STORY #16 Which Was Born From The Exercise In The Creative Writing Club

Story #45 is about resolutions for 2023.

This year I decided not to make any resolutions.

Ok, that’s not entirely true. I have, but as Derek Sivers* once said, I’ll shut up and keep my goals to myself.

What I *can* say though, is that 2023 comes in numbers for me.

It’s 365 days, 51 weeks, hence I’m going to:

📚Read 51 books

📝Write 51 stories for my blog 642stories.tumblr.com

🏀Have 153 sport classes

🎧Listen to 365 Spanish podcasts

🎧Listen to 365 blinks

🇪🇸 Write and then record 51 Spanish stories for my instagram

👣 Walk 2,550,000 steps (approx. 50,000 a week)

I might end up doing more of some of these things, but let's consider it my bare minimum.

That said, I already terribly suck at #3, as I’ve been mostly in bed this past week recuperating after the flu.

What are your numbers this year?

*Ted Talk “Keep your goals to yourself” by Derek Sivers

That's the story behind the fiction article about the local hero.

there are 8394 fanfic tropes i need to read after mulder comes back fuckkkkkkk

i wanna see a good reaction to the pregnancy

i wanna see mulder finally admitting he has ptsd and telling scully about it and about what he remembers

i wanna see scully kissing his scars

i wanna see mulder being more empathetic about what scully has been through bc he knows if the roles were reversed he would have fucking lost it

i need all of it!!!!

Story #24 is an IELTS type of essay.

Prompt: In many countries juvenile or child crime is on the increase. What are the reasons for this and what are the solutions.

It is a well-known fact that some countries have a high rate of juvenile crime which increases annually mostly due to the lack of pastoral care by relatives. Many children have to be on their own, especially if the family breaks up. It is common that single parents tend to pay less attention to their children's whereabouts and activities since they have to work a lot to be able to earn enough for a living. The lack of money often results in poor housing; therefore, youngsters who live in bad conditions may feel envious of their richer mates and turn to stealing.

There are several solutions for that problem.  Governments should put higher involvement in child development. Programs related to after-school activities for teenagers should be promoted. If we can occupy adolescents with sports and other interesting things to do which will be accessible and available for anyone for free, we can succeed in reducing the crime rates in this age category. Social services need to collaborate with employers to provide young people with part-time jobs that they can manage with their school studies. This will give them the opportunity to earn some pocket money and feel less dependent on their parents.

I believe that children turn into criminals due to several reasons but the main ones always root in the family. It all comes from the atmosphere in one particular kin and this is where governments can help. Parents should spend more time with their children to be aware of their interests and problems. To put it into practice, it is possible to consider preferences for single mothers and fathers such as fewer working hours a week for the same wage rates.

Photo credit: Maxim Hopman (Unsplash)

Story #85 is the poem "A Ballet Dancer"

Put your pointe shoes on

And get to the barre,

It’s your stage for tonight,

You’re a soloist.

Keep your balance,

Assemblé, 

Attitude derrière,

Show bravura,

S'il te plaît

You’re not made of wood.

Half turn here,

Half turn there

Right leg extended in alongé

Left foot strong

With your foot en pointe --

Hard?

Demi-pointe it’s then.

Face your audience

Return to the first position

Grand plie,

Grand jete,

Pas de chat.

It’s your stage for tonight

You’re a soloist.

unsplash.com

Photo by Nihal Demirci Erenay on Unsplash

Download this photo by Nihal Demirci Erenay on Unsplash

Story #52, In the Silence of the Night 1/2

This is The X-Files fanfiction. Read it on AO3

A light tap on the door pulls her out of her slumber. The TV is still on and Mulder is sleeping peacefully across from her on her little striped couch. Her bare feet are juxtaposed with Mulder's head, and his sock ones are dangling over the arm of the couch near her face. A silly thought  - they look way too cozy with one another as if they are spouses, siblings, anyone but merely work partners – comes and goes. It reminds her of her childhood and how she used to make a beeline in the middle of the night to her parents’ bed only to find Melissa and Charlie had already been there. There wasn’t enough room for all the Scully kids, and mornings would often find Dana with her face somewhere around her sister’s feet, with her mother’s hand in her hair. Ironically enough, Bill would never join them.

