Hieronymus Hawkes's Blog, page 3
September 4, 2025
Death Becomes Her: Remembering Aeon Flux
From Liquid Television fever dream to Hollywood reinvention, why this leather-clad chaos agent still lives rent-free in my brain.
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack
This is the third installment in my MTV flashback series, a personal rewind to the glory days of cable TV and the chaotic wonder of burgeoning adulthood. Before streaming. Before algorithms. Back when we stayed up too late and let our screens melt our brains in the best way possible.
And few things melted mine quite like Aeon Flux.
The Origins: MTV Gets Weird
In the early ’90s, MTV wasn’t just about music, it was a cultural petri dish. Liquid Television was where things got experimental. It was the kind of show that felt like you were watching someone’s art school thesis while half-asleep at 2 a.m. And that’s where I first met Aeon Flux, legs for days, a sneer like a whipcrack, and a high mortality rate.
Created by Peter Chung, Aeon Flux debuted as a series of silent, often fatal short films. Aeon died. A lot. Her eyelashes caught flies. Her fingers crushed bullets. Her world was all wires, latex, and betrayal. It was grotesque and gorgeous. It made absolutely no sense, and that was part of the charm.
The TV Series: A Ballet of Death and Meaning
When Aeon Flux got her own half-hour series in 1995, everything changed, sort of. She still kicked, killed, and smirked her way through an authoritarian future, but now she talked. So did her nemesis/lover Trevor Goodchild. The dialogue was philosophical, dense, often maddening. But it felt important, even when you didn’t fully understand it.
The animation was jagged and hyper-stylized, all distorted anatomy and cold colors. There was a deliberate discomfort to it, like everything was a little too close, a little too sharp. Bodies twisted, drooled, exploded. Aeon wasn’t a superhero. She was more like a question: What happens when you take agency too far? Or when morality is a weapon wielded by the powerful?
And still, despite the cerebral voiceovers and cryptic plots, it worked. Maybe not always as narrative, but as atmosphere. As vibe. It was a sci-fi fever dream that stuck its hooks in deep.
The Movie: Charlize, Structure, and Sacrilege
Fast forward to 2005. Suddenly Aeon Flux had a story you could follow and a face you recognized: Charlize Theron in tight black PVC, running and flipping and emoting. The film was divisive. Fans of the show missed the jagged art and the unapologetic strangeness. Newcomers wondered what they’d walked into.
And yet…I liked it. I still like it. For all its smoothing out, the movie tried to keep some of the original’s weird DNA, genetic memory, totalitarian biotech, that Aeon/Trevor tension. Charlize gave the role her all, and honestly, seeing any version of Aeon Flux on the big screen felt like a tiny miracle. (Plus Charlize Theron, I mean come on)
Why It Stuck With Me
Looking back, Aeon Flux wasn’t just edgy or sexy or strange. It was committed. It leaned into its contradictions: erotic and grotesque, silent and verbose, nihilistic and sincere. It refused to hold your hand. It made you feel things, even if those things were mostly confusion and awe.
And maybe that’s what keeps me coming back, not just to the DVDs gathering dust somewhere in a drawer, but to the feeling it gave me. That art could be cryptic. That TV didn’t have to make sense to be good. That sometimes a woman in thigh-high boots could die thirty times and still walk off with your heart.
Weird Was Good
Looking back on these three strange, brilliant fragments of old-school MTV,120 Minutes, Daria, and Aeon Flux, I’m struck by how much room there used to be for experimentation. For contradiction. For the kind of content that didn’t fit neatly into a category or chase a trend. These weren’t just shows, they were signals from a weirder world, one that felt more honest because it didn’t try so hard to make sense.
It wasn’t just MTV, either. In the same era, Twin Peaks somehow made it onto primetime network television, inviting millions of people to watch a red room dream sequence and pretend they understood what was going on. And we loved it. That kind of creative risk feels almost impossible now.
Aeon Flux was never supposed to be comforting. It was slippery, defiant, sometimes deliberately incomprehensible, and I loved it all the more for that. We don’t get much of that on TV anymore. But maybe that’s what memory is for, to remind us that we were there, once. Sitting cross-legged in the glow of the screen, letting art that didn’t explain itself crash straight into our frontal lobes.
And sometimes, that’s all you need.
September 2, 2025Building Stories One Scene at a TimeA Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack I build every … August 28, 2025Still Sick, Sad, and Perfect: Why Daria Still MattersCynical, Sarcastic, and Exactly What We Still Need #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing … August 26, 2025Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their BackstoryWe Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About … August 21, 2025The 120 Minutes that Changed EverythingA Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of …
September 2, 2025
Building Stories One Scene at a Time
A Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack
I build every story in scenes.
After I build my story structure, but before I write chapters, before I polish dialogue, I break down the entire story through scene summaries.
It’s the part of my process that saves me from wandering middles, sagging plots, or characters who somehow stop acting like themselves.
There are great resources out there on writing scenes. Thea Liu’s “Writing Scenes in a Book” breaks down scene anatomy beautifully. Tiffany Yates Martin’s post on Jane Friedman’s blog is a masterclass in what keeps a scene tight and propulsive.
But here’s how I think about it when I’m mapping a story and how I decide what scenes even belong.
Every Scene Has a Job
For me, a scene earns its place by doing two things:
It moves the story forward — through action, discovery, escalation, or complication.It moves the character forward — through choice, realization, shift, or consequence.If a scene does neither? It’s filler. And filler has a way of slowing everything down.
Worse, filler can trick you into thinking your story has momentum when all it really has is motion.
I ask myself, What changes by the end of this scene?
If the answer is nothing, I haven’t found the real purpose yet.
