I will tell you a story. A story told to me by the oldest among us, who heard it when they were the youngest. A story that has been passed from father to son, from mother to daughter to assure that we would remember. That we would remember the first of us.
Before the time of countries and empires, before the time when men drew lines and divided themselves based power and greed, there was just the sand and those who roamed it. Our kind were merely wanderers on the expanse of the unknown, at the mercies of the essence of the universe. It is said, in those days, the old gods wandered the world as well, entertaining themselves at our expense. For they held wisdom far beyond our own and viewed our kind as no more than ignorant beasts that roamed about the land aimlessly. No purpose, no destination. We plodded toward nothing under the burning sun and the hot sand.
As the story goes, there was one who had but a wick of cleverness inside of him. A mere twinkle in his mind that was barely there. However, this was enough to set him apart from the rest of those who understood nothing. To make him a favorite for the old gods to tease and torment. Because unlike the rest, this one was able to comprehend that he had been fooled. And the old gods loved nothing more than to see him stomp around in anger upon realization that he had been tricked by them, yet again.
On a certain day, Ageon, the Trickster, and Taul, the Snake, decided that they would play the most elaborate of tricks upon their favored victim. They would invite this one to the Oasis and fool him into thinking he too could become one of them. An old god, never to be seen as just a beast again. All he had to do was perform a few simple tasks. Once he too was a god, they would never tease him again. They came to the one and with a silvered tongue and a few swaying words, The Trickster and The Snake easily convinced the one that he could become an old god.
For days, these two ordered him around, treating him like he was nothing more than their personal slave. They made him fetch their clothes, their food, bring them water, do their tasks, and whatever else they could think of for him to do. Both chuckled as they saw how happily the one did these things, thinking he was going to attain a status same as theirs. They made him entertain them with song and dance. And even made him recite stories for the other old gods, so they could see just how well the ruse was going.
After many days of performing these tasks, the one asked just how much longer it would take before he became like the rest of them.
"You foolish being," The Trickster replied, "Have you not realized by now that this is all a joke? You could never become one of us. You have fallen for another one of our tricks yet again."
The old gods waited to see how the one would react. Surprisingly, he did not fume, he did not stomp around as he normally did. He did not jump up and down, scream, shout and yell. He left with not a single word. The old gods were disappointed. All this work into this elaborate hoax and nothing to show for it. Perhaps this was a prank that he did not understand. Next time they would have to try something more watered down.
As before, the old gods searched for the one who had the small bit of understanding inside of him, but he could not be found. For many months, he did not appear, as if the sands had swallowed him in the middle of the night. Rumors said that he had walked to his death at the place where the sun met the sand. The Snake and The Trickster set out to find him, expecting that they had shattered a fragile mind and were eager to view the aftermath. Days they walked under blistering sun and glistening moon. Finally the came across an oasis, in the place where the sun met the sand. The mouths fell open in response to what they saw.
It was styled much like their own, except populated by the ignorant beasts they had looked down upon. Top to bottom, left to right, it was replica of the home of the old gods. The people no longer milled about idly. Instead each had a flicker of purpose to their being. They worked toward an end. There was productivity to their actions. And in the midst of them was he whom they had tricked.
"What is this that you have done?" they asked, shocked by what they were seeing.
"You said if I did everything you asked, I would become a god like you," he replied, "When I could not become one of yours, I decided I would take what I learned and become theirs."
And so was the beginning of us, the flourishing of our people and the slow fade of the old gods from this place.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Daily Write- Destroy me
She wrecked me and I let her. I let her run me, ruin me, take everything and turn it inside out. I did it because I was incapable of saying no to her. I let it happen, because, in the midst of it was the only time I felt something outside of continuous monotony that is the rest of this world.
Holding her was like standing in fire. Amazed by the intensely colored blaze, you are destroyed by it moments later. But those seconds I had her within the grasp of these scarred hands, no words could I fathom to put together. I would do it all again to be so close to something so dangerous. If only to relive the ephemeral moments where I could feel my very soul shutter inside of my body. That is what she did to me.
