December : Spoonflower (part two)

Missed the first part of this post? Click HERE

In this lovely age of the 21st century, one can do a lot of things with one’s art. Spoonflower is a fast-growing business, where anyone from the lowliest amateur to a professional designer can upload their fabric design and have it printed in anything from cotton to silk. 

And it’s actually easier than I (a tech-challenged individual) would have thought. If you’re averse to the investment that is Photoshop, you can do what I did and get the free trial, which is actually surprisingly lengthy. On Photoshop, I was able to cut out by different instruments, delete the white space around them, and assemble them in new ways to create trios.

Wanna see my fabric? Two different designs are available here:

And here:

But that’s only the beginning of the story! From there, you can order your fabric (or any of the other many fabulous designs on Spoonflower), and whip it up into many kinds of projects to suit your needs. For instance, as the esteemed Gardenia (another flower in The Snottor’s garden) did, making musically-themed presents for music teachers…

A stylish bag for carrying music
An equally stylish infinity scarf…
…seen at design advantage here

December : Best-loved Nonfiction


Christmas makes the Phlox get all romantic and sentimental. Need The Snottor say more? 

About these Nonfiction Works 

While The Snottor (and, the Phlox adds, the Phlox) works mostly in literary fiction, he does not turn his nose up at the illustrious genre that is Nonfiction (The Snottor tries generally not to turn up his nose at anything). 

The world, The Snottor has observed, is currently all abuzz on the subject of Creativity. Chasing Creativity, Inspiration, fostering Creativity, etc. The Snottor, in his acidic opinion, finds the vast majority of this mumbo-jumbo to be garbage

(excuse The Snottor for a moment, the Phlox is speaking to him on the topic of manners)

The Snottor remains unapologetic. He remains firm in his beliefs that creativity will not be found on Pinterest boards, it will not be found in this slippery thing called “Inspiration”—the Phlox has deleted the remainder of this rant. The Snottor digresses. 

His point is that these books are the only useful helps on the subject of Creativity he knows of. 

Book #1: 

The Call to Create, Celebrating Acts of Imagination by Linda Schierse Leonard.

This book, grounded in Jungian psychology, is a comprehensive study of the inner demons of the artist and how these have affected many such people, and the roads to fighting them. She illustrates these things via archetypes, fairy and folktales, and some of her writing within it is truly revelatory. This book can be life-saving for the artist, especially the artist experiencing the downward mental and emotional spirals associated with that career. 

Book #2:

The War of Art, Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield. 

This book is not for artists, but for everyone; it is about the creativity that is the vitality of life, that helps you achieve your goals, that is behind art, yes, but also behind exercise and entrepreneurship, among many other things. This book is also steeped in the waters of psychology, and The Snottor particularly appreciated the discussion of the Ego vs. the Self that occurred within its pages. This is a book for humans, about being human. It is brief and always to the point; opening it at a random page and reading one of the short chapters would leave you with enough material to contemplate for months afterward (true story, this was the Phlox’s first experience with the book). Here is the link to the author’s website, specifically his page on this book: 

It’s a great website, and the rest of the material is definitely worthy of being checked out. 

What are your favorite works of Nonfiction? Or treatises on Creativity? Or works on psychology? Comment below and tell us! 

December : Spoonflower (part one)

The Phlox must confess herself to be an avid, if sadly amateur, painter. Her favorite medium is watercolor and pencil but can also be seen at work with gauche or a pen; her favorite subject, nature, but what must take a close second…

Gauche and Pencil

Musical Instruments! 

Watercolor and Pencil

As the devoted reader will remember, The Phlox has written an entire novel on the subject of musicians, and thus it will not come as a surprise that she is one of that disastrous number herself. Having doodled stringed instruments in the margin of her notes somewhat pathologically for some time, she finally took to formalities, trying to maximize her minimal skill. 

Done with a Calligraphy Ink Pen

Bonus! Funny musical botanical drawings!

Inspired by the Nonsense Botany Illustrations of the much-admired Edward Lear…

Drawn by Edward Lear, not the Phlox 😉
Drawn by Edward Lear, not the Phlox 😉

But what is this “spoonflower”, the reader wonders? What use does the Phlox possibly put this immature doodlings to? Stick around to find out…. 