Common Scene Pitfalls:
Repeating information the reader already knowsAdding worldbuilding without any impact on character or plotScenes that are just “vibe,” pretty descriptions, witty banter, nothing actually changesCharacters talking in circles with no shift in stakes, goal, or relationshipThey might be well-written. They might even be fun. But if they don’t move story or character, they aren’t pulling their weight.
The Scene Summary Method
Before I draft a scene, I write a one- or two-line summary. It’s not a beat sheet or a detailed outline, more like a gut check.
For example:
Remi confronts Novak in the club and learns Novak is working with the Admiral.Annie finally admits she doesn’t want to go back and changes her plan.That’s it. Sometimes there might be a little more detail if that scene is vivid in my mind.
The summary forces me to name the scene’s purpose in plain language.
And when I line up those summaries across a chapter, or a whole act, I can spot gaps, pacing problems, or threads I’ve dropped before they derail me in draft.
I’m not saying I never go off-map. But I like to know the map exists.
When a Scene Surprises You
Some of my favorite scenes weren’t in the original plan.
They showed up when a character pushed back or a moment surprised me.
That’s fine. In fact, that’s often gold.
But when that happens, I still stop and ask:
Does this move the story? Does this move the character?
If the answer is yes, I run with it. And at that point I may have some replotting to do. Fortunately, because I have these scene summaries and I modify them to match the new thing that happened in the new scene.
If it’s no…I cut it, or I park it in my boneyard for another story.
Surprise is good. Detour is not.
Why This Works for Me
It keeps me from writing dead air.It gives me a skeleton for pacing and emotional arcs.It helps me build a story that actually works before I invest time making it pretty.I still rewrite, of course. But this habit saves me from losing weeks on scenes that were never pulling their weight.
If You’re Stuck…
If you’re staring at a chapter that won’t click or a scene that feels flat, try this:
Write a single sentence summary of what’s supposed to happen.
Then ask yourself:
It’s not fancy. But it works.
August 28, 2025
Still Sick, Sad, and Perfect: Why Daria Still Matters
Cynical, Sarcastic, and Exactly What We Still Need
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack
Do ya’ll remember Daria? I actually own the complete series on DVD. The grainy late-90s animation and those classic alt-rock needle drops hit me right in the flannel-wrapped feels. But it’s more than that. Daria wasn’t just a cartoon; it was a mirror for every kid who rolled their eyes at high school, suburban conformity, and the creeping horror of mall culture. I can’t even remember how I found it. Probably channel surfing. But I loved it from the word go. And somehow the show still holds up, maybe because it never tried to sugarcoat the truth, even when the truth was awkward, uncomfortable, or hilariously bleak.
The Retrospective: Smart, Sarcastic, and Way Too Real
Daria started as a side character on Beavis and Butt-Head, the eye-rolling foil to their slack-jawed idiocy. But when MTV gave her a series of her own in 1997, the result was sharper, funnier, and way more subversive than anyone expected.
Set in the fictional town of Lawndale, Daria followed its titular deadpan heroine Daria Morgendorffer as she navigated the absurdity of high school with brutal honesty and unapologetic sarcasm. The show mocked everything: popularity contests, academic pressure, clueless parents, vapid teen culture, overbearing teachers, and the casual hypocrisies of small-town life. Every episode was a gut-punch wrapped in a smirk. She had zero fucks to give before that was even a thing.
Well, maybe not zero. Beneath the biting humor was a surprising amount of heart. Daria wasn’t just snark, she cared. She just didn’t want you to know it. Her friendship with Jane, her reluctant moments of family loyalty, even her occasional flashes of vulnerability made her real. She was the embodiment of every teenager who kept their heart under lock and key for fear the world would stomp on it. It hit Gen X right where it mattered.
That balance of cynicism and secret heart is why the show never felt mean. It wasn’t punching down. It was punching holes in the ridiculous expectations the world shoved on teenagers and letting the air out with surgical precision.
Why It Mattered to Me: Laughing in the Face of It All
I wasn’t a teenager when Daria dropped. I was 33, on my second marriage with two small kids, and yet I still saw myself in that deadpan stare and quiet defiance. I was a late-70s, early-80s kid who’d grown up on a steady diet of sitcom tropes and glossy teen dramas that felt as hollow as they looked. But Daria? She wasn’t trying to fix the world. She was trying to survive it without losing her soul, or her sense of humor. And that felt a lot like high school me.
Daria gave us permission to be smart and skeptical in a world that rewarded surface over substance. It showed that you could roll your eyes at the nonsense and still care about people. That you could feel like an outsider and still have friends who got you, like Jane Lane, the ride-or-die every weirdo needed. It wasn’t about winning. It was about staying true to yourself when everyone else seemed happy to sell out.
Why We Still Need Daria : More Than Just Snark
We live in an era drowning in hot takes, curated feeds, and forced positivity. Everyone’s performing, online, at work, even with friends. Authenticity has become a brand, and sincerity feels like a risk.
And yet, somehow, a cartoon from the late ‘90s still feels like the most honest voice in the room.
Daria wasn’t about being the smartest person in the room for clout. It was about being honest, even when it was uncomfortable. It called out hypocrisy, fakery, and shallow trends without ever getting preachy. It took aim at the absurdity of chasing popularity, hollow ambition, and mindless conformity and fired with sniper-like precision.
We need that now. We need characters who aren’t afraid to say, “This is ridiculous.” Who aren’t performing for likes or followers. Who know that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is just not play the game. Daria didn’t tear people down for cheap laughs. She pointed out the cracks in the facade and dared you to stop pretending they weren’t there.
