#newsletter

Mon, 29 Nov 2021 12:18:23

my friends, the dead

The graves have a way of finding you here.

I took Cooper for a walk the other day, and I try to take a new trail every time. Trails branch off at random, sometimes old mining roads, sometimes game trails well-traveled enough to dupe a novice and tempt a regular. But this one branched past an old dilapidated cabin, windows smashed and guts covered in dust and leaves. Just past the rotten home, maybe 20 feet into the woods, there was a wooden post sticking some three feet up from the ground. It had the usual marks of man — straight, smooth, standing erect. I stepped through the deadfall to get a closer look. Every other piece of planed wood was either collapsing into the cabin or already ground-bound, rotting back to its mother. At the base of the stud were rocks piled in a pyramid of sorts, holding it in place, and beside the rocks, two moss covered statues the size of small rabbits. Beneath their soft, green blankets were two angels, kneeling by the post, one with their stone hands clasped looking up, the other with their hands on the ground, staring into it.

A marker read, “You were so much STRONGER and BRAVER and SWEETER than I will ever Be. I’ll miss you. Love Peter”

In lettering lost in time, you can just make out the name: Henrietta.

Just up the dirt road from our house is the cemetery, unfenced and unkept. There’s a swing strung between two old aspens, and you can kick your feet high above the handful of graves below. One gravestone shares two names — both children, laid to rest more than 100 years ago. In the center of their grave bed, a massive pine has splintered the stone with her roots made of bones and breath. Even with a cemetery in town, there are graves everywhere. Marked or forgotten, along the town’s edges, on the mountain, and inthe mountain where men and burros were held hostage and held forever in the mines. There are two memorials right now in a town with fewer people than my graduating class in rural Ohio. One waves with prayer flags on a grassy knoll overlooking the old part of town. Beneath the flags, a photo of a girl my age, riding horseback through town. The other is in the cemetery, a mound dug and buried the day we moved in. As we unpacked our moving truck on a warm July day, cars with license plates from up and down the Rockies parked along our street to pay tribute. On the gravestone hangs the collar and tags of the man’s dog. He was 42.

I can’t walk by or even near Henrietta’s grave without talking to her, the peculiarity of which is heightened by the fact that it’s hard to tell if Henri was a girl or a dog. Either way, the conversations are the same:

“How’re the woods today? Any good visitors? Anything you’d like me to see?”

In the chance there’s some connective tissue between now and every then, I’m following the golden rule. I personally would like people to talk to me, to be curious, to be revenant. How fast do you think I could trip someone with a well-placed root if they were one of those people who carried speakers into the woods? How deeply could I infect their psyche if they defaced my resting place or hurt an animal?

Thus far, if Henrietta seems anything, it’s suspicious. Which is fine. I would be too. But she’s not the only one I’m talking to. In a deeper canyon, six miles by foot from the house, you can feel the enormity of time. A box canyon closing in on you with a swampy bottom, talus fields, waterfalls, and a scree climb to the ridge. Something that feels pulled from Land Before Time or referenced for some untouched world space saga. Alone on a misty trail run, I felt safe enough from the eyes of judgment that I knelt on the ground, my bare hands on the soil, and shared my intentions with the Earth: her kingdom is my gift to hold tenderly and her right to take quickly. I stayed on my knees until I forgot how it might look to someone coming, and I stayed a little longer after that until the connection loosened and I felt the dirt in my fingernails.

I dusted off my knees and my hands and carried on running. Around the next bush, I came to a quick halt — there in the middle of the path was a porcupine, as startled to see me as I was her. Nature, providing an offering and a test. Are you a good steward? Can you see this moment for what it is? I stepped back and spoke softly until the porcupine waddled deep into the brush. I carried on with that feeling of earned reverence in my heart, talking mostly to myself.

As we approach Halloween, the town has yet to unveil any inherent spookiness beyond the reality of death. Hard work and hard loss are etched in, but there’s no unease. And maybe there never will be if I keep talking to all the dead people and animals, the dying trees, the creatures long absorbed into the ground.