She reached inside of my chest with those dainty manicured fingers and pulled out my heart, proving to me two things. I could feel love and I could feel pain. I saw that I was alive, if only a moment's time. And in that moment, she controlled everything. And I let her. With a smile on my face.
She destroyed everything in her wake. Breaking everything I ever was into the smallest of fragments. And as fast as she appeared, she disappeared, like a terrible nightmare that no one would believe I had. But I would let her do it again, because never have I ever felt so alive.
Holding her was like standing in fire. Amazed by the intensely colored blaze, you are destroyed by it moments later. But those seconds I had her within the grasp of these scarred hands, no words could I fathom to put together. I would do it all again to be so close to something so dangerous. If only to relive the ephemeral moments where I could feel my very soul shutter inside of my body. That is what she did to me.
She reached inside of my chest with those dainty manicured fingers and pulled out my heart, proving to me two things. I could feel love and I could feel pain. I saw that I was alive, if only a moment's time. And in that moment, she controlled everything. And I let her. With a smile on my face.
She destroyed everything in her wake. Breaking everything I ever was into the smallest of fragments. And as fast as she appeared, she disappeared, like a terrible nightmare that no one would believe I had. But I would let her do it again, because never have I ever felt so alive.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Daily Write - Cigarettes
No one understood why I was with him. And no, logically it didn't make any sense. He was the epitome of a man going no where and I was driven by every ambition one could dream up. But looking back on it, that is probably the reason why I wanted to be with him in the first place.
I remember the moment I met him. Honestly, I didn't think he was real. It felt like he had pulled from the pages of a novice's screen play, trying to create the perfect bad boy persona, complete with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a odd tattoo on the side of his neck. He had no interest in anyone around him. And if he did, it was fleeting at best. He was perfectly content chaining smoking on the terrace, his glazed over eyes simply watching the people milling by. Not the people at the party, but the people below on the sidewalk, in their cars, or entering the buildings across the street. No, the party was just a source of free booze for him. And the host was a friend, so he was obligated to show up.
He would come inside only to grab another drink, quickly finish up the small talk and hand shakes he was forced into, and make his way back out onto the terrace. I was one of the few who was shoved in his face during his infrequent appearance amidst the rest of us party goers. I could see it in his face. The moment I left his sight he would forget everything that had left my lips. So I didn't waste his time. I smiled, shook his hand, kissed his cheek and let him go back to his solitary bliss. I never thought we would ever see each other again after that night. I was wrong.
Many parties, drinks and cigarettes later, I did see him again. Things had changed and this time it was me trying to get away from everyone and everything else. My life had become a series of loud noises, chaos and the overwhelm swirl of always chasing after something. I just wanted to get away from everything. But I didn't know how. He saw me. I saw him. We didn't say anything. He simply walked over and handed me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke."
"That's a shame. Let's change that."
We puffed away, watching people together in silence, huddled in a dark corner of that noisy room, flocked with bad dancers, drinking games, and bass so loud the floor vibrated under my feet. With his cigarette finished and glass drained, he stood up and grabbed my hand. And though I had no idea where he was taking me, I simply went. Why? I don't know. And I still don't.
In all the time I have been around him, I never see him rush. I never see him worry. I do not believe he even owns an alarm clock. I don't know where he goes in the morning, because he doesn't know either until he gets there. And he is simply content with just that. He chases after nothing, just merely exists from one day to the next. He is bound by and bound to nothing. And while most talk about doing what I would deem outrageous, he simply does it.
Why am I with him? It is because I am jealous of him. It is because I live vicariously through his disconnection with everything that we feel is "important". I am with him because I want to be him. And the closest I can get is to sit on balconies and smoke while watching others mill about below me.