Because Maybe the World is Saturated with Too Much Quinn
Twenty-five years later, Daria still matters. Maybe even more. Because in a world that looks more like Sick, Sad World every day, the last thing we need is another shiny, happy facade. Turns out, Sick Sad World wasn’t satire. It was a spoiler.
We’re living in the age of the influencer, the curated identity, the algorithm-approved opinion. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that the world doesn’t need more Quinns trying to climb the social ladder. It needs more Darias who aren’t afraid to look at the ladder and say, “Hard pass.”
We need more Darias. And maybe, just maybe, we need to be a little more Daria ourselves.
One thing I’ll mention to those of you who didn’t see the original run. Almost all of the music was replaced when it went to DVD and syndication/streaming. It would have cost too much to pay all the licensing fees. So the versions you see now are missing all the cool music of the era.
College Humor did a fake trailer for a Daria Movie, starring Abrey Plaza. I would have happily watched this movie.
Daria’s High School Reunion Movie Trailer
What about you? Were you a Daria kid too? Or did you discover her later? Drop a comment—I’ll be over here bingeing season two and not smiling about it.
August 26, 2025Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their BackstoryWe Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About … August 21, 2025The 120 Minutes that Changed EverythingA Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of … August 19, 2025How to Actually Fix EducationDitch the Tests, Teach for Mastery #writingcommunity #booksky
#amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle This is a little … August 14, 2025Story Static and the Need to MoveOr, Why My Fitness Tracker Thinks I’m a Novelist on the Run …
August 26, 2025
Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their Backstory
We Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About It?
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
We love a juicy backstory. That tragic childhood, that long-lost love, that formative betrayal, these are the things that make a character feel real, right?
Kind of.
Backstory matters, but not as much as we like to think. What really defines a character on the page, the thing that hooks a reader, is choice.
Choices Reveal Character
You can tell me a character grew up on the streets, clawed their way out of poverty, and learned not to trust anyone, but I won’t feel that character until I watch them choose not to save a friend in a dangerous moment because they’re too afraid of betrayal. Or better yet, until I see them risk it anyway.
What your character chooses, especially under pressure, reveals who they are in a way no backstory ever can. Readers want to watch people make decisions, wrestle with consequences, and change.
It’s in those heart-pounding moments, when the stakes are real (well they’re made up, but you know what I mean,) the outcome uncertain, that character shines through. Does your thief turn in the loot to save a kidnapped child? Does your hero take the fall to protect someone else? Does your villain hesitate before crossing a line they swore they’d never cross?
Your readers aren’t here for your character’s résumé. They’re here to watch them make choices that echo beyond the page.
Backstory Explains. Choice Defines.
Backstory explains why your character fears commitment.
Choice shows whether they run, or whether they stay despite their fear.
Backstory explains why your villain craves power.
Choice shows how far they’ll go to seize it…or whether they’ll walk away.
It’s tempting to pour all your creative energy into a rich, layered history for your characters. And that’s fine, as long as you remember that history is the shadow, not the spotlight. The real story is in what your character does when it counts.
Ask yourself this, when the moment comes, what decision do they make? What does that reveal about who they are, and who they want to be?
Stakes + Choice = Reader Investment
A choice without stakes is boring. And a backstory without a present-moment decision is just exposition.
But put your character in a situation where they have something to lose, force them to choose, and suddenly your reader is leaning in. They want to know what happens next. They want to know who this character really is. They have to know!
Stakes don’t have to be life and death. They can be personal, emotional, or relational. The point is, the outcome matters to your character, and by extension, to your reader. Give them a meaningful decision with consequences, and you’ll create a moment that sticks.
Think about the choices that make you fall in love with a character. The soldier who refuses an unjust order. The sister who forgives a betrayal. The villain who spares a life at the last second. Those are the moments readers remember. Those are the moments that define your story.
Use Backstory as Context, Not Crutch
The best stories weave backstory in as subtext—the shadows behind the choices. Hint at it. Let it shape the character’s internal conflict. But keep the spotlight on the now.
Your character’s past matters.
Their choices matter more.
Think of backstory like seasoning, not the main course. Use it to add depth and flavor, but don’t let it overpower the dish. Your reader wants to experience the story unfolding in real time, not sit through a history lecture.
If a piece of backstory doesn’t inform a choice or raise the stakes, ask yourself if you really need it on the page. Sometimes, what’s unsaid can speak volumes.
Writing Challenge: Take a scene you love and ask yourself, am I relying on backstory here? What choice is my character making right now? How can I make it harder, riskier, or more revealing?
That’s where the story lives.
Related PostsAugust 21, 2025
The 120 Minutes that Changed Everything
A Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of Outsiders
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack
I heard last week that MTV is bringing back 24/7 music videos for one week. Sep 1-7. But along with the videos I really hope
they bring back the best thing that was ever on that channel besides Liquid TV and Æon Flux(That might be fodder for another post,) and that is 120 Minutes.
I still remember the first time I stumbled onto 120 Minutes. It was early June 1986, just after I’d graduated from the Air Force Academy. I was home visiting my dad, up late like always, flipping through channels in that half-dreamy way you do when you’re twenty-one and the world feels both wide open and totally uncertain.
And there it was. This strange, offbeat music show with bands I didn’t recognize but couldn’t stop watching.
MTV did something unexpected that year. Between the neon swagger of hair metal and the bubblegum pop clogging their regular rotation, they slipped a strange little show onto the airwaves: 120 Minutes. It aired after midnight, when most of the world had already gone to bed. But for the few of us who stumbled across it, it felt like unlocking a secret world.
This was deep in the pre-internet days, no Spotify, no YouTube, no algorithmic playlists. If you wanted to find new music, you had to hunt for it. You taped late-night radio shows. You flipped through vinyl bins in cramped record stores. You swapped cassettes with that one friend who always seemed two steps ahead of everyone else.