Several people asked me if I feel safe here, especially out in the wilderness on my own. Some people don’t know any better. They never learned the animals are mostly harmless. They never read the research that you’re much more likely to die at the hands of your partner than at those of a stranger. They never knew I already escaped those hands anyway. They never learned to read the sky and the mountain. Never learned to read me.

But whatever I am safe from here, I think more about what I am safe to be here: odd. Solitary. The kind of woman who kneels, palms in the soil, to feel time and purpose crawl up her spine vertebrae by vertebrae like a wooden roller coaster, hoping to stay in the moment long enough to feel the freefall of getting lost in time.

Whatever strange, backwoods habits this town enables, it also draws you in from the deathly calls of the winter wind with emails like this:

On Sunday, meet in the town square at 5pm in COSTUME for the parade, pizza, and the photo. Trick or treating starts at 6pm on the old side of town. Ryan will transport the kids to the other side of town and back at night. Add Town Hall to your trick or treating to meet the new Town Manager, John.

You want me to… wear a costume? To take a town photo? And meet the new town manager? Guys there are 150 people here. If you stand outside your house for longer than 5 minutes, you’ll meet the new town manager.

But that’s small town life. And I bought Halloween candy weeks ago to prepare for our first-ever trick’or’treaters. Hopefully after a few years of talking to ghosts in the pines, I won’t need a costume. The local kids will be scared enough as is.

——

This is issue #10 of Shangrilogs, a story of high altitude relocation and renovation. Subscribe here. See the journey on Instagram here.

#amwriting #newsletter #colorado #graves #cemetery #shangrilogs

Sun, 24 Oct 2021 15:37:26

Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends?

When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now.

My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open.

Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me.

Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with.

I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend.

“Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?”

No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”
“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”
“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters.

The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don’t I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town.

It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story.

But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.
New friend who is moving away.
New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.
Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy.

A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving.

Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway.

“Hey, are you a smokejumper?”

We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance.

But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.)

So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better.

The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself.

But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults.

In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down.

“Did you just move here?”
“I did!”
“I served your family last week,” she said.
“Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.”
“Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.”
“We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this.
“You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.)
“Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.”
“It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing.
“It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her.
“No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.”
“K, good luck making it to the lake.“

Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again.

But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because weloved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore.

Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad.

In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

#amwriting #newsletter #making friends #how to make new friends #adulthood #small town life

Thu, 16 Sep 2021 16:27:40

I’m not sure if that’s a good thing

“Well you’re definitely the first.”

This past week, we screened-in the eastern facing porch on the side of the cabin. The porch slopes to the South, with the brick-on-dirt floor crumbling in that direction as well until it reaches uneven slabs of stone acting as steps down to the “yard” below. A mixed material retaining wall wraps beneath the steps to the south facing garage, holding up one corner of the narrow deck on the front of the house. The deck, in the heat of a high altitude summer, droops off the house like it’s daydreaming about the winter snow’s embrace. It’s safe to sit on, though I would not recommend leaning on the railing.

The side porch takes the brunt of the wind. Our wooden rocking chairs have been rocked some 20 feet into the yard more than once in the two months we lived here. In the myriad of threats we heard about the weather, most people included the wind. We all know how I feel about this ongoing weather intimidation tactic. I asked, “what speed are the gusts?”

“Oh, they get up to 70 miles per hour on some days.”

This was the first quantifiable piece of weather information someone had offered — an actual number we could react to with data and our historical personal experiences of various weather events. And our reaction was: uhhhh…. OK????

Look, I get it. No one’s preaching the skin benefits of -20 degree wind gusts at 70 mph, building snow drifts against your house in the span of minutes that Cooper could die in. I am not going to pretend that’s pleasant. But 70 mph? Any wind I’ve driven faster than does not intimidate me. I used to rally the horses at 12 years old in winds over 70mph to get them in the barn before the latest tornado whipped through. I helped shutter the resort in the BVI as the Category 5 hurricane rolled in. Even in Topanga, 70 mile per hour gusts were not uncommon in Santa Ana events. We had our single pane windows shatter more than once from debris in the wind. We taped cardboard up and went to sleep.