November : Why the Greatest Love Story of All Time Isn’t a Love Story (a different angle on Heathcliff) (part two : analysis)

For the background to this analysis on Wuthering Heights’ Heathcliff, click HERE. For The Snot’s lovely review of several Wuthering Heights film adaptations, click HERE.

I don’t think Heathcliff’s intense passion and yearning for Cathy is romantic. I don’t think he’s really in love with here. In this post, I am offering my own humble analysis of this classic story, which I don’t think is a love story at all.

Basically, as I said last time, Cathy was the only experience Heathcliff ever really had with being loved and accepted for who he was. She was beautiful and free-spirited and how could he not fall in love with her; they kept each other from loneliness and despair, they shared freedom playing on the moors. Who hasn’t been infatuated with someone? Who doesn’t know what it feels like for the presence, or even the idea, of someone else, in reality or in imagination, to somehow make everything better?

I don’t think Heathcliff loved the real Cathy. Cathy wasn’t seduced to the dark side by the Lintons; her stay with them led her to discover new parts of herself. The Cathy that loved fine clothes wasn’t a fake part of her, as I’m sure Heathcliff would have liked to think; it was Cathy’s way of growing up. The reality of this shiny Cathy-bird is moodiness, self-absorption and selfishness, arrogance. She is a fair-weathered friend; she wants to have everything; she is infatuated with the idea that marrying Edgar would make her the finest woman in the neighborhood. Like many others throughout the course of human history, Heathcliff discovered that the person he loved was not what he idealized them to be. Cathy was a real, highly imperfect person. But Heathcliff was never able to accept the reality of Cathy. Instead, he clung to this idea of her, this perfect Cathy who made everything better, who would, if only he could have her, make everything better. Like magic.

Heathcliff suffered a lot in his life. He was regularly beaten and bullied all growing up; he was looked down upon, considered inferior, and generally without caring adults. He was often probably painfully lonely. I think Heathcliff’s obsession with Cathy was a coping mechanism, clinging in his suffering to this sure idea of a remedy.

Heathcliff and Cathy’s story to me is the sad reality that people are not what you thought they were, what you wish they were.

It is about how someone else can’t really ever fix your problems, no matter how much you want them to. It is about the tragedy of putting everything into longing for something outside of yourself to save you. In a way, Heathcliff was like a Disney princess, convinced that if only he could have his prince(-ess) charming, he would be delivered from all pain. 

The tragedy also lies in all the possibilities. What would have happened if Heathcliff had accepted Cathy as she really was and let go? If he realized that his love for her wasn’t real love at all? Could he have made a nice life for himself with Isabella, would she be able to mature from her infatuation-with-the-bad-boy to have a nice relationship with him? Or could he have let go from his Cathy-preoccupation and become a social avenger, instead of a personal avenger, being the caring father for Hareton he had never had himself? 

A lot of people love Heathcliff’s destructive passion for Cathy. And yes, it is destructive. It’s because, as I see it, it’s not love. Heathcliff’s desire for Cathy is so intense because he needs her to survive. He needs her to be free from himself. He needs her because if he can only, only have her, he will be alright. 

I do not think Wuthering Heights is a love story. I think, by showing all the painful ways human relationships can turn—obsessive, abusive, selfish, etc.—Emily Brontë is showing us a profound story about love. Hareton and Catherine are mirrors of Heathcliff and Cathy, and at first their relationship is almost exactly parallel to their predecessors, with Catherine’s rude treatment of Hareton. Heathcliff’s tragedy is in that he was never able to change; in the very end, after all the problems, change is the antidote. Hareton and Catherine do just that, and Heathcliff finally realizes that he was focused on the wrong thing—this revenge that would somehow be meaningful—the whole time. He gives in to them. 

The Phlox dismounts her soapbox. She takes a drink of water. She fends off the shocked, admonishing Snottor at how long these posts have been. She recalls her manners, and invites the reader to contribute their own views, as she is well aware she is nowhere near right. This is a book she intends on living with the rest of her life, and will likely one day think this opinion-dump a very silly affair indeed, but she did want to share this different perspective she has been considering. Thoughts?


November : Reviewing Wuthering Heights Adaptations


The Snottor has been indulging in film. Novembers can be a gloomy time in the garden; excessive downpour alternating with chilly frosts does little for the benefit of the poor misguided daffodil shoots, somehow tricked into thinking it’s already Spring. The Snottor refuses to be down-hearted by the cycles of life, unlike the affected Phlox, but he does find some time on his hands. Thus, indulgence. 

