Are There Any Sequels To Sons And Daughters?

I totally get wanting to read classics like 'Fathers and Sons' without breaking the bank! Project Gutenberg is my go-to for public domain works—they have a clean, easy-to-read version available since Turgenev's masterpiece is old enough to be free. I love how you can download it in multiple formats, too, like EPUB or Kindle. Another spot I’ve stumbled upon is LibriVox if you prefer audiobooks; volunteers narrate public domain books, and hearing the emotional tension between Bazarov and his dad in audio form adds a whole new layer. Just a heads-up, though: always double-check translations if you care about specific wording—some older translations feel a bit stiff compared to modern ones.

Reading 'Fathers and Sons' felt like peeling back layers of generational tension, where every argument between Bazarov and Pavel Petrovich crackled with ideological friction. The novel digs deep into nihilism versus tradition, but what struck me most wasn't just the clash—it was the loneliness beneath it. Bazarov's rejection of art, love, even his own parents' affection, left this hollow ache by the end. Turgenev doesn't pick sides; he just shows how both generations misunderstand each other tragically. And then there's Arkady, who starts as Bazarov's disciple but slowly drifts back to his roots. That arc hit hard—it mirrors how many of us rebel in youth only to reconcile later. The book's brilliance lies in its ambiguity; it asks if progress must mean burning bridges with the past, and whether that fire leaves anything worth keeping.

When my daughter went through a phase of collecting one series obsessively, I turned into a tiny detective to track down the exact volume she loved. First thing I did was keep it casual with her — I asked non-spoiler questions like which color the cover was, whether a certain character was on it, or if she remembered any words from the title. Kids will sometimes hide books or mix up volumes, so a quick chat can save a lot of hunting later. If she won’t say, I quietly checked any shelves, backpacks, or her bedside stack for a photo or part of the spine: that little barcode or the tiny publisher logo (things like Shueisha, Kodansha, VIZ) can be gold for searching online. Next I used a mix of visual and metadata searches. I took a clear photo of the cover and ran it through Google Lens and reverse image searches like TinEye; those often point straight to listings. For artwork identification, SauceNAO can be surprisingly precise if it’s a distinct cover illustration. If you can find the ISBN or the 13-digit book code on the spine, typing that straight into Amazon, BookFinder, or eBay usually gives the exact edition and volume. Sometimes series have omnibus editions or different numbering between Japanese and translated releases, so check whether the listing is a tankobon, bunkoban, or a US/UK edition. For digital options, I look at BookWalker, Kindle, ComiXology, and the publisher stores — VIZ Media and Kodansha USA often have official volume pages with cover images and ISBNs. Buying and practical tips: if price is the thing, used marketplaces like AbeBooks, Alibris, Mercari, and secondhand shops often carry older volumes for cheaper, but inspect seller photos carefully to avoid scuffs or missing pages. For out-of-print volumes, local comic shops or specialized online retailers sometimes have back-issue inventories. If you’d rather borrow, try your library’s catalog or apps like Libby/OverDrive, and consider requesting an interlibrary loan. Be mindful of fakes and scanlation dumps — I prefer steering purchases to official vendors so the creators get paid. Finally, set up wishlist alerts on major stores and ask your daughter casually about covers or favorite scenes the next time you’re cuddled up reading together; sometimes she’ll reveal the title with a smile, and the hunt turns into a fun little bonding mission rather than a scavenger hunt.

I get a little spark in my chest just thinking about this — putting your daughter's cartoon out into the wild is totally doable, but there are a few practical and legal hurdles you’ll want to clear first. I spent many late nights finishing edits and learning platform rules the hard way, so let me walk you through the map I wish I’d had when I started. First, pick the platforms that fit your goals. If you just want exposure and feedback, 'YouTube' (and 'YouTube Kids' if the content is strictly for very young children) is the fastest route — you can upload directly, build an audience, and test thumbnails and episode lengths. For selling or renting episodes, Amazon Prime Video Direct allows creators to submit films and series for purchase/rental and for Prime inclusion; it has quality and metadata requirements and pays based on hours streamed. If you want your show on smart-TV channels or free ad-supported services, you’ll usually go through distributors or aggregators (think services that place content on Roku channels, Tubi-like platforms, etc.). Vimeo On Demand is a nice middle ground for selling episodes directly to fans with nicer presentation and fewer platform ads. Now the boring-but-critical stuff: rights and legal forms. Register your copyright early so you can enforce it if needed. Secure music rights — both composition and master — unless every note is original or from a royalty-free library with clear sync/master permission. If your daughter appears on camera or provided voice acting, keep signed talent/release forms (and if she’s a minor you should document parental consent and any local child performers’ rules). Also be mindful of COPPA and platform-specific rules for kids’ content: platforms may restrict personalized ads or require content to be flagged as made for kids, which affects monetization and analytics. Finally, pay attention to technicals, discoverability, and promotion. Upload clean MP4s in common codecs (H.264), include closed captions/subtitles, create an eye-catching thumbnail and short trailer, and write a clear series description and tags. A small festival run or kids-content showcase can build buzz before wider release. Personally, I’d test one episode on 'YouTube' to gauge interest, then expand distribution once you have a few episodes and your legal base covered — and don’t forget to have fun with it; kids notice when a show has heart.