That “70 mph” was all I needed to hear to confirm our next project: we were going to build a catio for these cats, and we were going to do it on the pre-existing porch structure to save time and money.

We spent a week framing out the structure. We had to carve into the logs of the house to embed the wood supports for the framing.

And from there, every piece of wood was custom carved and cut to fit around the existing timber supports. The existing porch was so wildly uneven that there are gaps between each piece of old wood and the new framing. Our plan is to mix all the wood chips from the project with mortar/chinking and stuff the gaps — a good solution for the log cabin look. We built a plywood pony wall up to 28 inches from the interior of the porch, which gives a height of ~4-5ft from the exterior ground below. It’s capped with a 2x6” railing for even the fluffiest of cats to find a perch. The exterior will be wrapped with corrugated metal that we’ll quick-age to match the metal that wraps the bottom of the cabin. On the interior of the porch, we’ll use shiplap to hide the framing.

The screens themselves can withstand winds up to 120 mph, but to-be-determined if they can hold the weight of a growing maniac cat who has already tried to climb them. In the event the screens succumb to cat (or wind or snow or neighbor judgment) we’ll reinforce with metal mesh. We’re going to maintain this screen porch regardless of what the screen is.

We had the pleasure of running into one of our more industrious neighbors the other day, and Ben asked him, “hey we’re building a screen porch. Is this a terrible idea?”

He laughed. “Well you’re definitely the first.” But he liked it. Great way to diminish wind into the house. Simple way to regulate the temperature with massive south-facing windows. And indeed a practical outdoor safe haven for cats in predator territory. Just because you’re the first doesn’t mean you’re foolish — just foolhardy. There’s plenty of that here.

This town has the typical mountain town’s truncated version of a colonizers’ history: “established 1881.” But it was plenty established prior to that by the Uncompahgre Band of the Ute Nation, removed by the U.S. Army on September 7, 1881, nearly 140 years ago. The government relocated the Uncompahgre Ute People to Utah, and one year after the Ute were forcibly removed from their ancestral land, San Miguel County split off from Ouray County and was made its own political subdivision in the newly-formed State of Colorado.

In 1879, the ore-laden valley already had 50 people living in it, with a new narrow gauge railway only 2 miles away. By 1885, it was a town of 200 people. There was a hotel, a couple saloons, a pool hall. Winters were treacherous; the valley was and is prone to avalanches. But where there’s gold, there’s gumption. The power needed to run the stamp mill to process ore drove innovation. Timber was scarce at such high elevations, so a wood powered steam mill wouldn’t cut it. But the San Miguel River just a few miles down from the mine looked promising. Thus began the development and construction of the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant. It was a hit. In fact, it was so successful that the Ames Plant led to the adoption of alternating currents at Niagara Falls and eventually to being adopted worldwide as a viable power solution.

The plant remains, but the gold rush obviously didn’t. By 1940, the U.S. Census declared this little town I call home as tied for the lowest population in the country: 2 people. By 1960, it was one of four incorporated towns in the U.S. with no residents. But the joke was on the Census — the town’s single resident was just out of town the day the census came through. 1960 population: 1.

By 1980 the population grew to 38, 69 in 1990, and about 180 now. (Plus 51 dogs according to the town’s website.) With modern amenities, it’s easier to be here. Studded snow tires, satellite internet, solar panels, instant coffee. No matter the hardships, there’s the reality of the present. In the 1880s, as the town boomed, the Ouray Times declared, “it will be at no distant day a far more pretentious town than it is now.” That day hasn’t exactly arrived, but I guess it depends on what you consider pretentious. I don’t think the town claims any airs of excellence beyond what’s true. In fact, the town hardly claims anything at all. There’s no sign indicating it’s even here. There’s just the old side and the new side.