I remember the moment I met him. Honestly, I didn't think he was real. It felt like he had pulled from the pages of a novice's screen play, trying to create the perfect bad boy persona, complete with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a odd tattoo on the side of his neck. He had no interest in anyone around him. And if he did, it was fleeting at best. He was perfectly content chaining smoking on the terrace, his glazed over eyes simply watching the people milling by. Not the people at the party, but the people below on the sidewalk, in their cars, or entering the buildings across the street. No, the party was just a source of free booze for him. And the host was a friend, so he was obligated to show up.
He would come inside only to grab another drink, quickly finish up the small talk and hand shakes he was forced into, and make his way back out onto the terrace. I was one of the few who was shoved in his face during his infrequent appearance amidst the rest of us party goers. I could see it in his face. The moment I left his sight he would forget everything that had left my lips. So I didn't waste his time. I smiled, shook his hand, kissed his cheek and let him go back to his solitary bliss. I never thought we would ever see each other again after that night. I was wrong.
Many parties, drinks and cigarettes later, I did see him again. Things had changed and this time it was me trying to get away from everyone and everything else. My life had become a series of loud noises, chaos and the overwhelm swirl of always chasing after something. I just wanted to get away from everything. But I didn't know how. He saw me. I saw him. We didn't say anything. He simply walked over and handed me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke."
"That's a shame. Let's change that."
We puffed away, watching people together in silence, huddled in a dark corner of that noisy room, flocked with bad dancers, drinking games, and bass so loud the floor vibrated under my feet. With his cigarette finished and glass drained, he stood up and grabbed my hand. And though I had no idea where he was taking me, I simply went. Why? I don't know. And I still don't.
In all the time I have been around him, I never see him rush. I never see him worry. I do not believe he even owns an alarm clock. I don't know where he goes in the morning, because he doesn't know either until he gets there. And he is simply content with just that. He chases after nothing, just merely exists from one day to the next. He is bound by and bound to nothing. And while most talk about doing what I would deem outrageous, he simply does it.
Why am I with him? It is because I am jealous of him. It is because I live vicariously through his disconnection with everything that we feel is "important". I am with him because I want to be him. And the closest I can get is to sit on balconies and smoke while watching others mill about below me.
Podcast #4 has gone live!
Yep, loaded, posted and linked, the newest installment of Frankie and Desna Do Anime has gone up over on UnSung Heroes. I do believe that I sound like I have a cold. But I don't remember feeling like I had a cold. Next podcast, I'm dosing myself with Vitamin C a few days before it is time to record.
It was pretty short this month due to a few things. The story was pretty straight forward, so there wasn't too much to dig into. Secondly, the anime was short, so there was only so much you could say about it. It felt pretty quick when we were recording and even more so after I edited it. But it was better to keep it short and sweet rather than drag it out when nothing was there.
So yeah, click the link. Enjoy the podcast.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Daily Write - She died waiting for you
Last night, I decided that I was going to try and write something every day. And being the person that I am, I always like to take what I have created and stick it on the proverbial fridge. So it looks like this blog is going to be the refrigerator door. These will probably be the only blog posts that I tweet about, only because I am making them to be entertaining. All the rest are just the ramblings that dance around in my skull. Alright, so here it goes.
The tension, heavy like the mugginess after a summer rain, hung through out the entire hall. Every man could feel it weighing baring down on his shoulders. Anger, outrage, all bottled up in these soldiers' bodies, causing them to clamp their mouths closed and grind their teeth against each other. But no one said a word. All sat silent in that thick of emotions, letting it gnaw at them.
But even in silence and in the midst of averted eyes, Evan knew that all this animosity was directed at him and his men. The disgust and loathing was directed only at those who wore the Silver Rose over there armor. And yet no one would utter a word as to why. The situation at hand was already dire as it was. The small coalition of troops only hung together by a thread and paper thin truce. This hatred threatened to severe the only thing keeping it together.