About these Adaptations:

In this solemn article, The Snottor will be reviewing two titles. First: the 2009 Masterpiece Theater adaptation of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, and Second: the 2011 Andrea Arnold adaptation. He shall withhold not one drip of his long-percolated acidity, yet no sparkle of his hard-earned praise. 

1: 2009 Masterpiece Theater Wuthering Heights:

The Snottor had done his research beforehand; dutifully learned about the many different adaptations out there, weighed the pros and cons, when the lusty Phlox grabbed the first two she saw on the library shelves (her fiery desire for art in all its forms sometimes dulls her sense of judgement and self-restraint, The Snottor sorrows to inform the reader) and eagerly brought them home for him, like a kitten proudly displaying her revoltingly dead present for her mistress.

The Snottor watched the Masterpiece Theater version first. He had heard little of it in others’ reviews and expected less; although the disk was horribly scratched and malfunctioned the whole way through (luckily The Snottor knew the story very well and was able to maturely handle the intermittently skipped one-third of the film), he was blown away. Yes, The Snottor was blown away, and, as the Phlox sagely observed, this is not something to be taken lightly.

What The Snottor Liked

Very good acting throughout, he approved most of the fact that the fine people behind this adaptation kept the whole story, a rare phenomenon in the world of Wuthering Heights adaptations were most seem to want to focus on the forbidden-love aspect and not the complete complexity of Brontë’s work. The ending in particular was spectacular, and re-created the haunting, rushed feeling of the end of the book (the whole Heathcliff’s death part), and the way the film-makers chose to end it with the last shot (no spoilers), The Snottor thought true to the book yet a wonderful creative choice. 

What The Snottor Did Not Like

If he had directed it, The Snottor would have given all the sub-characters more attention. He felt that Edgar was portrayed almost as an antagonist, and certainly not as the complex, amazing character he is; Hareton didn’t have enough character development—he was sort of the end-Hareton the whole time; Nelly was more in the background than Emily Brontë treated her, and The Snottor would definitely give more time to her sibling/crush relationship to Hindley and foster-mother relationship to Hareton. He wishes the director would have really delved into each character as a the full person they were in the book more.


This was The Snottor’s favorite of the two, and definitely one he will re-watch (but hopefully with a different, non-scratched disk). The positives certainly out-weighed the negatives, and it was a fabulously moving piece of cinema that he highly recommends. It kept his heart racing (in the best kind of way) the whole time, and really made him (and the excitable Phlox) feel the drama of being alive. 

2: Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights:

This was the second The Snottor watched. Arnold has a background in filming modern-day situations, particularly focusing on Realism in her film-making and on the lives of lower-class inhabitants of Britain, inspired by her own background. She intentionally cast inexperienced actors in most of the key roles, and shot the film with the intention of shaking up people’s expectations of costume-dramas and of Wuthering Heights. She used up-close filming and seemed to be highly focused on aestheticism throughout, keeping the music to a minimum and focusing on the sounds of nature. 

What The Snottor Liked

It was definitely a very nice composition, art-wise. The choice of inexperienced actors was something The Snottor thought turned out tremendously, as young Cathy, young Heathcliff, and adult Heathcliff (all first-timers) were fabulous. Young Heathcliff especially, played by Solomon Glave, was incredible. His performance was charged by his frequent silence, and the intensity in his eyes was palpable; Arnold’s adaptation was very Heathcliff-centric, showing him as the protagonist and exploring how he became the man he was, and in this goal she certainly succeeded, helped not a little by Glave’s intensely real, highly sympathetic performance. The Phlox, who has been known to indulge in self-pity and can feel quite the social outcast, was painfully moved by his performance, which she identified with too intensely for her liking. The Snottor, although dubious of such highly-affected people, did think it really did breathe a wonderful life into the so often misunderstood, demonized, removed symbol of masculinity, or object of romantic desire, Heathcliff. 

Arnold’s film style also had some positives. The Snottor and the Phlox both quite admired Arnold’s use of silence, and of listening to the sounds of nature; through these Heathcliff and Cathy’s early relationship was quite beautifully portrayed.