The new side, the Eastern half, was drawn out in the early 1990s, some 100 years later, and is separated from the Old Town by an avalanche zone—preserved open space for hiking in the summer, preserved open space for surviving in the winter. The town forbids short-term rentals, no one has a fence, dogs roam free, and all the houses have that cabin look to them. A boulder nests in a grove near a trailhead in the center of town with a plaque paying respect to the Utes who called this valley home. There’s no industry here. No businesses allowed. If you want a $7 latte, you can drive the 14 miles required to get it, assuming there’s not an avalanche blocking your path. You can, however, buy a pink lemonade in a

solo cup at the permanent lemonade stand run by the local feral child mafia. Crystals (rocks) can be purchased for an additional cost. We bought one, hoping to buy favor at the same time.

The town plan has a few guiding principles, and it’s all in the name of preservation. We must preserve:

1 - the quiet atmosphere
2 - the rustic character
3 - the natural setting

And finally:

4 - protect the health and wellbeing of the people here

No snowmobiles, no ATVs, no drones. In fact, the only sign of the outside world here are the passers-through. When you take the dirt road through town to the end, you enter National Forest, and you can hike over the pass saddle at nearly 12,000 feet before descending down the other side into Silverton. The pass road climbs rutted through an aspen forest before scaling across a scree field and then lurching over to the other side. Every day, it seems like 30 or so Texans and Arizonans in lifted and loud Jeeps with unused mods climb over this mountain in the comfort of their air conditioning, simply to drive down the other side. You could hike it, ride it, run it, and ski it, but they don’t. They rev their engines, kicking up dust in a town of feral children and roaming dogs, staring at us instead of waving.

I’ve lived here for two months and look how salty I am. I’ll fit in yet.

But today, there is a temperature that whispers of perfect trails and the dwindling of ogglers driving 35 in a 15. It’s already snowed in the mountains we see from our kitchen. Today, like a dedication to the Septembers of our youth, you can feel a chill in the air. A temperature akin to pencils and sweaters and reinventing yourself. A temperature that doesn’t exactly sing “screen porch” but could if you had the right slippers on. That’s what I did this morning: put my slippers on and sat there in the cool mountain morning air, thinking about the cemetery behind our house, about the Ute tribe, about the miners, about the mailman who died on Christmas in 1875 on the pass, about the 5 people who died in avalanches here just last year, about the people in their cars on their phones driving through, and all the people who’s very first question to us was, “so are you gonna live here part-time or full-time?”

Maybe it will be a hard place to live. But at least we’ll have a screen porch.

Every week I’m writing about moving to log cabin in a small town at 10,000 feet. Subscribe here for free:tinyletter.com/keltonwrites

#colorado #small town life #home renovation #amwriting #creative writing #newsletter #a little bit better

Thu, 09 Sep 2021 12:53:50

Welcome to the world of ‘Sword Catcher’ ⚔️

Welcome to the world of 'Sword Catcher’ .@cassieclare

Happy April and happy spring (or autumn)! It’s been quiet for the past two months but today we’re back with a bang!
Cassandra Clare sent a very special issue of her newsletter yesterday and for once it’s not Shadowhunters books related. Cassie is currently writing her first adult novel – a fantasy duology – and she has now shared loads of new and interesting information. Are you ready to find…

#cassandra clare #kellian saren #lin caster #newsletter #sword catcher

Sat, 16 Apr 2022 09:00:22

Newsletter Recap: new ‘Chain of Thorns’s art and snippet + a 'Sword Catcher’ snippet

Newsletter Recap: new ‘Chain of Thorns’s art and snippet + a ‘Sword Catcher’ snippet

*dusts TMI Source off* Happy 2022 (yes, I know we’re already 25 days into the year)!
Things are slow right now, but that’s simply because Cassandra Clare is very busy writing Chain of Thorns, Sword Catcher, and Secrets of Blackthorn Hall!
Subscribers to Cassie’s newsletter were treated to a short but very nice email update yesterday so I’m sharing the content with you today.
Chain of Thorns…

#cassandra clare #chain of thorns #chain of thorns snippets #newsletter #sword catcher #the last hours

Tue, 25 Jan 2022 09:00:34

Newsletter Recap: a ‘Chain of Thorns’ snippet, a snippet from 'Sword Catcher’, art and more

Newsletter Recap: a ‘Chain of Thorns’ snippet, a snippet from ‘Sword Catcher’, art and more