120 Minutes wasn’t mainstream. It wasn’t trying to be. But it gave alternative bands, the ones you’d never see on daytime MTV, a tiny, flickering stage.
The Cure. Siouxsie and the Banshees. The Smiths. R.E.M. Bands you might’ve read about in Spin or heard in passing on some college radio station suddenly showed up on your TV, if you stayed up late enough, or remembered to set the VCR.
It didn’t make alternative music a household name. But it gave it a foothold. And for those of us watching, it felt like the first time the music we loved wasn’t just hiding in the shadows.
120 Minutes wasn’t just a show, it was a curated gateway into a world you didn’t know existed. As host Dave Kendall once put it, “By far the most important thing about 120 Minutes was that it acted as a distribution channel for organic musical produce, if you will.”
It wasn’t commercial or polished for mass appeal. It was raw, authentic, and unapologetically alternative. Hosted by names like J.J. Jackson, Kevin Seal, and eventually Matt Pinfield, it felt like the cool older sibling of MTV’s regular programming, a little smarter, a little weirder, and way more interesting.
That graveyard slot meant staying up late, or recording on your VCR, and joining a kind of unofficial club. One fan summed it up perfectly on Reddit, “120 Minutes was very important for my musical taste.”
It became a ritual. A treasure hunt. You never knew what you’d find, post-punk, college rock, goth, industrial, or some new hybrid nobody had a name for yet.
The show didn’t just showcase bands. It stitched together a community of insomniacs, outcasts, and music nerds who shared a craving for something different.
The Moments That Hit Different
What made 120 Minutes unforgettable wasn’t just the music. It was the moments when the show seemed to know a shift was coming.
Like the night in 1991 when a little-known Seattle trio called Nirvana premiered “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” It wasn’t their first time on the show, but this time, it detonated. Within weeks, MTV pushed the video into heavy rotation, and suddenly, grunge wasn’t underground anymore.
120 Minutes Intro to World Premiere of Smells Like Teen Spirit
Or when Lou Reed guest-hosted and interviewed Iggy Pop, a cultural crossfire that felt like passing the torch to a new generation of rule-breakers.
And of course, when Matt Pinfield took the reins in 1995, an unabashed music nerd who could rattle off band lineups, B-sides, and trivia like your best friend at a record shop. With him, 120 Minutes felt even more like a conversation among insiders.
Each of those moments was a thread in a bigger story, a quiet cultural shift that MTV probably never planned, but couldn’t stop once it started.
The I.R.S. Years — Soundtrack of a Subculture
If there was a label that felt like the lifeblood of that scene, it was I.R.S. Records.
Long before R.E.M. headlined arenas, they were the kings of college radio, and I.R.S. was their home. Founded by Miles Copeland, I.R.S. became almost synonymous with the early alternative scene. They weren’t chasing pop stars. They backed bands that didn’t fit, sharp-edged, offbeat, often a little too smart or strange for the mainstream.
The English Beat. The Alarm. Wall of Voodoo. Concrete Blonde. And R.E.M.
If you saw that logo on a cassette or LP, you gave it a listen, because odds were, it sounded like nothing else.
English Beat – Mirror in the Bathroom
120 Minutes gave those bands a place on TV, and gave us, the fans, a pipeline into a world we might never have known existed otherwise.
Etched in Memory and on Mixtapes
That early R.E.M. material, Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction, felt like messages smuggled in under the radar. Songs like “Radio Free Europe” or “So. Central Rain” didn’t shout for attention. They got inside your head and stayed there.
I taped those songs off late-night radio. I bought the cassettes. I played them on repeat, on road trips, in dorm rooms, in base housing. They weren’t just part of my playlist. They became part of my wiring.
And that’s the real legacy of 120 Minutes. It didn’t hand you a curated playlist. It invited you on a hunt, and because of that, the music felt like it belonged to you in a way no algorithm could ever replicate.
A few months into my discovery I was disc jockeying at a local college radio station and one of my early favorites was a band I discovered on 120 Minutes. The Aussie band Hoodoo Gurus.
The Soundtrack That Stuck
Decades later, those same bands still fill my playlists. I still crank The Cure. I still catch R.E.M. deep cuts on SiriusXM’s 1st Wave. The vibe 120 Minutes introduced me to, the edge, the authenticity, the sense that this music lived outside the mainstream, still feels like home. A huge number of these bands are on my regular playlist today.
120 Minutes didn’t just shape my taste. It shaped how I approached discovery itself. How I learned to value the hidden, the different, the things you find when you’re willing to stay up a little later and listen a little closer.
The entire archive is here if you are interested:
Related PostsAugust 19, 2025
How to Actually Fix Education
Ditch the Tests, Teach for Mastery
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
This is a little different from my normal posts. I got a bug up my butt a few weeks back about this and I did some research. Here are my conclusions. I welcome your feedback. The thing that spurred me was how AI is impacting the classroom. We need a different path forward or our children, and all of us, will suffer. This weekNeal Stephenson’s piece on Self-Reliance and AI added more thoughts from that perspective. You can read that here: https://substack.com/home/post/p-166816228
I. The False Promise of Standardized SuccessPicture a fifth grader sitting at her desk, tears smudging her Scantron sheet. She studied. She tried. But the way the test is written doesn’t match the way her brain works. She isn’t alone. For decades, we’ve been training students to perform on standardized tests rather than cultivating deep understanding, curiosity, or resilience. Our system was designed for industrial efficiency, not human growth.
Standardized testing was introduced with good intentions: ensure consistency, set measurable goals, and close achievement gaps. But it quickly became the primary yardstick by which schools, teachers, and students are judged. And like any system optimized for measurement over meaning, it began to distort the very outcomes it was supposed to improve.