When Scully frees herself off the pile of limbs and cushions to open the door, Maggie Scully greets her with a smile so bright that Dana squints at her, like the sun is shining straight at her face.

“I brought you something,” Maggie says, letting herself in and heading to the kitchen. “We need to stock up your fridge properly. Can’t let you live on anything but nice home meals.” While you are still recovering from cancer, the end of the sentence implies, but neither of them brings that up. Dana’s remission is nothing short of a miracle - still so new and fragile, and both fear to dig too deep into it, lest any careless stir can reverse it.

She joins her mother at the counter, her eyes flicking back and forth following Maggie’s hand diving into what looks like a dimensionless shopping bag, as she pulls out one Tupperware container after another.

“That’s a lot of food, Mom. Are we throwing a party to feed an entire floor?”

“Oh, dear, wasn’t it Fox I’ve just seen dozing off in the living room?”

Maggie asks in that deep mellifluous voice Dana always finds solace in, and immediately her face goes scarlet matching her flaming hair that, if one looks any closer, is quite mussed, creating the perfect ensemble with her smudged mascara and wrinkled blouse. Scully doesn’t lift her eyes off the counter to meet her mother’s half-joking but penetrating gaze. Instead, she occupies her hands with cups and tea bags.

“Well, I can’t imagine him not hanging around here with you all weekend. He’ll help you empty the fridge.” Her mother continues nonchalantly. “You hungry?”

“Not really. Mulder ordered a pizza earlier and made sure I ate at least half of it. I thought I was going to burst. Just some tea for me.”

As they finally settle at the table, Maggie reaches out to her daughter’s hand and gives her a gentle squeeze.

“How are you, Dana?”

"As strange as it sounds, I feel alive.” With delicate fingers, she grazes the golden rim of her snow-white porcelain cup.

“I feel good, Mom. To be honest, right now I have more time than I know what to do with, but as soon as Mulder lets me come back to work, I’ll make good use of that.” To a stranger, her words may sound a bit harsh as if she’s displeased with her partner’s over-protective behavior, but her mother knows better. Behind the façade of the feigned sternness, Maggie recognizes the notes of playfulness.

She can’t seem to avert her eyes from her daughter’s elegant hands, still deadly pale, with thin bluish veins running across her soft skin. For a long time, they just sit there, across from one another, sipping their tea and soaking up the comfort they find in each other. Mulder is still sleeping peacefully just across the wall, covered up with a blanket lovingly.

“You know, Dana, I didn’t believe we’d have you back.”

“Mom…”

“No, I need to let it out. After you told me that your cancer metastasized and spread to your blood flow… I didn’t see how we could have you back.”

“Neither did I, Mom.”

“You are a scientist in our family, Dana.  I could see it in your eyes – the moment you gave up. That was how I knew - there wasn’t anything left to be done for you.” Maggie draws in a breath and braces herself to continue.

“Fox wouldn’t give up, though.” Her voice is quiet, careful and measured, mindful of the aforementioned partner sleeping just a few feet away.

Subconsciously, Scully turns to the living room, the corners of her lips tug up slightly.

“He wouldn’t let you go. I believed then he was ready to follow you. It was like the first time.”

“The first time?”

“When you were abducted.”

“Mom, it’s over.”

“My faith left me, Dana.” There are tears in her mother’s eyes, and Dana reaches out to pull her in a tight hug. Her strong brave mother, who, by some absurd coincidence, is doomed to outlive her beloved husband and a few of her own children. Her beautiful mother, whose faith and courage have been tested repeatedly. There’s only so much one can take.

“I don’t know how, Dana, but somewhere along the way, I lost my faith. When you were abducted, I didn’t believe you would be returned to us. And then you had, and I didn't believe you would make it. We went as far as to turn you off the life support because that was what you had stated in your will. We stayed with you to say goodbye. Fox was there too, Missy wouldn’t let him off the hook.”

“Missy?”