Happy Monday! Cassandra Clare sent a new issue of her monthly newsletter yesterday and today I’m sharing the most important information with you. There are snippets, art for a special holiday and a gift guide for the Shadowhunters fan(s) in your life.
I know I usually start with the snippets, but let’s change things up a little bit this time – here is some gorgeous Simon and Isabelle…

#cassandra clare #chain of thorns #newsletter #sword catcher #the last hours

Mon, 29 Nov 2021 09:01:23

Newsletter Recap: a ‘Secrets of Blackthorn Hall’ snippet, art and more

Happy Saturday! Yesterday a new issue of Cassandra Clare’s newsletter was sent out and we heard from someone very unexpected. Of course, we also got a snippet – this time from Secrets of Blackthorn Hall – new art and a photo of Reginald with his little sister Rosie.
Let’s have a look at the snippet first:
Dear Jem,
I hope you don’t mind, but you had said it was okay to get in touch with you…

#cassandra clare #newsletter #secrets of blackthorn hall #the wicked powers

Sat, 23 Oct 2021 09:01:04

Recap of Cassandra Clare’s September newsletter: Snippets, cats, and more!

Recap of .@cassieclare’s September newsletter: Snippets, cats, and more!

Happy Saturday! Yesterday’s newsletter was filled with lots of exciting stuff. Cassandra Clare shared three different snippets, new artwork, and she introduced us to a special someone.
Let’s have a look at the snippets first!
Number one is from Secrets of Blackthorn Hall:
“First of all, don’t worry. The device I’ve included is not dangerous and is in no danger of exploding. (When Professor…

#cassandra clare #chain of thorns #newsletter #secrets of blackthorn hall #sword catcher #the last hours

Sat, 18 Sep 2021 09:01:08

Cassandra Clare shares new ‘Chain of Thorns’ snippet, announces another Instagram chat, and more!

.@cassieclare shares new 'Chain of Thorns’ snippet, announces another Instagram chat, and more!

Good morning, afternoon or evening! It has been over a month since my last article and the last snippet because Cassandra Clare is currently very busy. She is on deadline and also “naming all the squirrels in my yard while I should be working.” Nevertheless, we got her monthly newsletter yesterday and it is filled with lots of amazing stuff. There is of course a new Chain of Thorns snippet,…

#cassandra clare #chain of thorns #chain of thorns snippets #newsletter #the last hours

Thu, 24 Jun 2021 09:00:33

Cassandra Clare shares first ‘Chain of Thorns’ snippet

.@cassieclare shares first 'Chain of Thorns’ snippet

Happy Friday! Today’s article is really special because a new issue of Cassandra Clare’s newsletter just hit inboxes and it’s filled with exciting information: snippets, new artwork, a Reginald video, and Hollywood meetings.
Let’s have a look at the snippets first, though. During our 10th anniversary Instagram live with Cassie, she revealed when she’d share the first Chain of Thorns snippet…

#cassandra clare #chain of thorns #chain of thorns snippets #newsletter #sword catcher #the last hours

Fri, 21 May 2021 13:00:39

Repost from @australiannaturistfederation Grin and Bare it video newsletter #Naturist #Nudist #nude #hiking #bushwalking #nakedinnature #vlog #newsletter #australia
https://www.instagram.com/p/CFS82pyD54z/?igshid=kews0y1c1ldd

Post link

#naturist #nudist #hiking #bushwalking #nakedinnature #newsletter #australia

@NUDEYMAN

Sat, 19 Sep 2020 09:20:37

The latest KnitHacker newsletter is out, “Two Knit Shrugs and a Caticorn … Plus, New Patterns & Knitting With Beads, Turkish Style! ”

Read it, share it, love it: https://buff.ly/3Nl8cHn

Get it in your inbox every Sunday morning, look for the subscribe button, top left!

#knitting #crochet #knithacker #newsletter

@knithacker

Sun, 15 May 2022 07:17:17

Happy belated St. Pádraig’s day and a reminder that the newsletter/art roundup for March goes out in a few hours, sign up here if interested

his eyes apparently get closer together with each iteration

#newsletter #anthropmorphic #envelope #cartoon character

@lil-tachyon

Fri, 25 Mar 2022 09:29:44

A religião é a causa da maioria das guerras?

