escaping into the pages @words-written - Tumblr Blog

من همیشه عاشق کویر بوده‌ام آدم بالای توده‌ای شن لغزان می‌نشیند، هیچی نمی‌بیند و هیچی نمی‌شنود اما با وجود این چیزی توی سکوت برق‌برق می‌زند I have always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams…”

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (via honeyandelixir)

jackthebard

Just remember. There is no such thing as a fake geek girl. There are only fake geek boys. Science fiction was invented by a woman.

sourcedumal

shuttersmiley

Specifically a teenage girl. You know, someone who would be a part of the demographic that some of these boys are violently rejecting.

foxsan-deactivated20140515

Isaac Asimov.

sim0nbaz-deactivated20170205

yo mary shelley wrote frankenstein in 1818 and isaac asimov was born in 1920 so you kinda get my point

fancyeliza-deactivated20200804

If you want to push it back even further Margaret Cavendish, the duchess of Newcastle (1623-1673) wrote The Blazing World in 1666, about a young woman who discovers a Utopian world that can only be accessed via the North Pole - oft credited as one of the first scifi novels

Women have always been at the forefront of literature, the first novel (what we would consider a novel in modern terms) was written by a woman (Lady Muraskai’s the Tale of Genji in the early 1000s) take your snide “Isaac Asimov” reblogs and stick it

even in terms of male scifi authors, asimov was predated by Jules Verne, HG Wells, George Orwell, you could have even cited Poe or Jonathan Swift has a case but Asimov?

PbbBFFTTBBBTBTTBBTBTTT so desperate to discredit the idea of Mary Shelly as the mother of modern science fiction you didn’t even do a frickin google search For Shame

cryptovalid

And if you want to go back even further, the first named, identified author in history was Enheduanna of Akkad, a Sumerian high priestess.

gunthatshootsennui

Kinda funny, considering this Isaac Asimov quote on the subject:

Mary Shelley was the first to make use of a new finding of science which she advanced further to a logical extreme, and it is that which makes Frankenstein the first true science fiction story.

deathcomes4u

Even Isaac Asimov ain’t having none of your shit, not even posthumously.

velocigrey-deactivated20160825

You know what else was invented by women? Masked vigilantes, the precursor to the modern superhero. Baroness Emma Orczy wrote The Scarlet Pimpernel in 1905. The character would later inspire better known masked vigilantes such as Zorro and Batman.

geekinlibrariansclothing

Got that?

bettieleetwo

Stick that in your international pipe and smoke it

la-knight

I have literally been telling people this for over a year.

athenadark

the first extended prose piece - ie a novel, was not, as many male scholars will shout, Don Quixote (1605) but The Tale of Genji (1008) written by a woman

thepsychicclam

The first autobiography ever written in English is also attributed to a woman, The Book of Margery Kempe (1430s).

ladynorbert

The day may come when I find this post and do not reblog it, but it is not this day.

sketchofthepast

macrolit

dukeofbookingham-deactivated202

I know I run a book blog so maybe this isn’t the right platform for this, but girls: Please look out for other girls. Tonight I was stuck at a bus stop in Shoreditch circa 2 AM and saw another young woman getting harassed by a drunk, aggressive dude, and at first I thought, “She’s got it under control.” But then he started touching her and I went “No, that’s definitely not right.” So I barged over and shoved him out of the way and said, “Beth?? Oh my God, how are you, I haven’t seen you since grade school!” And this girl I’d never seen before in my life threw her arms around my neck and whispered, “You are an angel, thank God.” We talked for fifteen minutes, the creep lost interest, I watched her get on the bus and I will sleep so much better knowing she got home in one piece. If you see something weird happening, intervene. The worst that can happen is embarrassment, and I think that’s worth the risk when you consider the alternative.

wenchingwithshakespeare-deactiv

Every platform is the right platform for this.

aseaofquotes

Jake Christie, “A Subtle Kind of Love”

deadpoetdante

You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen – the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives – I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.” Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.” Thus I became a madman. And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.

“The Madman’ Kahlil Gibran (via openfist)

theclassicsreader

I can’t love you unless I give you up.

Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence (via theclassicsreader)

theclassicsreader

Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.

Sylvia Plath, from “Lesbos” (via theclassicsreader)

poetrist

You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to pretend to be so interested in your ongoing tragedy, but I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. and I miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bull’s-eye, or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47, I wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday on Thursday and I would have wanted you to give me the gift of your guts on the floor, one last time, to see if you still had it in you. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If I’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.

Lucas Regazzi, “Small” (via poetrist)