Maggie smiles sadly at her daughter.

“Yes. Fox wouldn’t come to join us. He thought it was wrong, that we had to fight for you. Unlike us, he still believed you could make it. I think Missy found the right words for him because, in the end, Fox was there for you. He didn’t come to say goodbye though. He came because he still had hope. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be sitting here with you now.”

“Mulder is a dark wizard.”

“You didn’t see him then, Dana. It was like all of a sudden, his whole world fell apart. Then one day you turned up in a hospital and nobody knew anything, nobody was able to say what was wrong with you, and Fox just,” Maggie’s voice hitches and she takes another sip before she continues. “He just ran amok. Fox was devastated and dying along with you, but I didn’t think he’d have followed you. Not back then. He would have set on a journey to find everyone responsible for what had been done to you.”

Dana chooses not to interrupt, sensing her mother’s need to vent it all out.

“This time though, he would absolutely have. I’m terrified at the thought of having been so dangerously close to burying not just one, but the two of you. He was aching for you. He still does. Maybe you should let him in.”

Maggy departs, somehow leaving Scully both totally in disarray and maddeningly calm. She hadn’t the faintest what Mulder went through during her abduction. She could get some bits and pieces - from her family, case reports (her own file stored right there in one of the drawers), and occasional worried glances from Skinner. Allusions galore, but never anything specific.

While she tried to find a workaround for her trauma, Mulder was learning (by trial and error, no less!) to deal with his guilt complex – about being the reason for her abduction, about not getting to her on time, about failing time and again. Those were feeble attempts on both their sides and eventually, by unspoken agreement, they decided to ignore the matter entirely. As if it had never existed. It was easier that way. It was safer.

Even in his sleep, Mulder looks tired. Like he hasn’t been sleeping for days on end, that is likely to be true - he probably hasn’t been sleeping since she was diagnosed and the tumor started growing, spreading its treacherous cells and filling her mind with uneasy thoughts. She cannot bring herself to stop contemplating whether his thick brown hair turned silver on the temples because of her. She doesn’t remember him having any gray hairs before. And that signature frown line between his brows seems to have deepened and now is defined sharply. She wants to reach out and smooth that wrinkle away from his beautiful face.

Of its own volition, her hand cups his stubbly cheek, and her thumb traces the plump bottom lip. She can’t remember when they stopped being just partners and became friends. Probably somewhere around day one. She can’t remember when she stopped wanting him to be just her friend and become her lover. Probably somewhere around year one.

Lifting his head gently off the pillow, she squeezes herself in between it and the armrest, so now his upper body rests on her lap. His long legs are bent at his knees and tucked into the cushions and Scully’s bare feet are perched on the coffee table next to the empty box of pizza and she’s stroking his hair languidly.  She pulls on an invisible thread and then tucks her cool hand under the neck of his t-shirt. Mulder’s skin is soft and hot under her touch, and as she caresses the expanse of his upper back, Mulder turns his head and sighs contentedly into her stomach.

“Hey,” he mumbles. His eyes are still closed and he shifts even closer and presses Scully deeper into the cushions all the while lifting her shirt with his nose and burrowing it deep in her belly button. She makes a sound, something between a moan and a chuckle.

“It tickles.”

She doesn’t attempt to stop him, though. Puffs of warm air breeze across her skin and trails of chaste, almost imponderable kisses send tingles down her spine.

Lay the blame on her being drunk with his closeness. Lay the blame on him being under the spell of sleep.

The last remnant of doubt vanishes when Mulder’s weightless dry touches turn into bold open-mouthed kisses. She wants to be closer to him. So close that she doesn’t know where she ends, and he starts. Mulder is the only man she can ever imagine herself with, and tonight he has her undivided attention.

There’s no way to resist an uncontrollable impulse to kiss her partner. They are magnetically drawn to one another. Having Mulder by her side has become second nature to her. He’s the oxygen she can’t live without. He seeps into her skin and permeates her thoughts.