What was meant to be a tool for improvement became a weapon of comparison. Schools narrowed their curricula to what would be tested. Teachers taught to the test, not because they wanted to, but because funding, evaluations, and job security depended on it. Students, meanwhile, internalized the message that intelligence could be boiled down to a score. Creativity, empathy, persistence, and critical thinking, all untestable, were left behind.
The most harmful impact lands hardest on the most vulnerable. Children from low-income communities, English language learners, and neurodivergent students are often penalized by a system that doesn’t account for context. Test scores become proxies for zip codes, not indicators of potential. And the pressure? Crushing. Anxiety, burnout, and disengagement are now features of childhood, not exceptions.
We have confused standardization with fairness. But fairness doesn’t mean everyone gets the same thing. It means everyone gets what they need to succeed. And no multiple-choice test can measure that.
II. What If We Designed School for Actual Learning?Imagine a classroom where students move forward only when they’ve truly mastered a skill. No arbitrary deadlines, no false advancement. Just learning at the right pace, for the right reasons.
This isn’t a radical concept. It’s how we learn in real life. When you’re learning to play an instrument, master a recipe, or pilot a plane, you don’t move on because the calendar says so. You move on because you’ve nailed it. You can demonstrate it. You understand it deeply. Why should learning algebra or persuasive writing be any different?
But our current school system is a conveyor belt. Students move in batches based on age, regardless of readiness. Some fall behind and never catch up. Others coast without challenge. The result is a system where passing doesn’t always mean learning, and failure often means you’re simply out of sync with the system’s artificial clock.
A competency-based model offers a more human alternative. Instead of pushing all students through the same curriculum at the same speed, we honor individual progress. We provide support when it’s needed, challenge when it’s appropriate, and time to truly learn, not just temporarily memorize.
This approach also reintroduces purpose to learning. When students understand that mastery, not mere completion, is the goal, they’re more likely to take ownership. They can see a clear connection between effort, progress, and outcome. School becomes less about jumping through hoops and more about gaining skills they’ll actually use.
Let’s stop asking students to race through a system built for uniformity and start building a system that celebrates and supports genuine learning.
III. What Competency-Based Education Looks LikeCompetency-Based Education (CBE) isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about making them meaningful.
In a CBE system:
· Students progress when they demonstrate mastery.
· Teachers provide personalized support and targeted instruction.
· Assessment is ongoing, low-stakes, and feedback-rich.
· Learning includes real-world application through projects, presentations, and problem-solving.
· Students are active participants in their own progress.
Instead of rows of desks and silent drills, imagine classrooms buzzing with collaboration. Students debating ethical dilemmas, designing solutions to real-world problems, and presenting findings to their community. That’s what learning can look like.
In practice, this might mean a student who struggles with fractions doesn’t move on until they can not only solve fraction problems but explain the concepts to a peer. Another student might accelerate through basic algebra but then slow down when tackling more abstract reasoning. The timeline adapts to the learner, not the other way around.
Teachers become learning architects. They assess where each student is, identify misconceptions, provide targeted feedback, and design experiences that allow students to apply their knowledge. Think fewer lectures, more coaching. Fewer pop quizzes, more authentic demonstrations of learning.
Students are encouraged to reflect on their progress, set goals, and advocate for the support they need. This self-awareness fosters independence, motivation, and a sense of ownership that traditional systems often suppress.
As Susan Patrick, CEO of the Aurora Institute, explains: “Competency-based education systems provide structures that foundationally are important to support personalized pathways—and at the same time—ensure equity (through mastery).”1. Beth Rabbitt of The Learning Accelerator adds that their “definition for personalized learning, which has largely stayed the same over the last four years, is a student-centered instructional approach that individualizes learning for each student based on strengths, needs, interests, and/or goals. It allows for differentiation of path, pace, place, or modality and creates greater opportunities for student agency and choice-making.”1
Crucially, the system also rethinks failure. In a CBE classroom, failing an assessment isn’t a dead end. It’s part of the learning process. Students revisit the material, get feedback, and try again. Failure becomes a signal for support, not a scarlet letter.
In this way, competency-based education doesn’t just prepare students academically. It prepares them for life. Because life doesn’t hand out grades. It asks can you do this? And if not yet, what are you doing to improve?
IV. It’s Not Just Theory It’s Already WorkingThis isn’t some untested pipe dream. There are real schools already doing this and seeing real results.
· New Hampshire’s PACE program allowed districts to replace some standardized tests with performance-based assessments, resulting in lower dropout rates and deeper engagement3.
· Big Picture Learning students participate in internships and projects, leading to higher college enrollment, especially among underserved groups4.
· Chugach School District (Alaska) transitioned to CBE and showed major academic improvements, earning national recognition5.
· VLACS in New Hampshire allows fully personalized learning with strong student outcomes6.
· Summit Public Schools use personalized plans and mentoring to build student agency7.
· High Tech High (San Diego) focuses on project-based learning, producing confident, college-bound graduates8.
· Dallas ISD and Greeley-Evans (CO) saw academic gains and teacher satisfaction through blended CBE pilots9.
· Finland’s system emphasizes teacher autonomy and student well-being over standardized testing, yet ranks high internationally10.
V. The Real Shift: Trusting Teachers and StudentsAt the heart of the competency-based model is a radical but necessary idea, trust. Trust that teachers are not just implementers of curriculum, but skilled professionals capable of guiding complex, individualized learning journeys. Trust that students are not empty vessels to be filled, but curious minds that, when supported and respected, can become active participants in their education.
