people who speak up too loudly. She’s not trying to judge or be rude, but she thinks that some girls are just too loud to the extent that it’s annoying, preaching feminism (which is overrated— she thought it was already well established that girls should be given the same rights as boys) and independence (being self-sufficient is lonely). This is why her best friend, Kaia, ditches her in her early to mid teens. For four years, they had done everything together— sleepovers, birthday parties, and school events. Then, suddenly, her best friend leaves her and starts hanging out with people who are complete strangers to her and are on Kaia’s softball team.

At the same time, Asha’s feelings of self-worth begin to decrease. All the girls around her play sports, but Asha’s too busy with her science-related extracurriculars and art classes, which make her seem strange and out of the ordinary. For a few years, she’s at the top of the class and the teacher’s favorite, and she feels like she fits in for once. But then, her teachers become worse and she gradually becomes sadder and sadder.

At this age, a lot of girls had begun to date, and Asha started to think she could fit in by finding one. She was a bit reluctant, but when a boy named Adecis (the most popular guy in the school) asked her out, she couldn’t refuse. She should be grateful that someone even picked an unathletic, less toned girl like her. They started dating, and Adecis began to control her life. Adecis was popular, and by being his girlfriend, she was popular too. She began to see how close she was to being completely popular and started paying less attention to school and learning. She secretly bought hair products and wore makeup, becoming the pretty, popular girl who was now just as popular as Adecis.

This is when Kaia ding-dong-ditches her— but Asha is hurt and can’t figure out why. Her friends say that Kaia was just jealous (spoiler: she wasn’t), but later Asha finds out that Kaia was just being surprisingly mature and leaving her because their ideals no longer matched and the girl Kaia had been friends with was gone.

Asha doesn’t know this, though. As far as she knows, she’s perfectly happy— she has a huge friend group, a boyfriend other girls would fight for, and a beautiful appearance. She doesn’t need anything else— until her boyfriend {one word redacted} and the resurrection pod meant to bring him back malfunctions.


P4: Full Story (527 words)

I’m surrounded by {one word redacted} bodies.

I bow my head as I walk through the resurrection pods, their bluish-white exterior a stark contrast against the lava rock. Aderwin, Adrian, Adriana—there.

Adecis rests in the pod, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. It must have been the scientists who arranged him like that—Adecis would never accept {one word redacted} in such a mundane position.

“I’d like to claim him,” I say.

The scientist nods and presses a button, and, just like that, he begins to wake. His eyes flutter open. His arms uncross with a frown. He stares up at me. “Asha?” he whispers.

“Yes, babe. Take my hand.”

He grins dazedly and reaches out, the pod’s lid opening. Closer, closer, closer…

That’s when the mountain goat springs out.

* * *

“Why did you ditch me?” I blurt. “I mean, this is nice and all, but…”
Kaia shrugs. “It’s… complicated.”
“Oh.” I stare at my shoes. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Kaia and I have already rebuilt our friendship—why risk it with something that could push us apart again?
Kaia sighs. “No, that’s a lie. I ditched you because I didn’t want to be around you anymore.”
“What?”
“You used to be this fierce, sweet girl— the odd one out but in a good way. || I remember the girl from fifth grade— obsessed with the old gods and traditional clothing and old ideas. You gave Timmy Farsinger a whole lecture about how embracing the new didn’t mean leaving behind the old, remember?”
I frown. “Yeah, but-”
“I liked that Asha. The one who didn’t care what others thought.”
I tilt my head. “You did? But I’m-”
“You’re what— behind just because all the other girls wear makeup and have boyfriends? Because they have the rest of their life mapped out?” Kaia laughs. “Can’t you see what a living contradiction you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“You go around telling everyone that embracing the new doesn’t mean forgetting about the old, when you’re doing the same thing. Yes, you’re trying out new things and having a boyfriend is one of them. That doesn’t mean you become a shell of yourself.”
“Adecis loves me-”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Tears well in my eyes. “How dare you, Kaia. You know nothing about my life!”
“I know enough. But that’s not my point. Just because everyone else is planning out their life wrapped around a boy’s finger doesn’t mean that you forget about your passions just to be loved.”
“Adecis likes me better-”
“Can you hear yourself? The old Asha would never change what she believed in for a boy.”
“He’s a nice, loyal person. He deserves-”
“-someone who will be herself around him. This is why I left, Asha. This is why we all left.”
“That’s not true!” I shout. “You left because I wasn’t like the others!”
“I left because you weren’t mature enough.” She scoffs. “I can’t believe I thought you’d grown up. You can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
“I can! I’m mature!”
“Then you would know that Adecis has been lying to you.”
“What do you mean?”
Kaia sighed. “I don’t think you want to hear it.”