She doesn't have delusions of ever having a normal family with him, where they both do their fair share of prosaic daily routines. There’s no house with a white picket fence in that equation - Mulder offers her the basement with overfilled file cabinets and dusty shelves.  Over the years she has come to appreciate everything he gives her - Fox Mulder is the constant exercise to her brain, her guide and mentor, her best friend and platonic lover. He's the butterflies in her stomach and goosebumps over her skin.

Sometimes it feels like too much, and she wants to rip him off like the band-aid and expose herself to the world outside Mulder’s suffocating presence. That she did a couple of times before, only to realize that she had lost sight of herself not because of him, but without him. The air Mulder doesn’t breathe with her chokes her, and when the need to fill her lungs with Eau de Fox Mulder becomes unbearable, she calls his number. “Mulder, it’s me.”

“What are we doing, Scully.” He stops and lifts on one elbow, his face is level with her chest.

“We are… celebrating?” She asks unsure, one hand still tangled in his silky waves.

“Celebrating what?”

Everything and nothing in particular, she wants to say. Every day is a holiday now since we are alive. And so she says it.

“That I want to celebrate.” Mulder agrees.

“I think we deserve it."

Her eyes roam his handsome face, delicate fingers stroke the rough shadow of his jaw.

“I want it.”

Story #39, CELTA 2022

I’ve been wanting to take the course for the past three years or so, but somehow I couldn’t answer to myself “to what end”? And then it just clicked. So here I am.

I didn't want to do a full-time 4-week offline CELTA. Since we live in a digital age where people Zoom this and that, you don't even need to leave your apartment. Maybe even your bed.

My CELTA is a 12-week online course in ITI Istanbul.

We have a multinational group with people from Turkey, Iran, Russia, Japan, and even Argentina!

The workload is pretty heavy, but all the tasks are quite doable, and if you manage to organize your time properly, there’s just the right amount of time for work, side projects and family errands.

All the tasks mentioned below are compulsory; however, only the first two are assessed.

What it consists of: 🦋4 written assignments (up to 1000 words); 🦋8 45-minute lessons; 🦋6 hrs of teacher practice observation (including your tutor); 🦋7 weekly sessions; 🦋30 units of coursework on the Cambridge platform; 📛nerves, sweat, tears unlimited.

My teaching practice is starting at the end of November and finishing somewhere around December, 30. (Alas! no teaching after the New Year’s Day). The last week is dedicated to wrap up all the loose ends.

This should be the first step for taking DELTA afterward… so we’ll see.

Story #20. "It all started with a calendar" 1/2

This is The X-Files fanfiction story.

Read it on AO3

This is not how she imagined getting into his bed. Not even close.

It all started with a phone call. No, scratch that. It all started with a calendar.

In the duo, Mulder, for all his photographic memory, is prone to being blissfully ignorant when it comes to dates. Her own birthday, not forgotten but rather celebrated in dog years, as he fairly dubbed it, perfectly illustrates an untold number of all the dates Mulder is conveniently forgetful of. Scully, on the other hand, always pays attention.

So she was the one to point at the calendar and circle Teena Mulder’s birthday in red ink. And Mulder was the one to make a face as if he bit on the lemon at her not-so-subtle inquiry if he was going to pay a visit to Greenwich.

He brushed her off, literally hiding behind a random folder and figuratively hiding behind the seemingly heavy workload, excusing himself out of that conversation. He explained later that he’d give his mother a call and FedEx her something nice. Something bright and shiny. Or something practical and utilitarian. Or something useless but obscenely expensive nonetheless. He didn’t really care. He was sure that his mother didn’t care much either. Missis Mulder and her son still happened to be at odds, and it was apparent to his partner that a nicely wrapped box with a ribbon, even with a “Love you, mom” card attached wouldn’t undo the damage. And Scully’s determination when it came to family bonds knew no bounds.

So she kept asking. And Mulder kept dodging her questions. Scully kept reminding. Mulder kept finding excuses. Right up to the moment when he found one hell of a legitimate reason to skip his mother’s birthday party (there was supposed to be a party after all, right?). A case of a teenager abducted landed on his desk, and Mulder leaped at the chance to shift his focus to anything that wouldn’t involve him in figuring out what to do with their mother-son convoluted relationship.