What The Snottor Did Not Like

The second half of the film wasn’t as good; adult Cathy really didn’t do it for him or for the Phlox, and she and adult Heathcliff had zero chemistry. Nelly was played by a very talented young lady but was pushed, like the Masterpiece Nelly, to the background, which was disappointing. The Phlox pipes up that she really had a problem with the animal cruelty, a view she shares with many viewers; Heathcliff hangs a defenseless and sweet spaniel, and Hareton hangs a litter of puppies. Both these things happened in the book, but in the book, Nelly saves all of them; in the movie this is not so. The sensitive Phlox feels particularly for the poor dogs who were clearly upset and in discomfort during these scenes, even if they walked away ultimately unscathed, and found these moments to be completely unnecessary. 


The Snottor, as did most viewers of this version, is left with mixed feelings. This is the kind of art that leaves one feeling a little sick afterwards; everything very unconsummated, very uncomfortable, rather painfully listless and without an answer. The Snottor feels life can be like this enough that he prefers not to have a work of film emotionally manipulate him in such a way, but that is only a personal opinion.

Next on his watch-list? An adaptation in Japanese, Arashi ga Oka, set in Medieval Japan and reportedly a great adaptation that is very true to the spirit of the novel. What’s your favorite Wuthering Heights adaptation? 

November : Why the Greatest Love Story of All Time Isn’t a Love Story (a different angle on Heathcliff) (part 1 : background)

It’s likely you’ve heard of Heathcliff, the tormented protagonist of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. It is likely, also, that you have an opinion on him. Generally these seem to go in two directions.

Opinion 1: Heathcliff is a romantic, seductive, tortured Byronic Hero. You are in love with him. His unbridled passion and emotion are the heights of romance. The passion is unbearable. 

Opinion 2: Heathcliff is terrible, you find it impossible to sympathize with him at all. He is an abusive villain; he is selfish, he beats women and hurts helpless dogs, etc. He is horrifying in every way.

I am not really in either camp. In my reading of Wuthering Heights, I scoured the internet, trying to see if anybody felt the way about Heathcliff I did. Alternating opinions were scarcer than I would have thought: and so I realized I’d better contribute to this discussion, and write about it myself. 

First I’m going to provide some background on Wuthering Heights, and on this elusive Heathcliff himself, in case the reader is not familiar with him. If you don’t want the spoilers, or already know it all, feel free to skip to part two of this post, which contains my analysis. 


*spoiler alert*

Wuthering Heights takes place on the English moors, focusing on two families largely removed from society. The Earnshaw family adopts Heathcliff, a child found by Mr. Earnshaw on the streets of Liverpool, whom Mr. Earnshaw prefers to his own son, Hindley. Hindley bullies Heathcliff as they grow up; Cathy, Mr. Earnshaw’s daughter, is wild and willful and Heathcliff’s only friend. 

After Mr. Earnshaw dies, Hindley comes back and takes over Wuthering Heights, a tyrannical ruler. After his wife’s death, he descends into alcoholism, becoming even more abusive to Cathy and Heathcliff, whose only escape is to the moors where they are free.

At the age of twelve things change for Cathy. The Lintons are the other family on the moor, considerably more cushy and upper-crust than the grim inhabitants of Wuthering Heights. Cathy makes a stay with them after she is attacked by their dog. When she returns Heathcliff hardly knows her; she has, for the first time in her life, been treated like a lady and been given comforts. She becomes (more) arrogant, likes fine clothes, and suddenly finds Heathcliff lacking.

Enter Edgar. He’s the son of the Linton’s, and as a boy he’s a cry-baby and something of a wimp. Cathy has him over a whole lot more; Edgar’s shinier object than Heathcliff, who withdraws further at his usurpation.

Eventually Edgar asks Cathy to marry him. Cathy is torn and talks to Nelly, the servant, about it, unaware that Heathcliff is laying down unseen in another part of the room. When she gets to the part about how it would degrade her to marry Heathcliff, he leaves, missing, with tragic irony, the next part of her speech, where she explains to Nelly just how deep her love for Heathcliff is, unlike the changeable love she knows she has for Edgar.

Heathcliff is gone for three years. Cathy marries Edgar; she is strong-willed as ever and bends soft-willed Edgar and his sister Isabella to her will, and thus they all get along quite well, and Nelly thought that Edgar and Cathy were really on the path to happiness before Heathcliff came back.

