Author name: Roger Hyttinen

When People Project Their Fears Onto You- A Thought I Just Had

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Man saying no

You know when someone boldly announces, “You can’t do that,” and it hits you like an inflatable pool float—that suddenly loses air and just droops? Yeah, that. I think we’ve all been there, right? Like, maybe you’re telling your friend about your brilliant plan to start a llama farm in Bali or run a marathon after not running, like, ever, and BAM—someone swoops in with all the negativity. You’re left wondering if they have some secret insight from the universe or if they’re just, I don’t know, projecting big-time? Enter Sheldon Cahoon’s little gem: “When someone tells you that you can’t do something, perhaps you should consider that they are only telling you what they can’t do.” Ehhh, nailed it, right?

Honestly, sometimes when people tell you that you can’t or shouldn’t do something, that says waaaay more about them than it does about you. I know, I know, that sounds a bit armchair-psychologist-y, but stick with me here. It’s like they can’t help but reflect their own personal roadblocks and doubts onto you. And truth bomb: humans have a bad habit of assuming that what they couldn’t achieve—or didn’t even try to—must be impossible for you as well. Newsflash: you’re not living the same story as everyone else, so take their fears and just, I don’t know, free them like toast crumbs in the wind.

I’ll admit, it took me a while to figure this one out myself (ugh, late bloomer). I used to get super bummed out when someone told me I couldn’t do something. Cue the mental montage of me frowning at my computer racking my brain WHY?! But then one day, it hit me like a rogue soccer ball: these people weren’t psychic; they were just bad at imagining possibilities outside of their own experience. And, I guess, that’s kind of comforting in a weird way, right? Like, it’s not that they’re standing in some parallel reality where they know you’re doomed. They just… can’t see beyond their own limitations. Kinda makes me feel bad for them, in an empathetic “you should really believe in yourself more” kind of way, you know?

Quick detour—who is Sheldon Cahoon anyway? Seriously, I Googled him because, heck, I don’t chit-chat about quotes from random authors without knowing who they are. Turns out, he’s a leadership and training expert. Not a LOT of details out there (couldn’t find his llama farm aspirations—not judging). But his take on other people’s limitations affecting your possibilities? It’s pure gold and exactly the kind of thing that makes you want to scribble it on a sticky note for your bathroom mirror, or tattoo it on your left arm…whatever works for you.

Anyway, back to how this shows up IRL. You’ll notice this all the time, especially when you’re trying something new or super ambition-y. Everyone’s giving you looks, unsolicited advice (“Maybe you should just stick to what you’re good at!”) or, my personal favorite, the passive-aggressive “I’m just being realistic. I’m looking out for you.” Thanks, buddy, but a little side of belief in me would’ve been more helpful with that serving of realism. I mean, remember how everybody thought the Wright brothers were totally nuts for thinking they could fly? I bet there was some guy named Carl back in the day who was like, “Nah fam, humans aren’t meant to fly.” But here we are, booking flights like it’s no big deal for our next long weekend.

Not to dump on people sharing their “well-meaning” doubts, though. Anxiety is contagious, and sometimes people genuinely think they’re saving you from crashing and burning. They’re trying to be protective, but those vibes? Kinda draining.

Listen, at the end of the day, nobody really knows what you are capable of but you. Sure, people can give advice, but it’s advice based on the way they see the world—through the glasses of their past experiences and struggles where the lenses are smudged with smears of “can’ts” and “won’ts.” You’ve got your own shiny prescription, and if you don’t rock those specs proudly, well, Kyle from accounting is gonna keep reminding you of the ways he failed.

Alright, guess I’ve rambled on enough for a single post. The takeaway? When someone throws a bucket of “I can’t” onto your dreams, don’t take it personally. Just let it roll off your back and kick some metaphorical llamas (in Bali or wherever), because their limits don’t define yours.

Catch ya in the next round of deep thoughts and coffee-fueled rants!