There was a shuffling coming from the doors that lead into this large hall. It was followed by murmuring and whispers that swelled louder and louder as the it spread like fire through dry kindling. However it was not loud enough to drown out the heavy foot falls of the man who slowly made his way through the throng of soldiers. He kept his head down, dark hair covering his eyes. And like the rest, anger and rage exuded from his being, almost a visible aura around his person. He stopped only a few feet short of where Evan was standing.
"Everyone had given up on you," he started, his voice more of a low gravelly growl than a voice, "We had all resigned that we were going to die in that battle, waiting for you and your men to show up. But not her. She kept insisting that you would be here, we only had to hold on just a little bit longer."
The strained words escaping from pursed lips caused the other men to stir in their seats and shift about where they stood. They knew what he was talking about. How she had rallied them, tried to give them hope despite everyone knowing it was useless to continue on. Defeat was inevitable, it was only a matter of when.
"She believed in you. She made us believe in you. She made me believe in you, despite the fact I knew better."
Evan stood in front of this dark haired man, not letting his face change.
"I want to speak with her," Evan said.
The man's fists tightened in response to Evan's request. And, almost in an instant, he sprang forward, colliding into Evan and knocking him to the ground. The soldiers all jumped to their feet, some trying to break up fights and others wanting the start them. The room had instantaneously devolved into a chaotic brawl, spanning from the door the wall, only to stopped by the earsplitting crack of a rifle shot. Evan lay on the ground as the dark haired man was pulled off him and restrained by three others.
"You made me lie to her!" he shouted towards Evan, the long hair not able to hide the tears that were streaming down the sides of his face, "You made it so the last thing I ever said to her was a lie! You left us out there to be slaughtered and I had to tell her...I had to tell her..."
His voice was lost behind clenched teeth as he bit back the bitter sobs that choked him. That had been choking him ever since it happened. Evan picked himself up very slowly. She was dead? It did not seem real. Evan did not open his mouth to speak. What could he say? With a blank and dumbstruck countenance, Evan simply turned and started to head out of the hall.
"She died waiting for you to be a hero!" the man shouted, a seething rage stemming from bitter agony still shaking in his voice, "Her blood is on your head!"
Evan slowed his step, but did not turn around, "I know."
The tension, heavy like the mugginess after a summer rain, hung through out the entire hall. Every man could feel it weighing baring down on his shoulders. Anger, outrage, all bottled up in these soldiers' bodies, causing them to clamp their mouths closed and grind their teeth against each other. But no one said a word. All sat silent in that thick of emotions, letting it gnaw at them.
But even in silence and in the midst of averted eyes, Evan knew that all this animosity was directed at him and his men. The disgust and loathing was directed only at those who wore the Silver Rose over there armor. And yet no one would utter a word as to why. The situation at hand was already dire as it was. The small coalition of troops only hung together by a thread and paper thin truce. This hatred threatened to severe the only thing keeping it together.
There was a shuffling coming from the doors that lead into this large hall. It was followed by murmuring and whispers that swelled louder and louder as the it spread like fire through dry kindling. However it was not loud enough to drown out the heavy foot falls of the man who slowly made his way through the throng of soldiers. He kept his head down, dark hair covering his eyes. And like the rest, anger and rage exuded from his being, almost a visible aura around his person. He stopped only a few feet short of where Evan was standing.
"Everyone had given up on you," he started, his voice more of a low gravelly growl than a voice, "We had all resigned that we were going to die in that battle, waiting for you and your men to show up. But not her. She kept insisting that you would be here, we only had to hold on just a little bit longer."
The strained words escaping from pursed lips caused the other men to stir in their seats and shift about where they stood. They knew what he was talking about. How she had rallied them, tried to give them hope despite everyone knowing it was useless to continue on. Defeat was inevitable, it was only a matter of when.
"She believed in you. She made us believe in you. She made me believe in you, despite the fact I knew better."