Heathcliff returns, a gentleman, mysteriously wealthy. The only thing that has sustained him, all the miserable years making something of himself, was the thought of Cathy; Edgar at first lets Heathcliff hang around, but there are eventually some confrontations, as sparks fly between Heathcliff and Cathy. Meanwhile Heathcliff lives at Wuthering Heights, taking his revenge on Hindley by ruining him through gambling etc.

Cathy cannot abide having to choose; when Edgar tries to force her to choose between himself and Heathcliff, she, in an emotionally manipulative move, falls ill (at first it seems to be all show). However, soon it is not all show. Cathy really loses it.

Meanwhile, before Cathy’s illness, Heathcliff ran off with Isabella, who had a crush on him, as a sort of revenge on Cathy. He demonstrated his brutality to Isabella beforehand by hanging her spaniel, and she still runs off with him. Nelly rescues the spaniel.

Heathcliff abuses Isabella. Cathy becomes more and more weak and sick. Heathcliff sleeps in Cathy’s old room, in the old oak paneled bed they used to share as children, keeping anyone else out; upon hearing of Cathy’s significant decline, he forces Nelly (now working at Edgar’s) to arrange a final meeting between him and Cathy.

This meeting is tortuous. Cathy is weak and ill, and they cling to each other in agony. It is not that romantic, however—they are both bitter, they blame each other, she tells him that he and Edgar have killed her, it’s pretty miserable. Edgar bursts in, Cathy faints, Heathcliff hands her to him and escapes.

Heathcliff waits all night in the orchard. Cathy, who is seven months pregnant, delivers her child and dies. Nelly tells Heathcliff the news in the morning and he, a man who seldom shows strong emotion, wails and bangs his head against a tree until it bleeds. He wishes aloud that Cathy will wake in torment, not in the peace Nelly suggests, and, as she said that Heathcliff killed her, begs her to haunt him.

Heathcliff eventually kills Hindley in a confrontation; Isabella eventually escapes, has Heathcliff’s child and dies alone in London (Edgar disowned her when she ran off with Heathcliff).

Edgar matures considerably as a character. He cared for Cathy unceasingly in her illness, and, although becoming somewhat of a recluse after her death, gives all love to their daughter, Catherine. 

Heathcliff becomes master of Wuthering Heights, living there with Hindley’s son, Hareton, who Heathcliff degrades in further revenge to Hindley, just in the way Hindley degraded Heathcliff.

When Isabella dies, her son Linton is sent to Edgar, but Heathcliff quickly claims him. Linton is sickly and is abused by Heathcliff, who keeps him living in fear.

Catherine (junior) is lonely and restless, locked up as she is in her father’s house. She loves the moors, like her mother, and is constantly trying to explore further. One day she meets Heathcliff, about whom Edgar has kept all knowledge from her, who takes her to Wuthering Heights. She reunites with Linton, and they become fast friends.

The two exchange love letters for awhile; soon they see and play with each other. Heathcliff encourages their marriage, but the longer Catherine knows Linton the less she is impressed by him. He is whiny and pitiful, and declines. She begins to get cold feet, but whenever she does Linton betrays his debilitating terror of his father, of what Heathcliff will do to him if he does not successfully marry Catherine.

Eventually Catherine is forced to marry Linton. She’s locked up in Wuthering Heights, and has no choice. Heathcliff hits her mercilessly when she tries to fight back against his master scheme. 

After she marries Linton, she is able to escape just in time to be at Edgar, her father’s, deathbed. The moment Edgar is dead Heathcliff arrives, and tears Catherine away.

Linton dies. He had been getting more and more ill, and this was all part of Heathcliff’s plan—because when Linton dies, Heathcliff gets control of Edgar’s house. He now has complete control of everything.

Catherine is miserable. She has nothing; she is trapped in Wuthering Heights with no living family members, no friends, and just the cruel Heathcliff and discounted (by her) Hareton. Hareton thinks she’s kind of cute, and tries to get to know her, but his advances are cruelly denied, and Catherine talks to him in the same way—calling him dumb and stupid, bad company—that Cathy, her mother, did to Heathcliff. Hareton responds angrily. It seems as if history is repeating itself.