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Magic, Monsters, and Coming Out- How Supernatural Stories Reflect LGBTQ Identity

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Handsome supernatural man

So, let’s talk about something that’s been lurking in the shadows of supernatural fiction for what feels like forever (or at least, like, since Buffy staked her first vampire) — the connection between LGBTQ+ identities and coming-of-age stories drenched in the vibe of the supernatural. Honestly, it’s spooky how these two things are basically besties. You start with a kid who’s figuring themselves out, pop in some werewolves, witches, rickety old houses, et voilà, you’ve got yourself a metaphor for queer identity that slaps harder than a ghost on Halloween.

I mean, think about it. These supernatural coming-of-age stories already live in this weird middle zone between reality and fantasy, and honestly, so does the process of understanding your own identity when you’re queer. You’re going through the motions, trying to figure out if you’re a changeling or if you’re just, you know, a regular goblin like everyone else. It’s not that different from the confusion and eventual ohhh moment of coming out. You’ve got hidden powers, secret lives, things going bump in the metaphorical closet. Classic stuff.

And I gotta say, it’s also about transformation. A good ol’ werewolf story? Chef’s kiss …I mean, like, amazing. . But seriously, werewolf transformations are often this very uncomfortable but powerful metaphor for puberty and self-realization. But let’s go deeper—because when you think about it, shapeshifting and “becoming something else” toys with the idea of queerness so well. It’s about not matching what people expect you to be versus what you actually are, even if it’s terrifying or misunderstood at first. There’s a reason so many LGBTQ+ folks identify with the X-Men too—those wild mutants have ‘episode one’ coming out moments baked right into their lore. Literal superpowers awaken while someone’s figuring out their identity. Coincidence? I think not.

Speaking of metaphors in magical identity stories: let’s talk about hiding who you are—like how many witches or vampires have to slink through the daytime pretending to be normal? Or how many have to “pass” as humans so they don’t attract attention? Now, take that and relate it to anyone who’s ever been closeted or had to hide an aspect of their LGBTQ+ identity, and boom. We see you, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and we raise you Harry Potter questioning whether he fits in with wizard society. Voilà. Magic meets queerness—again.

Okay, it’s not even subtle sometimes either. Remember Willow from Buffy? Her witchcraft storyline basically paralleled her coming out as queer, and it was so on the nose that I half-expected Giles to give her a pamphlet that said, “Yes, You’re Magical & Queer: It’s a Vibe.” (Get on that, Giles.) Even in modern shows like The Owl House (source: [nerd central], look it up), you’ve got these really heartfelt stories wrapped in witchy, magical bow-ties. Luz’s journey discovering her magic powers easily mirrors her exploration of her own identity. And, oh yeah, she’s bi. But same principle: you discover parts of yourself that were always there, but society might not be too cool with you going full wizard on them.

Supernatural stories create a perfect playground for those real-life moments where someone says, “Maybe I’m not who others think I am,” or “What if I’m something… more?” And it’s not just about moments of self-realization. It’s also about the “chosen family” trope that hits differently when you’re LGBTQ+. You have these “ragtag groups” of witches, outcast ghosts, or even a team of misfit young superheroes who come together and form their own tight-knit family. The feeling of belonging is so important—especially when the “real world” isn’t exactly throwing parades in your honor (yet). Found family is such a key theme, and queer folks living in a world that doesn’t always understand them? They feel that deep.

Some of this might be more on the nose than we give authors credit for. Supernatural powers = identity. Discovering you’re a witch, werewolf, or ghost = coming out. Fighting against societal norms = overcoming oppression. Like, hello? It makes sense that these stories resonate so hard within LGBTQ+ communities. They’re dramatic, symbolic, and cathartic—all key ingredients for coming-of-age stories. Plus, monsters and magic are way more interesting than your average high school drama.

Well, this ran on a bit, so I’ll stop before I start breaking down Twilight as some queer reawakening story (though… Bella could’ve achieved her bi-potential, just saying). Okay, no hate. Anyway, the melding of the supernatural and LGBTQ+ identity? Totally iconic and honestly, the perfect allegory for anyone who’s ever felt ‘other’ in the world.

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Urban Fantasy Madness

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Man sittingnext to a fox wearing a business suit and tie

Okay, so I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how urban fantasy does this amazing thing where it sneaks important conversations into our brains through the backdoor of supernatural storytelling. You know what I mean? Like, you’re reading about vampires and werewolves, but suddenly you’re also contemplating systemic racism and environmental destruction. Pretty sneaky, right?