This shift begins by reimagining the role of the teacher, not as a deliverer of content, but as a mentor, facilitator, and designer of learning experiences. In traditional models, teachers are often judged by their students’ test scores, pressured to teach to the test, and bound by rigid pacing guides. In a competency-based model, teachers gain professional autonomy. They analyze student data, collaborate with peers, design formative assessments, and engage deeply with each learner’s journey11.
Students, too, are empowered. They are given agency over their pace and process, encouraged to reflect on their learning, and supported when they struggle. When students are seen as capable co-creators in the classroom, their motivation shifts from compliance to curiosity. They are not being taught for a test. They are being prepared for life.
This transformation requires more than classroom tweaks. It demands changes in policy, funding, leadership culture, and assessment systems. But the return on investment is enormous: resilient, reflective, independent learners, and a reinvigorated teaching force that no longer sees itself as cogs in a broken machine.
VI. The Call to Action: Rebuild the System, Don’t Patch ItFixing education doesn’t mean better test prep, faster data dashboards, or shinier textbooks. It means starting from first principles: What do we want kids to know, be able to do, and become? Then building everything around that.
We need to:
· Fund schools based on student learning, not seat time.
· Allow teachers the freedom to assess learning in diverse ways.
· Abandon one-size-fits-all accountability systems in favor of holistic progress.
· Prioritize student wellness, engagement, and agency alongside academics.
· Provide schools with the time, training, and support to transition away from outdated models.
This is not a matter of ideology. It is a matter of will. The knowledge is there. The examples are there. What’s missing is the courage to act.
It’s time to move beyond the narrow definition of success imposed by standardized testing. Let’s commit to an education system that sees every student as a capable learner, every teacher as a trusted professional, and every classroom as a launchpad for the future.
We don’t need to wait for a federal mandate to make change:
· Parents can advocate for pilot programs, question excessive testing, and ask schools about project-based and competency-based options.
· Educators can explore mastery-based grading, share success stories, and connect with like-minded schools.
· Policymakers can stop tying funding to test scores and start investing in teacher training and curricular flexibility.
If enough communities choose to do education differently, the system will follow.
VII. Let’s Build the System Our Kids DeserveThe world our children are inheriting is rapidly evolving. They will face challenges that cannot be answered with a number two pencil. Things like climate change, automation, misinformation, democratic instability, mental health crises, and jobs that don’t even exist yet.
We need an education system that prepares kids not just for the next exam, but for the real tests of life, collaboration, ethical decision-making, lifelong learning, and civic responsibility. We need students who can think critically, act compassionately, and adapt fearlessly.
Standardized education asks, “How well can this kid take a test?”
Competency-based education asks, “What can this kid do with what they know?”
One measures obedience and recall. The other fosters capability, resilience, and readiness for the real world.
The difference between those two questions isn’t just theoretical. It is generational. It is the future.
Let’s choose that future with intention. Let’s build the system our kids truly deserve.
[1] Personalized Learning An Interview with National Thought Leaders and Practitioners: https://edreformnow.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Personalized-Learning-Brief.pdf
[2] The 74 Million: https://www.the74million.org/article/rabbitt-3-critical-conversations-we-must-have-around-the-future-of-personalized-learning/
[3] Wired: https://www.wired.com/2016/08/inside-online-school-radically-change-kids-learn-everywhere/
[4] Education Reimagined: https://education-reimagined.org/findings-from-the-big-picture-learning-longitudinal-study/
[5] Education Elements: https://education-reimagined.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/PP_Chugach.pdf
[6] VLACS Overview: https://practices.learningaccelerator.org/see/virtual-learning-academy-charter-school-vlacs
[7] Summit Model: https://summitps.org/the-summit-model/
[8] High Tech High: https://www.hightechhigh.org/lcap_goal/improve-student-centered-instruction/
[9] Aurora Institute report: https://aurora-institute.org/resource/community-schools-case-study-project/
[10] OECD PISA Data: https://www.oecd.org/en/publications/pisa-2022-results-volume-i-and-ii-country-notes_ed6fbcc5-en/finland_6991e849-en.html
[11] Aurora Institute: https://aurora-institute.org/wp-content/uploads/Moving-Toward-Mastery.pdf
Related PostsAugust 14, 2025
Story Static and the Need to Move
Or, Why My Fitness Tracker Thinks I’m a Novelist on the Run
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
Are any of you what I call kinetic writers?
You know the type. The kind who can’t seem to stay in a chair for more than ten or fifteen minutes without having to stand up and discharge all that built-up story static. That’s me. I’m the person pacing the hallway mid-scene like I’m troubleshooting a spaceship, or standing at the window like I’m waiting for the plot to physically arrive outside.
It’s not even a conscious choice. I have to move. Especially when the writing is really flowing. The more intense the scene, the faster the charge builds, like the words themselves are sending voltage back up through the keyboard and into my nervous system. Conservation of energy, or witchcraft. Jury’s still out.
When the prose gets hot, I turn into a twitchy ball of narrative energy. It’s not exactly graceful. I spring up, do a lap around the room, maybe mutter something cryptic like, “Okay, but why is the goat talking?” to a bewildered dog, who thought she was going to get to go outside, then drop back into the chair like nothing happened.
This may sound like a productivity nightmare, but honestly? It’s how I know the work is alive. I call it Ants-in-the-Pants Syndrome
, and for me it’s a feature, not a bug. The story’s clicking. Something’s on fire. The act of walking it off isn’t an interruption, it’s a pressure release. Like letting your gun barrel cool after you’ve unloaded half a dozen magazines. You don’t want a jam.
If I’m in a situation where I can’t get up, say, trapped in a café chair or buckled into a plane seat, that energy backs up. My brain starts buffering. The words slow. I stall. If I’m lucky, I can sneak a note into my phone, or whisper an idea into a voice memo before it disappears forever into the mental trash compactor.