Evan stood in front of this dark haired man, not letting his face change.
"I want to speak with her," Evan said.
The man's fists tightened in response to Evan's request. And, almost in an instant, he sprang forward, colliding into Evan and knocking him to the ground. The soldiers all jumped to their feet, some trying to break up fights and others wanting the start them. The room had instantaneously devolved into a chaotic brawl, spanning from the door the wall, only to stopped by the earsplitting crack of a rifle shot. Evan lay on the ground as the dark haired man was pulled off him and restrained by three others.
"You made me lie to her!" he shouted towards Evan, the long hair not able to hide the tears that were streaming down the sides of his face, "You made it so the last thing I ever said to her was a lie! You left us out there to be slaughtered and I had to tell her...I had to tell her..."
His voice was lost behind clenched teeth as he bit back the bitter sobs that choked him. That had been choking him ever since it happened. Evan picked himself up very slowly. She was dead? It did not seem real. Evan did not open his mouth to speak. What could he say? With a blank and dumbstruck countenance, Evan simply turned and started to head out of the hall.
"She died waiting for you to be a hero!" the man shouted, a seething rage stemming from bitter agony still shaking in his voice, "Her blood is on your head!"
Evan slowed his step, but did not turn around, "I know."
Sunday, March 27, 2011
I'm cheating at art.
I don't usually talk about my art attempts on this blog. I usually save that for my DA account. However, I have decided to spread the love around a bit and talk about some art stuff here. I might get rambly at the end. You have been warned :P
One of the things that I wanted to do was draw characters in some really cool clothes. Whether it is an awesome set of armor, a really pretty dress, a punkish outfit, whatever it may be. I just wanted it to be awesome. The problem...I don't draw bodies that well. This weekend I slated three sketches for myself. Two are "cheats" and the third is not.
I talked to my sister about how I wanted to draw more clothing, but drawing the actual body was a problem. Being a fashion design graduate, she introduced me to tracing croquois. It is basically just a body online and then I can draw clothes on top of it. So I went online and downloaded a number of poses that I liked (both male and female) and stuffed them in my sketch book. Friday night I pulled a few out and used them (while watching Lartist At Work, of course).
I feel like I'm not really drawing when I do this. Like I am passing off someone else's art as my own. Not sure why I feel so guilty about using croquois. All the rest of the art is mine. The clothes, the coloring, everything else. Oh well. I just soothe my guilt by telling myself that this is only until I can do body poses better. But back to clothes...
Now I am trying to figure out interesting looks and things like that. This has lead to me buying fashion mags. Can you believe it? Me with fashion mags? I can't really believe it either. But it gives me ideas on what style of clothes I like and how clothes fit on the body. And see how people pair things together. Not just articles of clothing, but accessories and color palates as well. I feel like my brain is very slow when it comes to things of that nature. Probably the reason why I wear a lot of t-shirts and jeans.
I'll get their one day. I'm going to fret at this point. I'm getting better, so I keep plugging away at it.
One of the things that I wanted to do was draw characters in some really cool clothes. Whether it is an awesome set of armor, a really pretty dress, a punkish outfit, whatever it may be. I just wanted it to be awesome. The problem...I don't draw bodies that well. This weekend I slated three sketches for myself. Two are "cheats" and the third is not.
I talked to my sister about how I wanted to draw more clothing, but drawing the actual body was a problem. Being a fashion design graduate, she introduced me to tracing croquois. It is basically just a body online and then I can draw clothes on top of it. So I went online and downloaded a number of poses that I liked (both male and female) and stuffed them in my sketch book. Friday night I pulled a few out and used them (while watching Lartist At Work, of course).
I feel like I'm not really drawing when I do this. Like I am passing off someone else's art as my own. Not sure why I feel so guilty about using croquois. All the rest of the art is mine. The clothes, the coloring, everything else. Oh well. I just soothe my guilt by telling myself that this is only until I can do body poses better. But back to clothes...