There are so many little lines mothers say that make perfect tattoos — short, punchy, and packed with meaning. I’ve always loved the idea of using something that sounds ordinary in a kitchen conversation but becomes a talisman when inked: things like 'You are my heart,' 'Always my girl,' or 'Go be brave.' Those three-word gems sit nicely on a wrist, behind an ear, or along a collarbone and read like a private reminder you can carry forever. If you want something a little more unique, dig into the way your mom actually talks. I once traced my mom’s handwriting on a napkin and had it turned into a small script tattoo; seeing her actual letters felt like a warm hug every time I glanced down. Quotes I’ve seen work beautifully in mom handwriting include: 'Not a day goes by,' 'You light my world,' 'Carry my love,' or 'My moon, my girl.' Tiny additions — a birthdate, tiny heart, or a matching semicolon — make it personal without overloading the line. Practical tips: choose shorter lines for small placements, avoid long cursive if you want long-term clarity (thin lines blur over decades), and try the quote as a temporary sticker to live with it for a month. I usually recommend testing different fonts and sizes on paper taped to the skin while you move and sleep; you’ll notice what irritates you. And if your mom said something iconic in another language or a family saying that only you two get, that’s gold — forever private and incredibly sentimental.

Watching you walk across that stage tomorrow is the kind of proud ache in my chest that I keep running my fingers over like a lucky coin. I want a note that says everything and nothing all at once — the years in a sentence, the future in a wink. Here are a bunch of mom-to-daughter lines you can pick or blend; I’ll toss in tiny tweaks so they feel personal rather than canned. 'To my daughter: you were my greatest homework, my favorite surprise, and the reason I learned to be brave. Keep shining.''This is only the dress rehearsal — the real show is the life you create. Break a leg, kiddo.''You were our smallest miracle and have become our fiercest joy. Education is your runway; fly.''You’ve packed your backpack with knowledge and kindness. Use both.''Remember, diplomas are paper. Character is what lasts — and yours is gold.''You made late nights and early mornings worth it. Congratulations on earning every bit.''There will be new mountains to climb. I’ll always be your base camp.''Go make mistakes that teach, take chances that expand, and call me when you need a snack.' If you want it shorter for a tiny card, try: 'So proud of the woman you’re becoming.' Or funny: 'Now you’re officially qualified to ignore my advice — but please don’t.' Sign it with something intimate: 'Love, Mom' or 'Always your biggest fan.' I like adding one line about a small ritual — a hug waiting at home, a celebratory coffee — because those little details are what she’ll remember more than any sentence.

Back when I first negotiated with a big academic/technical publisher I quickly learned that there’s no single, fixed royalty structure — it’s a patchwork based on book type, rights granted, and how much leverage you bring. For mainstream trade or professional books with Wiley, expect tiered print royalties somewhere in the neighborhood of 7.5%–12.5% of the list price or of net receipts for hardcover and slightly lower for paperback. Textbooks and technical manuals often use a net-receipts model: 10%–15% of the net proceeds is a reasonable ballpark, though initial rates can be lower for first-time or niche authors. E-book royalties are different; many publishers pay a percentage of net e‑book revenue (commonly 25%–35% of net), but sometimes it’s a flat split of the publisher’s receipts, so check the language carefully. On top of basic rates, most Wiley-style contracts have escalators — higher percentages once sales hit certain thresholds — and special clauses for subsidiary rights. For subrights (translations, foreign editions, anthologies), the publisher often takes a cut and passes a portion to the author; 50% of net income to the author on foreign or reprint income is common practice in the industry, though numbers vary. Audiobooks, coursepacks, and library licenses may follow their own formulas. Also watch for work-for-hire scenarios: some technical handbooks or corporate-commissioned pieces are paid as a flat fee with little or no ongoing royalty, so you lose resale upside. Practical tips from the trenches: always read the definitions (what is 'net receipts'? what deductions are allowed?), ask for clear accounting and audit rights, negotiate escalators that reward higher sales, and try to reserve reversion terms if sales fall below a threshold. If you care about translations or audio, negotiate those rights separately or secure a better split. If you don’t have an agent, use resources from the Authors Guild or Society of Authors for template clauses and comparable rates. Personally, having someone look over the contract saved me from accepting a net definition that gutted my ebook payments — small changes there can matter for the long tail of sales.

Wiley’s approach to open access for books is basically a menu of options rather than a single fixed policy, and I like that flexibility — it fits different kinds of projects and funding situations. For monographs and edited volumes, Wiley offers a true open access route (often called gold open access) where the entire book is published freely on Wiley Online Library under a Creative Commons license. That usually means the author or the author’s funder/institution pays a book processing charge (BPC), though the exact price depends on the title and the list price, so you have to check Wiley’s current fee schedule or ask your editor. In many cases publishers will allow different CC flavors (CC-BY is common for funder compliance, but other CC variants may be possible depending on requirements and negotiations). If you’re an author who can’t or won’t pay a BPC, there are other routes. Wiley allows authors to put preprints on personal or institutional repositories in most cases (posting the accepted manuscript may be subject to an embargo for some book types), and they sometimes permit individual chapters to be made open within an otherwise subscription book. Those chapter-level OA options are handy for edited volumes: a funder can pay for a single chapter, which is then published OA while the rest of the volume remains behind paywall. Institutional transformative agreements — those “read-and-publish” deals many universities make with Wiley — can also cover book OA fees, so check with your library; if your institution has a Wiley deal, it might reduce or eliminate the upfront cost to you. From a reader’s perspective the good part is discoverability and permanence: Wiley puts OA books on Wiley Online Library with DOIs, good metadata, and indexing so they show up in discovery services. For librarians there are COUNTER usage stats and perpetual access terms to consider. Practical tips I’ve learned: read Wiley’s author guidelines early, confirm allowable licenses with your funder, ask your institution about transformative agreements, and always email the Wiley contact listed for your book to negotiate specifics like embargoes or chapter-level OA. I’ve seen projects transformed when a single institutional agreement covered the BPC — it’s worth checking, especially if you’re nursing a grant schedule or trying to meet a funder’s open access mandate.