I’ve learned to live with my low word-per-hour count. I don’t type fast, I get distracted easily, and sometimes my muse wears roller skates. I’ve hit that golden thousand-words-an-hour mark on occasion, sure. But more often it’s half that, and only if the stars align, the coffee is just right, and no one has mentioned waffles.
So, if you ever see someone pacing like a caffeinated ghost between writing sprints, know this, the scene is probably going really well. Or I’ve forgotten where I left my phone again.
Either way, I’ll be back in the chair shortly. Turtle speed. Caterpillar ambition. Static discharge at regular intervals.
It’s not elegant. But it’s how I write.
Related PostsAugust 12, 2025
The Advice Loop
Proof that self-awareness is not the same as self-discipline
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
You know what’s easy? Giving advice.
All you need is a little confidence and the ability to say things like you mean them. That’s it. That’s the whole trick. No wonder con men do so well, they don’t even have to be right, they just have to sound sure.
Confidence is magnetic. It’s comforting. It makes people listen, even if you’re two steps from disaster and making it up as you go. Which is probably why, on any given day, I can give out some pretty solid advice. Writing advice. Life advice. Even relationship advice, if I’m feeling bold and well-caffeinated.
I had a friend once who was the undisputed king of pulling stuff out of his ass. Always with authority. Always with conviction. And I bought it, a lot, until I finally realized he was full of something else entirely. After that? My motto became trust but verify. As it should be.
Because here’s the thing, confidence only works if the person on the receiving end hasn’t figured out you’re unreliable. Once that’s gone, so is the magic.
Now, I like to think the advice I give is solid, especially when it comes to writing. I don’t bluff. I’m not conning anyone. I’ve been in the trenches. I’ve stared down the blank page and the bloated middle and the “what even is this ending” crisis. The advice I give is earned.
But you know what’s hard?
Following my own damn advice.
The idea for this post actually hit me after I wrote a piece about villains, how great stories often have great antagonists. I talked about how a strong villain can shape the arc, raise the stakes, give the protagonist something to push against. All true.
But then I realized…I haven’t actually written a story where a full-blown villain shows up early and leans in hard. Not one where the antagonist is driving the story like Darth Vader on day one.
I want to. I even have some half-baked ideas I’ve been playing with. But the truth is, stories come to you how they come to you. Most of mine just haven’t included that kind of villain yet. And that’s okay. But it does make me chuckle a little when I re-read my advice and realize I haven’t done the thing I said was so important. Yet.
That’s the nature of writing. Of life, really. We know what we should do. We give great pep talks to others. But when it’s our turn to apply that same wisdom? Suddenly we’re negotiating with ourselves like a toddler refusing bedtime.I can tell a new writer not to stress about their first draft. “Get it on the page,” I say. “You can’t fix what you haven’t written.” Sage stuff. And then I’ll spend three hours tweaking the same sentence because it doesn’t feel quite right. Because I know better. Because I forgot, again, that perfection isn’t step one. It’s step twenty-three. On a good day.
I saw a post today talking about not using your thesaurus on the first draft. Again, sound advice, but words matter, and I get stuck on words sometimes. I can’t move forward until I find that right word. I know it’s ridiculous.
I can say “rest is part of the process,” and then guilt myself into writing at midnight like I’m on deadline for The New Yorker. I’ll nod along when someone says, “Done is better than perfect,” and then spend three weeks second-guessing a blog post about corn fungus.
We all do it. The double standard of self-direction. The kindness we extend to others that somehow bounces off our own skulls like a poorly thrown dodgeball.
Why Is It So Hard?
Maybe because giving advice feels like control. It’s action. It’s agency. You’re helping someone else get unstuck, and that feels useful.
Following your own advice requires trust, surrender, patience. Gross.
It means believing your future self will be grateful for the hard thing you’re doing now. And my future self is kind of a diva. So, it’s no surprise I procrastinate. That I scroll. That I rewrite. That I tell myself I’ll write more tomorrow.
The writing advice I give is usually solid. I just need to hear it like I’m someone else.
So maybe that’s the trick: when you’re stuck, ask what advice you’d give a friend in your situation. And then pretend you’re just someone who’s lucky enough to know you.
Because even con men know, confidence sells. And sometimes you’ve got to fake it until your own advice finally sticks.
So maybe that’s the lesson.
Advice is easy. Following it takes practice.
And when you catch yourself doing the exact thing you warned someone else not to do…just nod and smile. Maybe even write a blog post about it.
Related PostsAugust 7, 2025
The Dirty Truth About Smut
(Unless you’re thinking of corn fungus. In which case: wow, same page.)
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
“Smut” is a gloriously loaded word, half taboo, half wink, all marketing power. It’s the kind of term that makes people lean in or flinch…and both reactions are useful.
If you’re like me, the word smut probably makes you raise an eyebrow, or brace for a steamy scene. It’s one of those words that’s been so thoroughly claimed by the world of spicy fiction that I assumed it only meant…well, that.
So, imagine my surprise when I recently learned about corn smut.
Yes. That’s a real thing. Not a punchline. Not a euphemism. Not the name of a niche indie band. (Although that is going on my list of band names)
Meet Ustilago maydis
That’s the Latin name for corn smut, a fungus that infects corn kernels and turns them into bulbous, grayish-black growths that look like something out of a Guillermo del Toro film. In the U.S., farmers usually consider it a disease, a blight, a crop-wrecking horror.
But in Mexico?
It’s called huitlacoche and it’s considered a delicacy. Earthy, rich, almost truffle-like. You can sauté it. Put it in tacos. Fold it into quesadillas. It’s packed with amino acids, lysine, and culinary intrigue.