Now I am trying to figure out interesting looks and things like that. This has lead to me buying fashion mags. Can you believe it? Me with fashion mags? I can't really believe it either. But it gives me ideas on what style of clothes I like and how clothes fit on the body. And see how people pair things together. Not just articles of clothing, but accessories and color palates as well. I feel like my brain is very slow when it comes to things of that nature. Probably the reason why I wear a lot of t-shirts and jeans.
I'll get their one day. I'm going to fret at this point. I'm getting better, so I keep plugging away at it.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Rambling about poems
I really should have a point to a blog before I write it, however I don't this time. So I am hoping to ramble myself to point before this is over with.
I have never been much of a poet honestly. I tried my hand at it when I was younger. In the beginning, it was mostly just angsty teen dribble trying it's best to be deep and soul searching. Then I just used it as an outlet to get out everything inside of me that I just couldn't seem to say to anyone else. Now I want it to be more. I want the words to be stirring and poignant and not just something that I scribbled down in a moment's time.
I am not looking for anything deep and mind bending. But I want to write something that leaves a mark after a person is done reading it. Even if it is only a grain of emotion that was brought out, that would make me happy. Honestly, I am kind of tired of reading poetry that feels like it fits inside of Hallmark cards or are several feel good bumper stickers that are plastered together make a few stanzas. I want something more.
I want it to tell me a story, to take me on a journey, to lead me to place that I have never been before. I don't want to hear about puppy love or how it is going to be okay in the end or how pretty the park was today. I want to be taken somewhere else. Somewhere that has been thought about. A place that has been well constructed with words that were picked for a purpose. I am looking for something that goes beyond the sugary sweet surface of what poetry seems to mean to most and gets to the meat where real poetry; and the poets who write it; resides.
But like it always seems to be, I make up the minority. No one wants to take this trip with me. They are happy with just the fringes and beginnings of what poetry could be, patting themselves on the back for crafting their holiday card work. But I can't be happy with this. There is more, there is better, and as long as I know that I can't be satisfied.
I'm not looking for anything overworked and cluttered with florid language and words that no one can pronounce. But what I am looking for is a different view. A way to write something that gives an impression, a strong one, that resonates with the person who reads it. Perhaps I am reaching too far, but I have never been one to keep it simple. I can only hope that one day I can look at poem I have written and realize that I have finally gotten what I wanted.
I have never been much of a poet honestly. I tried my hand at it when I was younger. In the beginning, it was mostly just angsty teen dribble trying it's best to be deep and soul searching. Then I just used it as an outlet to get out everything inside of me that I just couldn't seem to say to anyone else. Now I want it to be more. I want the words to be stirring and poignant and not just something that I scribbled down in a moment's time.
I am not looking for anything deep and mind bending. But I want to write something that leaves a mark after a person is done reading it. Even if it is only a grain of emotion that was brought out, that would make me happy. Honestly, I am kind of tired of reading poetry that feels like it fits inside of Hallmark cards or are several feel good bumper stickers that are plastered together make a few stanzas. I want something more.
I want it to tell me a story, to take me on a journey, to lead me to place that I have never been before. I don't want to hear about puppy love or how it is going to be okay in the end or how pretty the park was today. I want to be taken somewhere else. Somewhere that has been thought about. A place that has been well constructed with words that were picked for a purpose. I am looking for something that goes beyond the sugary sweet surface of what poetry seems to mean to most and gets to the meat where real poetry; and the poets who write it; resides.
But like it always seems to be, I make up the minority. No one wants to take this trip with me. They are happy with just the fringes and beginnings of what poetry could be, patting themselves on the back for crafting their holiday card work. But I can't be happy with this. There is more, there is better, and as long as I know that I can't be satisfied.