It was the divine intervention though that they ended up somehow in Connecticut around that fateful unfortunate birthday date to investigate an aforementioned case, and Mulder agreed to swing by Teena Mulder’s house if things went well. Not like he really wanted it, but more to indulge Scully. As luck would have it, the agents managed to solve the case in two days, which turned out to be a typical runaway, where an alien was the victim’s boyfriend, and the victim herself was abducted of her own volition.

Surrendering to the promise made earlier, Mulder and Scully drove to Teena’s place and arrived at the house in the middle of a nice family-like gathering, Missis Mulder surrounded by her peers. Good food, rich wine, lots of jokes, and laughter. Despite Scully’s concerns, Mulder felt at ease and seemed to enjoy himself.

The snowstorm came as a surprise. It was problematic to leave Greenwich then, not least because everything froze. They’d have to dig their car out, with one of them shoveling the roads clear in front of the vehicle all the way out of the state, and Scully definitely wasn’t going to let him drive in the midst of the blinding whiteness, let alone fly. Not even in the first class. Who are you kidding? She sighed heavily. Cattle-class flying is more like it.

“Well, now we have a legitimate reason to laze about.” She told Mulder when it became clear they weren’t going to leave any time soon. “I’m not sure about you, Mulder, but my circadian rhythms are terribly shifted out of whack, so I’m going to crash here,” Scully said with an air of finality. “And maybe even have a lie in. We’re not due anywhere until the storm passes. You shouldn’t skimp on your sleep either.”

The problem was that no one in Teena Mulder’s house was due anywhere. They all were stuck for the time being and there were only so many beds available.

This is how Scully finds herself standing at the door of Fox Mulder’s old room in his mother’s house in Greenwich, the one they resided in after his parents divorced, with her partner leaning against the door jamb next to her. The room is small but cozy, so neat actually that it’s the furthest from what Fox Mulder’s own place looks like these days. There’s not much furniture in there, a desk with some drawers, a couple of bookshelves, a wardrobe and a bed. The bed. The bed they’re supposed to sleep in tonight.

“Ah, Scully, you finally get to see my room,” fueled by a few glasses of Cabernet, Mulder gives her his best smile and unglues himself from his spot near the door only to hop into the bed and pat the covers in invitation.

It will be fine, Scully tries to convince herself. We go to bed, we sleep, we wake up, and head back to DC. She doesn’t want to contemplate how small and narrow the bed is and how awkwardly aroused she is at the thought of spending a night in Mulder’s arms. Hey, stop, where did it come from? It’s just sleeping. Nothing more than sleeping. That’s it. More fibs, Dana. Feed yourself with white lies.

“Could be worse, I guess. At least we don’t have to spend the night in a car.”

She has no choice but to grin and bear it. It’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before, let alone too small of a bed, but here, in Mulder’s childhood bedroom, she suddenly feels totally knocked out of the rut. It doesn’t bode well with the fact that she has it really bad for him but has no idea if the feeling is mutual. Mulder manages to get under her skin even staying in another room with a closed door between them, but she’s not so sure she can keep her walls up and her heart shut with him literally breathing down her neck.

“How are you even going to sleep without TV?” Scully asks randomly just to distract herself.

“You are my favorite box set to doze off to, Scully.” He flirts with her shamelessly and she feels how her cheeks start burning and blush creeps down her neck.

Keep your chin up, girl. But if she can’t tell him in all candor about her feelings, she at least can be brutally honest with herself. She isn’t just tired of holding back. She is tired of making the decision of holding back. Decision fatigue, they call it. Each tiny fraction of his body to hers makes her resolve waver. She can already feel how in the darkness of the night, with his body hot and impossibly close to hers, the arguments previously solid and credible become mired in uncertainty.

Mulder, a perceptive one in their partnership, seems to feel her distress and offers quietly: “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scully immediately jumps at his rather weak attempt to protest, her voice of reason drowning out in a cacophony of thoughts and blood rushing down to her groin.