A Word with a Double Life
This got me thinking, smut has more than one life. More than two, even.
Here’s a brief tour of smut’s surprisingly diverse résumé:
Agriculture: Corn smut. Wheat smut. Sorghum smut. A family of fungal diseases that attack grains.Slang: Sexual content, often printed or broadcast. Sometimes cheeky, sometimes pejorative.Soot: Yes, soot. As in, “a smut of ash blew across the page.” (Dickens, anyone?)Pirate insult potential: “Ye filthy smut, swab the deck!” (Okay, maybe I made that one up. But it fits.)It’s fascinating how a single syllable can carry so much weight, from fungal cuisine to fanfiction, from ash to innuendo. It’s the kind of word that changes hats faster than a con artist at a Renaissance fair.
So What Do We Do With It?
Honestly? We embrace the weird.
Language is messy and wild and often hilarious. “Smut” might still get the most attention in romance hashtags, but it also reminds us that words evolve, and sometimes they loop back around and surprise us.
So the next time someone says, “I love smut,” you can smile and ask,
“Corn or Kindle?”
#amwriting #writing Unfetterred … July 31, 2025Finding Your Voice (Without Getting a Throat Injury)Or: how to sound like yourself without sounding like everyone else #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred … July 29, 2025How Do You Title a Novel Without Losing Your Mind?Seriously. If you know, please email me #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle I’ve finished four … July 24, 2025Transported to 1986 by a Song (A Look Back at a Look Back)Originally posted in 2019. Revisited with a little more grey hair—and maybe …
August 5, 2025
What Makes Good Writing? (Revisited Again)
Originally posted August 1, 2019 | Reflecting on a 2011 post
#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle
This reflection goes all the way back to January 26, 2011. And as I reread it now, I still think it’s mostly on the mark. Not long after writing that original post, I read Wired for Story by Lisa Cron, which added a new dimension to how I think about good writing, and more importantly, what makes a good book.
There’s a distinction here worth teasing out. Good writing and a good story aren’t always the same thing. You can have a novel with prose so crisp it crackles, yet the story leaves you cold. Or vice versa, you can stumble into something that’s clunky and awkward on the sentence level but still keeps you up all night turning pages. (Think Dan Brown)
According to Lisa Cron, it’s the story that wins. And honestly? I’ve found that to be true, up to a point. If the writing is truly bad, it becomes a speed bump (or a brick wall). But if the story is strong enough, most readers will forgive the occasional rough edge.
Of course, it’s still a gift when someone can turn a phrase so deftly it makes you stop and say, “Wow.” Laini Taylor comes to mind. Daughter of Smoke and Bone had some truly stunning prose in the first half. (The second half was a different vibe, but that’s a conversation for another post.)
Then again, some of my favorite moments as a reader are the ones where I realize I haven’t noticed the writing at all, because I was so immersed in the experience. That’s always my goal, for the prose to disappear and the story to take over.
I’m not convinced anyone can be taught to be a great writer, but you can absolutely learn the craft of writing. That’s the lifeline you cling to when the muse is off vacationing somewhere in the south of France. (Mine tends to disappear without leaving a forwarding address.) If you want to write for more than a hobby, you can’t wait around for inspiration. You need tools, habits, and a healthy disregard for your own excuses.
A while back I downloaded a free copy of The Last of the Mohicans on my iPhone Kindle app. I’d read the whole series in my younger years and remembered it being awe-inspiring. And the characters and setting are still impressive, but oh, the prose. Heavy. Overwrought. Dense enough to qualify as a new building material. From a modern author’s perspective, it’s hard to get through.
It made me wonder, has writing ruined reading for me?
I fly jets for a living, and commercial flights aren’t relaxing anymore. I know what every strange noise means. I know what shouldn’t be happening. It’s hard not to overanalyze. Reading’s a bit like that now. I notice craft. I spot structural issues. If the writing’s only so-so, my tolerance isn’t what it used to be. My Did Not Finish rate is out of whack now.
Would Cooper get published today? Probably not, not in that form. He’d get the classic “your characters are vivid, your setting is immersive, but this just doesn’t align with our editorial vision.” Translation: “Love the vibes, hate the prose.” But was he a poor writer? No. Context matters. The classics broke ground in their day, even if they don’t meet today’s expectations for clarity, pacing, or accessibility.
Language evolves. So do readers.
Today’s readers are more educated and live in a faster-paced world. We want our stories digestible and engaging, and preferably without a thesaurus. Most of us can recognize good prose when we see it, and I deeply appreciate it when an author makes me feel a scene rather than just read it. But even that is subjective. Some readers prize grammar and structure. Others want smooth readability and cinematic storytelling.
So…what sells?
Should that be part of your equation as a writer?
Maybe. Maybe not.
In the end, you have to write for you. Trying to squeeze your square novel into the round hole of traditional publishing, or trends, or expectations, is a recipe for frustration. Write what you love. Write in your voice. And if you don’t know what that voice is yet, don’t worry. You’ll find it.
2025 Update: Still True, Maybe Truer
Revisiting this post six years later, I find myself nodding along. The core truth still holds, voice and story are what last. Craft matters, but voice connects. And connection is what most readers are chasing, whether they know it or not.
I’ve read (and written) more since then. My tolerance for clunky prose? Still low. But I’ve also softened a bit. I’ve come to appreciate sincerity over style in certain moments. Sometimes a rough gem is still a gem. Sometimes the polish scrubs the soul right out of the story.
If you’re a writer, keep going. If you’re a reader, thank you. And if you’re both, welcome to the club. We have strong opinions and coffee stains on everything.