I'm not looking for anything overworked and cluttered with florid language and words that no one can pronounce. But what I am looking for is a different view. A way to write something that gives an impression, a strong one, that resonates with the person who reads it. Perhaps I am reaching too far, but I have never been one to keep it simple. I can only hope that one day I can look at poem I have written and realize that I have finally gotten what I wanted.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
A Night of Hope
I can't tell you how I found out about Joel Osteen. One day I didn't know he existed and the next day I did. He was different. A very quiet personality, a big smile on his face all the time. He just seemed to be a very mild mannered person. I liked him. As the years past and I watched more of his sermons on television and I listened to them on internet, the more I wanted to actually see him in person. And last night, I was able to do that.
I do not think it is possible to put last night into words, but I am going to give it my best shot. It was exactly what they said it would be: a night of hope. Many times, people (myself included) go through things that make us want to give up on our aspirations and goals. We tell ourselves that it was a pipe dream anyway. Or we simply settle for less because for one reason or another, we have talked ourselves into believing that is all we can attain. But last night, it was just the opposite. The theme became we shouldn't give up, we shouldn't settle for less, it's not over.
It was basically a night of restoring hope and faith in whatever it was that we had lost hope and faith in. And letting go of whatever negative thoughts and feelings we had concerning our situation. I know, it is a rather simplistic synopsis of how 3 hours were spent, but sometimes it is the simple things that cause the greatest change. I left feeling inspired and recharged. In spite of anything that may have happened to me in the past, I will be fine. My life, my dreams, my aspirations are still intact. And I can be happy.
I do not think it is possible to put last night into words, but I am going to give it my best shot. It was exactly what they said it would be: a night of hope. Many times, people (myself included) go through things that make us want to give up on our aspirations and goals. We tell ourselves that it was a pipe dream anyway. Or we simply settle for less because for one reason or another, we have talked ourselves into believing that is all we can attain. But last night, it was just the opposite. The theme became we shouldn't give up, we shouldn't settle for less, it's not over.
It was basically a night of restoring hope and faith in whatever it was that we had lost hope and faith in. And letting go of whatever negative thoughts and feelings we had concerning our situation. I know, it is a rather simplistic synopsis of how 3 hours were spent, but sometimes it is the simple things that cause the greatest change. I left feeling inspired and recharged. In spite of anything that may have happened to me in the past, I will be fine. My life, my dreams, my aspirations are still intact. And I can be happy.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Gotta bring my A game
I have said it before and I will say it again, anyone who challenges me in the arena of writing and roleplay has my utmost respect. I'm not saying that in a "I am the best" tone. Rather I am saying it in a "I have found someone who inspires me to do better" tone. And no one is throwing down that gauntlet like House Silvacce. Yes, this is another WoW post. I should have warned you ahead of time. However the end of this post will be non-WoW, so just hang in there.
There have been a number of roleplayers who want to play the hardened, icy, cold female role. But it always comes down the same thing. The character turns into a bitch. No two ways about it. The character always becomes the squawky, condescending, everyone rolls their eyes at, bitch that you are supposed to be afraid of. And maybe sometimes you are, but more often than not, you just find them tiring. You can throw a stone in any direction and hit 7 bitches and that is in an empty building. But last night, I saw how an ice queen should be done. So cheers to House Silvacce for dazzling me...again.
This character didn't really have to say much of anything. It was the mannerisms and lack of words that scared the piss out of me. Out of -me-, not my character. I was literally sitting behind my computer screen thinking "Jesus, this is one scary lady". That is how I want to play an ice queen. Not some screeching harpy full of piss and vinegar with her finger in everyone's face. These guys are really making me take it back to the drawing board and thinking my character out all over again.
And it's the subtleties that get me. The refinement of the roleplay. Yes the lines are great, but there is something extra in the mannerisms and word choice that really sells what's happening. That is the level I want to be on.