However, history does not repeat itself. Nelly tells Catherine that it was cruel of her to behave so—Cathy never used to listen to admonishments—the point is that Catherine changes. She apologizes to Hareton. Hareton apologizes for his harsh words in response to Catherine’s; they forgive each other, something Heathcliff and Cathy were never able to do. Catherine begins to teach Hareton to read, lifting him up from the ignorance Heathcliff had deliberately kept him in.

Heathcliff has been losing it more and more. The departed Cathy keeps a tighter and tighter hold of him; he even digs up her grave, laying next to her corpse, at one point. He becomes more and more distracted, but one night, as he comes back in from his moor-wanderings, he is stunned to be greeted by two pairs of Cathy-reminiscent eyes (Hareton’s especially), looking up from the book they are sharing. Despite all of Heathcliff’s attempts, love has blossomed in Wuthering Heights. He is stunned.

Heathcliff lets go. He lets Hareton and Catherine be; he loses the will to continue his revenge any longer, as he explains to Nelly, who is gravely concerned—he tells her he feels a change coming, but he doesn’t know what it is. He forgets to eat, sleep, he is always distracted; he roves the moors, late at night. They find him dead, one morning, in Cathy’s old oak-paneled bed, the window hanging open, drenched in rain, smiling.

Hareton loved Heathcliff, despite Heathcliff’s mistreatment of him; he was the closest thing to a father Hareton ever had, and he insists on a fine burial. Heathcliff, Cathy, and Edgar’s gravestones stand side by side. Hareton and Catherine revitalize Wuthering Heights with flowers and happiness, but leave it, for Edgar’s old house, where they will live together.

A lot to take in? I know. You should read it (it’s mind-blowing). Here’s the point: 

Nobody ever loved Heathcliff. He was an ethnic “other” to the characters, although his ethnicity is never specified; characters describe him as dark-complexioned, and rudely refer to him as “gypsy”. Some people think of him as a member of the Roma people, others as being African, and having come to Liverpool (where he was found by Mr. Earnshaw) through its infamous slave-trade. 

What’s the point? He was treated and spoken to, often, as if he was inhuman. Cathy was the only one who treated him like he was an ordinary person; they escaped together from the cruel rule of Hindley, they were free on the moors. Cathy was the only place Heathcliff ever knew feeling good, feeling loved. Cathy was then “stolen” by Edgar; Cathy died. Earth became hell to Heathcliff, because he couldn’t have her. 

But what’s the real point to all this? What did Heathcliff teach me? Why don’t I think this is a love story? You’ll have to read part 2 to find out. Find it HERE.


October : Tonks Part 2 (and five cloaks)

To catch up with the first part of this post, click here. 

Cloak 1: To continue the Harry Potter Halloween fun, I whipped up some cloaks. While in the pictures in my previous post Tonks was wearing a lovely coat from Necessary Evil (see here), I also sewed her a large, black cloak that’s more traditional Harry Potter style, and that can (and has been) easily repurposed for a ghost, evil sorcerer, mysterious figure, and the unfortunate family member at every Halloween event who never got a costume together.

Cloak 2: In addition to the black cloak, I also did a classic Harry Potter cloak, with a more peach-skin type fabric, and a red Gryffindor lining for the hood. 

Cloak 3: And now we go Tolkien! Tolkien is my dearest literary love (sorry Harry Potter; I must admit that you are just a passing, yet pleasant, fancy), and I have made three cloaks inspired by his works as well. The first is a Bombur cloak, done in a woven, gray-blue fabric. This is probably honestly my favorite of all these cloaks; I like the naturalness of the fabric, and the versatility—it can be repurposed again and again. 

Cloak 4: Aragon’s. This cloak was inspired by those worn by the characters in Peter Jackson’s version of The Lord of the Rings; although Jackson’s costume makers used a fabulous, textured fabric (delicately “made by the elves”, also good for camouflage) for the Fellowship’s cloaks, I used a slighter more dusty green, heavy woven. Very utilitarian; which, I think, is what Aragorn would desire. It was my first cloak and perhaps worst—I sewed the clasp on the wrong place and the whole thing has the tendency to try and strangle me, but we’ve gotten along well together nevertheless.