Total: 1733 words including all headers

Daily - November 16th - 272 words
Hey you! Yeah you, the one with the dry skin! (go put on some moisturizer man.) I’m sure you’ve heard of the classic product I’m about to mention. Heck, you might be wearing it right now! This average invention is called “socks.” Blech. So boring. But what if I told you about the next classy, new generation of socks. Introducing the Splendiferous Socks™! These socks aren’t called splendiferous for nothing. Picture this, you spilled a whole bucket of water on your expensive wooden floor, but you have to leave for an important job interview in 5 minutes! Well, the Splendiferous Socks™ has your back! These handy gadgets can quintuple in size, creating the perfect quick mop to get you back on track! Well, what if you drop something on your shirt in the car? Our Splendiferous Socks™ can store a whole fresh set of clothes, and a boring pair of socks too! Now, now I know what you’re thinking. Why get these socks instead of a tote bag or something? Well, our Splendiferous Socks™ are portable, and stylish! Available in 10,000 breathtaking colors, from your Average Joe grey, to your Fancy Nancy pink! So what are you waiting for!? Go to your nearest witchcraft and wizardry store and pick up a pair of these resplendent hosiery! And only for the low, low price of 999,999.99 dollars, you can own one the Splendiferous Socks™, and get ahead on the new fashion craze! Go and get your Splendiferous Socks™ today!

Ingredients:
2 eggs
½ cup of flour
1 flower
2/3 cup of sugar
½ TSP salt
1 ½ cup oil
¼ cup cinnamon
28 blades of grass

Directions:

Crack both eggs into one bowl. Add flower daintily into the bowl. Wait four minutes and observe.

Grab another bowl and pour the flour, salt, and sugar together. Stir until well combined. Add cinnamon to dry ingredients. Mix until fine powder. Add each blade of grass carefully and individually, stirring them into the mix one at a time. Make sure to contemplate your life while doing this!

After that, make sure to add the oil to the dry ingredients before pouring in the eggs. Whisk for 15 whole minutes. Don’t daydream while doing this, as whisking takes incredible focus and precision.

Once it becomes a batter, pour it into a pan of your choosing, whether that be cupcake pan, bundt cake pan, frying pan, or a regular old cake pan. Preheat oven to 4,000 degrees so you only have to bake it for 2 minutes.

After that, voila! You have your super tasty treat that was definitely tested before making this recipe. Make sure to enjoy it and share it with your friends, family, as well as the rats in the sewer system, the local eldritch horror, and any fairies that may be hanging around in the woods!

test (please ignore lol)

Story for Critiquitaire:

Lady Margaret Farsbury - called Daisy by her friends - was not in the mood to go to a ball. She had gone to several over the past few weeks, and she was quite worn out from all the dancing. She knew exactly what her father would say, but all the same she was exhausted and wishing desperately for some minor illness to swoop in suddenly and confine her to her bedchambers for two days at least.
“Oh, Nora, dancing is the utter bane of my existence just now! How I wish something would come up, and prevent me from going!” She complained to her friend.
“I do wish you would spare me the complaining, Daisy, when I have been wishing so hard to go myself for days! You are the luckiest girl in town, and all you do is tell me how dreadful it is that you are allowed the privilege of attending Mr. Hartley’s famous Christmas Eve Ball!”
Daisy sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. No one can, you see, unless they are in the very same position as me. If you had danced five times over the course of only three weeks, I know you’d feel just the same as me. I am so tired, Nora, that nothing except my silk sheets could possibly comfort me!”
“Well, there’s no use complaining. You’ll have to go, unless you can find some look-alike to take your place!” Nora told her as she fixed a ribbon in her friend’s hair.
“A look-alike, you say? A splendid idea! But who in town could possibly look exactly the same as I do?” Daisy mused to herself. “Not a single girl in England has the very same eyes, the very same hair, the very same complexion as me . . .. It’s impossible!”
“I was making a joke, you know,” Nora said, finishing up with the ribbon. “You do actually have to go.”
“Oh! Daisy! I’ve come up with a positively wonderful idea!” Daisy exclaimed suddenly, sitting straight in her chair.
“Oh, dear. Trust me, Daisy, when I say any scheme of yours is not going to end well at all.” Nora stepped back to admire her job.
“Never mind that, Nora, I’ll be careful! Here it is: I have never met Mr. Hartley before - he only invited me because of my father - so if someone completely different than me attended his ball, he’d never know the difference!” Daisy beamed at her friend and waited for her to tell her it was brilliant.
“Your father would never approve, and you know it, Nora. What on Earth has gotten into you? You’re never like this. You must be going mad!” Nora scolded her, frowning.
“Don’t talk like that, Nora, I’ve not gone mad! I think the plan is quite genius, on the contrary. Just think of it! I can stay home in my bed, while some other girl can go enjoy herself at the finest ball in all of England!”
“Well, don’t expect me to be your actress. I will most certainly not participate in this preposterous scheme!” Nora scowled. “It will most certainly blow up in your face, and I will most happily laugh at you when it does!” And with that she gave a little sniff and paraded out of the room.
“Just think of it! How unladylike! How improper! It would only be right for me to never associate with her in a friendly manner ever again!” Nora said to herself once she was out of her former friend’s house.

thanks for taking the time to read

Daily number 16!!!
SoupWC
Ingredients*:
3 Procrastination Potatoes
4 cups of water
100 Motivation Mangoes, peeled
1 tablespoon various spices
1 cup Creativity Carrots, sliced.
½ cup Boredom Bell Peppers
1 lb Chaos Noodles
Directions:
Hack Potatoes into as fine strips as you like with a large pointy thing of your choice. Make sure to think of the Potatoes not as potatoes, but as your procrastination, which despite what they look like, they are.
Proceed to put 2 cups of water into a large ugly pot and turn the heat to ‘Core of the Earth’.
Watch as the flames slowly devour the ugly pot.
Get a new, nicer-looking pot and put the remaining 2 cups of water in the new pot and put the heat onto a nice cool 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit.
Let it boil for however long that takes. I don’t know. I didn’t count.
Once the water is boiled, put in the sliced Potatoes and various spices.
Let the Potatoes and spices permeate the water, creating a tasteful broth.
Then dump in the Noodles and let them wriggle about in the broth until they get tired. This may take a while.
The noodles should have turned a nice golden yellow at this point.
Proceed to take out your large point thing and slice the Mangoes. Make sure to think of the Mangoes not as Mangoes, but as your motivation, which despite what they look like, they are. But instead of thinking of it as ‘destroying’ your motivation, think of it as multiplying it!
Dump the Mangoes into your broth along with the Carrots, which help support the Mangoes.
Then proceed to hack the Peppers into pieces with as much force as you did with the Potatoes (which should have been a lot). Dump this into the pot.
Let this boil for approximately 1000 minutes. Have fun counting that! Using an alarm or anything breaks the magic, I’m afraid.
Then eat as quickly as humanly (or catly) possible while still enjoying the probably (probably) delicious taste.
*please do not question the existence of any of these things.