I gotta tell you about this fascinating thing I came across – according to Barnes & Noble’s literary blog, fantasy writers use supernatural beings as metaphors to tackle controversial issues in ways that might be too intense to discuss directly. It’s like putting on magical glasses that help us see our own world more clearly.

Take N.K. Jemisin’s work, for instance. This amazing author creates these incredible urban landscapes where magic users face discrimination that mirrors real-world prejudices. It’s wild how reading about magical beings fighting for their rights makes us think about our own society’s struggles with equality.

And then there’s this thing that’s been happening in newer urban fantasy – addressing climate change through magical catastrophes. Like, imagine a world where nature spirits are dying because of pollution, or where magical ley lines are getting messed up because of urban development. It hits different when you see environmental destruction through a magical lens, doesn’t it?

Here’s something that blew my mind – urban fantasy actually started getting super popular during times of major social upheaval. It’s like we needed these supernatural metaphors to process all the crazy stuff happening in the real world. It wouldn’t surprise me if urban fantasy surges in popularity in the coming days, seeing how crazy things are in the world right now.

And you know what’s really cool? The way different authors handle prejudice in their magical worlds. Some books have vampires dealing with “coming out of the coffin” to society, which totally parallels LGBTQ+ rights movements. Others show magical beings facing housing discrimination or workplace prejudice – stuff that’s painfully real for many people today.

I recently read this incredible series where faeries were being forced out of their traditional lands by urban development – it’s basically gentrification with pointy ears, but it made me think about real communities facing similar issues. The author threw in these incredibly detailed descriptions of magical protection spells that felt as real as any neighborhood watch program.

Let me share this random but true fact I found: According to a study published in the Critical Studies in Media Communication journal, supernatural fiction experienced a significant surge in popularity during periods of social unrest, particularly in the 1960s and early 2000s. It’s like we collectively turn to these stories when we need to process complicated social issues.

Some of my favorite examples are the subtle ways authors weave in commentary about power dynamics. You’ve got these powerful magical councils that are totally stand-ins for corrupt governments, and rebel mages fighting against unfair systems. Sound familiar? It should!

The thing I love most about urban fantasy is how it makes us question our own prejudices. When you find yourself sympathizing with a werewolf who can’t get a job because of discrimination, it really makes you think about real-world bias, doesn’t it?

Until next time, keep reading and questioning everything!

P.S. Drop a comment below with your favorite urban fantasy books that tackle social issues – I’m always looking for new reads!

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The Lost Art of Cursive… AKA My Chicken-Scratch Future!

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image of cursive writing with fountain pen

Okay, so here’s something that genuinely blew my mind recently. Apparently, there is an entire generation of young people walking around totally incapable of reading (let alone writing) in cursive. I know, right? It’s like discovering the secret underground world of, well… people who will never know the pain of perfecting a capital “Q” (seriously, HOW was that considered a “Q”? It’s literally a curly number 2).

Now, I’ll be the first to admit, my cursive isn’t exactly a work of art. My chicken-scratch handwriting has definitely seen better days, thanks to a combination of speed, laziness, and, well, being me. But still, every single notebook I own is filled with cursive scribbles from top to bottom. Side note: I’m talking actual notebooks, guys. Not the notes app on my phone (which is reserved for my random 3 AM thoughts like, “Do ghosts wear pants?”). Cursive, for me, is just faster, messier, and – believe it or not – easier for my brain to churn out ideas without hitting the ol’ mental speed bump every 10 seconds.

I’ve tried printing, mainly because a small part of me hopes it’ll make my handwriting less of an aesthetic disaster. But, honestly, going from the nice flowy loops of cursive to blocky, rigid printing? It’s SO much slower, and I end up feeling like I’m writing with a crayon while wearing 20 pairs of mittens. I don’t have the patience to plod along like that! Although, to be fair, I’ve been swimming in cursive for so long, maybe I just haven’t given printing a proper chance. (Let’s be real though, if I can’t even “properly” brush my hair in the morning, I doubt I have the discipline to completely re-learn how I write.)