A religião é a causa da maioria das guerras? Com certeza muitos conflitos ao longo da história têm sido ostensivamente por motivos religiosos, com muitas religiões diferentes envolvidas #blogdodcvitti
ツ

Com certeza muitos conflitos ao longo da história têm sido ostensivamente por motivos religiosos, com muitas religiões diferentes envolvidas. Por exemplo, no Cristianismo, tem havido (só para citar algumas):

As Cruzadas: Uma série de campanhas entre os séculos XI e XIII, com o objetivo declarado de reconquistar a Terra Santa dos invasores muçulmanos e vir em auxílio do Império Bizantino.
As…

Sun, 22 May 2022 13:15:09

Compartilhar informação, também é mobilizar!

Compartilhar informação, também é mobilizar! Confira os dados do Informe Anual 2021/22: O Estado dos Direitos Humanos no Mundo e baixe a sua cópia do documento produzido pela @anistiabrasil @amnesty #AI60anos #blogdodcvitti
ツ

Como está a sua leitura do relatório? Os dados que o Informe Anual 2021/22: O Estado dos Direitos Humanos no Mundo traz são muito importantes para entendermos o cenário global e do Brasil sob a perspectiva das violações dos direitos humanos, mas principalmente da importância da luta por justiça!
Você ainda não finalizou sua leitura? Tudo bem, ele ficará disponível no nosso site gratuitamente para…

Sat, 21 May 2022 13:15:36

Como a Lei de Serviços Digitais (DSA) pode melhorar a internet

Como a Lei de Serviços Digitais - DSA pode melhorar a internet. A #DSA tem potencial para ser um acordo inovador parecido, uma espécie de #AcordoDeParis para a Internet #blogdodcvitti
ツ

A internet é uma caixa de ferramentas incrível. Com ela, podemos nos conectar, aprender, nos informar e nos comunicar com pessoas a quilômetros de distância. Mas ela também tem um lado sombrio – a Avaaz já mostrou os danos que plataformas como Facebook, YouTube, Twitter ou WhatsApp podem causar a minorias vulneráveis , à nossa saúde , às eleições e à saúde mental dos jovens . Sob diversas…

#blogdodcvitti #dcvitti #dialisonclebervitti #dcvitti #acordo de paris #blog do dcvitti #cleber vitti #dialison #dialison cleber #dialison cleber vitti #dialison ilhota #dialison vitti #digital services act #ilhota #internet #lei de serviços digitais #newsletter #redes sociais #vale do silício

Fri, 20 May 2022 13:13:26

[Revista] Focus Brasil #50 - Gás a R$ 150

[Revista] Focus Brasil #50 - Gás a R$ 150 #FocusBrasil #RevistaFocusBrasil #blogdodcvitti
ツ

A edição 50 da revista Focus Brasil joga luz sobre um dos maiores prejuízos causados pela política de preços implementada na Petrobrás após o Golpe de 2016: o preço do botijão de gás que já ultrapassa os R$ 150,00. Conforme o tempo passa, ficam mais evidentes os males causados pelo golpe. A Focus dessa semana entrevista o economista Luiz Gonzaga Belluzzo. Ele critica os retrocessos na…

Fri, 20 May 2022 00:51:12

Depois de dois dias com neve, a geada faz a paisagem branca em Santa Catarina

Depois de dois dias com neve, a geada faz a paisagem branca em #SantaCatarina #NotaMeteorológicaEpagriCiram #PrevisãoTempoSC #blogdodcvitti
ツ

Depois de dois dias com neve na Serra catarinense, o sol volta a aparecer nas regiões catarinenses. A onda de frio que desde o dia 16/05 provoca baixas temperaturas no Sul do Brasil, vai manter, e até intensificar, o frio no Estado. São esperadas mínimas próximas de 0°C a 4°C em SC, nas madrugadas de sexta-feira e sábado (20 e 21/05), podendo chegar a – 4°C (negativa) no Planalto Sul. A paisagem…