“If you sleep on the floor, you’ll feel even more groggy than before you nodded off. Come on, we are adults, we can make it work.”

“Can we…?” He asks with his voice barely audible, and when Scully lifts her eyes she sees that he’s not smiling anymore. Is it possible that he is trying to pull off that con scheme with sleeping on the floor not to save her virtue but because he actually feels something to her, something that she dares hope is as remotely affectionate as what she feels to him and doesn't want her to be uncomfortable? That's just too much for her hazy alcohol-filled brain to process right now.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Scully grabs her overnight bag and in a matter of seconds hides behind the bathroom door.

When Mulder hears the shower running, he growls in frustration and slumps back against the pillows, not even bothering to undress.

Story #72, which is a 'Truly like lightning' review.

“The X-files” were my Bible throughout the 90s to 2000s. I fell in love with the character of Fox Mulder long before I fell in love for the first time for real. I didn’t think Duchovny could get any better than that until he started writing and I started reading what he had written. 

“Truly Like Lightning” is not David Duchovny’s first book, but it’s his best so far - it will strike you to the very core and leave you aching, with questions whirling like a snowstorm in the head. 

Set in the desert of Joshua Tree, the story centers around the former Hollywood stuntman Bronson Powers, now a converted Mormon living unplugged in a polygamous marriage. They raise their ten kids away from the evils of society until one day a young ambitious employee of a corrupt real estate company targets their land. Cultures clash. Faith is tested. Choices are made.

The book will hook you and won’t let you put it down… if you manage to push through the first fifty pages. Seriously, it took me two weeks to read that part, where Duchovny mostly explained the background of his characters, and only two days to finish the 445-page manuscript, when the story finally turned into an action movie-like narrative.  

All things considered, it’s worth every minute of reading. What made a successful man abandon all the perks of Hollywood and choose to live the life of an isolated nomad? What happens to Powers’ family once they are forced off their land and into the temptations of the world they left behind? What’s with the children who have never had a say in any of that? 

Read the book. And be prepared to be struck. 

Story #18, that is another CPE article.

The prompt: An international travel organization is publishing a book entitled Travel Changes Lives and has asked for contributions. You decide to submit an article about a travel experience that has changed your life. You should briefly describe the experience, explain what made it so special, and assess the significance of the changes in your life as a result.

****

I was stuck. Not in heavy traffic or at the airport waiting for a layover, but in my life. Suspended between maternity leave one and maternity leave two, with the mantra playing like a broken record in my head: cook, clean, feed, repeat. I swear a ten-hour redeye would be a mix of joyfulness and buoyancy in comparison. So, when my husband asked if I wanted to embark on a solo trip, and despite having barely traveled on my own before, let alone in the middle of winter, I was uplifted by the idea so much that I could fight tooth and nail for it if needed.

Italy was cheap and relatively easy. I whiled away my days eating (amen to Italian food), praying (to Italian gods of food, of course), and loving. I was more full up with love than ever. I learned to love myself again. I woke up so early that the stillness hung over unpeopled avenues and squares, and then strolled down the riddle of streets to a bustling quarter of the city, checking cafes and shops strewn everywhere where my eyes landed. It became my daily routine for three days. Better yet, three lovely days. I was so overjoyed with my newfound self that even a noisy couple in an adjoining room of the hotel, which walls apparently had been made of cardboard, didn’t bother me in the slightest. 

One might think there was nothing special about my getaway, but let me remind the readers about two toddlers left at home, basically tied to me 24/7, and no personal space left. So every minute of that trip was counted, stored away in the memory box, and treasured. I was a walking commercial screaming out loud “good memories are priceless; for everything else there’s Mastercard.” For once, I could put myself first and feel no guilt over my decision. 

Everything good comes to an end, and so did my holiday, which I do not regret in the slightest. Eventually, it was that trip that helped me if not cut, then at least loosen the umbilical cord connecting me to my offspring. The distractive overprotectiveness reframed itself into mentorship and friendship. The kids discovered the kindergarten, and I rediscovered myself as a professional. We still spend plenty of time together as a family but now everyone is given enough space to breathe and explore the world around us.