But what really messes me up is this: can you imagine 20, 30, 40 years down the line when my grandkids (or whoever) find my old notebooks? They’ll probably open them and think I wrote them in Wingdings font. Future generations won’t have a clue how to decipher what is, to me, just regular-old cursive. Like, “Grandma’s got some weird hieroglyphic code going on.” I’m already dreading the day someone looks at my notebooks like they’re staring at the Rosetta Stone, furrowing their eyebrows, probably using some futuristic auto-translate app just to figure out I was jotting down some random grocery list for lasagna.

In all seriousness though, it’s wild how cursive writing is gradually… disappearing? Who would’ve thought? I mean, I get that typing is way quicker, and kids today are typing almost as soon as they can walk. But cursive being on the “endangered species” list of skills just seems… bizarre?

And listen, I’m not saying everyone needs to be out here perfecting their penmanship like we’re all channeling our inner calligraphers. But it’s strange to think that something I grew up doing daily — without thinking twice — is becoming this relic of ancient adulting. It’s like cursive is turning into its own secret code. That, or my terrible handwriting is just doing an excellent job of future-proofing my journals from prying eyes.

Oh, by the way, random fact that’s kind of cool and relevant: Back in the day, a lot of important documents (like the Declaration of Independence) were written in cursive by people with serious pen game! Imagine John Hancock tossing out his signature in Times New Roman. No thanks. (Source: National Archives)

Anyway, just some thoughts about the slow, unnoticed death of cursive writing. Maybe it’s time I start teaching the younger generation how to write in cursive – ya know, for historical purposes… and for when they eventually need to decode my terrible handwriting.

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Why I’m Low-Key Obsessed with the Aardvark Book Club

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AdobeStock 802335972.

Okay, so here’s the deal: I’ve recently fallen down the rabbit hole of the Aardvark Book Club, and I’m low-key obsessed. Like, I’ve already started carving out specific “me time” just to dive into these books (don’t judge me, it’s self-care). It’s funny because I wasn’t even specifically looking for a book club; I was just scrolling through a random Reddit forum (as one does at 11 PM on a Thursday) when people started raving about this new book subscription. And naturally, as the nosy book lover that I am, I had to check it out.

Let me just tell you… so far, 10 out of 10, no regrets. They’ve been dropping some gems. You know how some book clubs kind of miss the mark with their selections? Like, either too meh or too literary (FYI, I love a good deep read, but sometimes, I just want juicy writing that doesn’t require 27 degrees to get through). Well, Aardvark seems to strike the perfect balance. It’s got this nice mix of thought-provoking books and those stories that completely draw you in without needing to consult a dictionary every other page. The kind of stuff that makes you actually excited to get home, curl up, and make some tea. (Okay, I said “curl up,” but realistically, I’m probably sprawled across the couch in a position that makes my spine cry out for help.)

The craziest thing is that I didn’t even hesitate to sign up. Reddit folks have opinions – sometimes brutally honest ones that make you rethink your life choices for a minute – but this thread was full of such genuine enthusiasm that I figured, why not? It was like this silent book whisperer guiding me to hit “Join.” And oh boy, I’m glad I listened to the collective bookish voices of Reddit this time. (Shoutout to the internet for occasionally being helpful and not just full of weird memes. Occasionally.)

Another cool thing about Aardvark? You actually get to pick from a few fresh titles each month, which is awesome. I’m all for surprises, but sometimes I like steering the ship, you know? So far, their picks have been on point. It’s like they somehow hacked into my Goodreads account and curated suggestions just for my very particular moods. One of the books I grabbed last month had me on an emotional journey from fresh intrigue all the way to “do not disturb, we are having a MOMENT with this book” territory.

Oh, fun fact: According to some random stats I found on the internet (because I’m a professional procrastinator), people who join book clubs tend to read 1.5 times more than those who don’t. Crazy, right? So technically, I’m not just enjoying a bunch of amazing books; I’m raising my reading game like a pro! I’ll take it.

Anyway, if you’ve been in a reading rut, or if you just secretly love getting thoughtful, handpicked books without obsessively scrolling through a million reviews first — Aardvark might be your answer. Who knows? Maybe you’ll catch me in another forum, ranting about the next great novel I found in their selection.

Until then, if you need me, I’ll be over here, probably finishing yet another book, ignoring my laundry – because priorities.

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