(the movie fabric)

(my cloak)

(close-up on the elvish leaf pin)

Cloak 5: This is turning out to be something of a cloak marathon! For this we must go back beyond The Lord of the Rings into the depths of the amazing work, The Silmarillion, which covers ages of the history of Middle Earth—chock-full of more epic stories and characters. Fingon (also known as Findekano) is one of these, who ends up traveling all the way to the dreaded Morgoth’s (even worse than Sauron, if you can believe it) fortress to rescue his friend, Maedhros, who has been hanging off the side, chained by his hand, for quite some time. The cloak is shorter, because Fingon needs to be unencumbered; he’s a warrior and, more specifically, an archer. The cloak is blue, which goes with the blues (and silver) of the rest of the costume, as those are the colors of Fingon’s house (he is a member of the house of Finarfin), and has a more complex clasp idea. It is closed by a twisting panel of fabric, secured by sew-on snaps, and over that I pin a brooch I made, displaying the insignia of his house. 

(close-up on twist-closure and House of Finarfin brooch)

All the cloaks here (sans the Aragorn one), where made based on this pattern:

A truly excellent investment (I made the tunic too and it also rocks).

October : Necessary Evil


The Snottor and The Phlox are currently estranged. The Snottor always writes his posts on time (always). Always. However, he does not do the technology—that is in The Phlox’s job description. The Phlox has a myriad of excuses, but her general lateness has put The Snottor in high dudgeon. He has no regrets as to his harsh words with the little flower, considering the fact that, in addition to her lateness, she has been insisting, very juvenilely, upon wearing her skirt even during watering time, and then fretting when it becomes wet. The Snottor is only trying to be a good plant parent. 

As a result of this unfortunate but hopefully brief incident, the Snottor’s mind has gone down dark paths, and he has decided to reveal one of the darker members of his obsessions.

About this Company:

The Snottor does not generally wear clothes himself (except his apron, which he makes), but the Phlox does, and, if the reader will have been keeping up with her side of the posts, they might have noticed a certain dark coat. This article is from the gothic clothing company, Necessary Evil, which can be located at . 

Now, gothic clothing is certainly not for everyone, and some of these garbs are not even for The Phlox (who, at times, can be rather faint-hearted when it comes to baring her leafy skin), but, for those of his esteemed readers who are at all hams (flamboyant or, like The Phlox, secret hams), this company may be worthy of being looked into.

The Snottor finds their designs to be very fun, and well-made. The Phlox has had her particular coat for over two years, and it continues to function in optimal condition and bring quite a bit of joy to her be-petaled life. He hypothesizes that they can be utilized on Halloween, cosplay occasions, convention occasions, and, if the reader is anything like The Phlox, they can flounce about, demurely looking like an Auror/villain/badass character, for the daily grind. 

Holy Guacamole! And apologies

The Snottor does not know what to say.

Loyal followers of his musings have likely noticed the current lack of them. We are now, he pedantically observes, in the month of November, and his beloved readership remains deprived even of his October pearl. There is no one, of course, to blame, but The Phlox. 

The Phlox has recently been seized by the affliction commonly known as “college applications”—she explains to the Snottor, who, be-scaled eyebrow raised, remains unimpressed. 

Needless to say, she has been grounded. During her convalescence, The Snottor will politely hold her hand to aid her in updating this site, as he does not grace technology with his esteemed presence.

Again, apologies. The Snottor has tried to deliberately ‘lose’ The Phlox many times, in similar instances, but consistently with limited success. She likes him an inordinate amount, despite his scolding. Unfortunately, he doomfully informs his readers, she seems to be sticking around. 

October : Tonks and Halloween

In a world where a person can, for under twenty dollars, buy a pretty awesome pink wig on Amazon, the arts of roleplay and custom-making get even funner. I scoured the internet for pictures of people’s Tonks costumes, inspired to make my own, and the results were rather disappointing. Some were really good, don’t get me wrong—but none exactly what I was thinking she’d wear. The shirt opportunities for her are also disappointing—I wasn’t able to find any good “The Weird Sisters” band t-shirt designs anywhere. 

So, here we go! I hit a local huge chain crafts-supplies stores for one of their $4 plain colored t-shirts, and got myself a pair of good fabric markers. I doodled out ideas a couple times on paper to get the general shape and ended up free-handing it—now, I’m no artist, but I was quite pleasantly surprised by how it turned out. Tonks is a fun character and I sure had a lot of fun with this—she remains my favorite dress-up.