So the non-WoW part. The person who is going to be the one I chase from now until one of us dies (and probably in the after life as well) is Phil Roland. He writes better loaded than I do on my finest day. The way he expresses such mundane things blows my mind. And his imagery (though bleak, dreary, and down right depressing) is something that I want to emulate. I have no idea how he thinks things like that. Maybe it's the booze. But I read his blog (philroland.tumblr.com) and know that I have so much work to do when it comes to my writing.
So yes, headed back to the lab again, making my okay good and my good better.
There have been a number of roleplayers who want to play the hardened, icy, cold female role. But it always comes down the same thing. The character turns into a bitch. No two ways about it. The character always becomes the squawky, condescending, everyone rolls their eyes at, bitch that you are supposed to be afraid of. And maybe sometimes you are, but more often than not, you just find them tiring. You can throw a stone in any direction and hit 7 bitches and that is in an empty building. But last night, I saw how an ice queen should be done. So cheers to House Silvacce for dazzling me...again.
This character didn't really have to say much of anything. It was the mannerisms and lack of words that scared the piss out of me. Out of -me-, not my character. I was literally sitting behind my computer screen thinking "Jesus, this is one scary lady". That is how I want to play an ice queen. Not some screeching harpy full of piss and vinegar with her finger in everyone's face. These guys are really making me take it back to the drawing board and thinking my character out all over again.
And it's the subtleties that get me. The refinement of the roleplay. Yes the lines are great, but there is something extra in the mannerisms and word choice that really sells what's happening. That is the level I want to be on.
So the non-WoW part. The person who is going to be the one I chase from now until one of us dies (and probably in the after life as well) is Phil Roland. He writes better loaded than I do on my finest day. The way he expresses such mundane things blows my mind. And his imagery (though bleak, dreary, and down right depressing) is something that I want to emulate. I have no idea how he thinks things like that. Maybe it's the booze. But I read his blog (philroland.tumblr.com) and know that I have so much work to do when it comes to my writing.
So yes, headed back to the lab again, making my okay good and my good better.
What I do online
So it dawned on me that perhaps people who are looking at my blog, do not know about the other things that I do via the interwebs. I am going to use this blog post to shamelessly plug my other online projects that are out there in obscurity.
Almost a year ago (it will actually be a full year next month...wow, time flies) I was allowed on the writing staff of a website called UnSung Heroes. (www.the-ush.com) I have no idea why they let me join there staff. But I'm there now and there is no getting rid of me. There, I write a monthly article reviewing webcomics. This was something that I wanted to do for a long time, I just didn't have the platform for it. Enter in the USH and I was given one. I really like sharing something I have an interest in with others. And it makes me really happy when I get the occasional comment of "I'm going to go and read this now. This comic looks awesome!"
So if you guys want to read my articles (and the others not written by me, of course), you can do several things. You can click the link above and look for the Click Here for Comics articles (Comic review section). You click this link for my latest review of FreakAngels or you can follow Unsung Heroes on Twitter (www.twitter.com/the_ush) for article updates. My articles come out every 2nd Tuesday of the month.
On top of that, I do an anime podcast. (Oh yes, the dork is definitely coming out now.) This is also posted on UnSung Heroes. I got the idea to do this because I'm always talking about anime with my sister (who is the co-host) anyway. So we might as well record ourselves talking. I found us to be entertaining, so we gave podcasting a shot. This is a newer venture, so there aren't as many podcasts as review articles. But you can listen to our thoughts on Black Cat by clicking on the link. The podcasts are going to be up on the last week of every month. I haven't hammered down a specific day yet. And again, you can watch the USH Twitter for updates.
So those are the only things that I do on the internet with any seriousness. Everything else is just spamming forums with my random thoughts on random topics and writing. Nothing anyone wants to see. So there you go blog lookers. More of me if you want it :D
Monday, March 7, 2011
My lament over having no television.
This whole no television thing sucks monkey balls. However, I know that it is probably the best thing for me at this point in my life. (Sucks being so adult). Back in February, my cable modem/box deaie just decided it didn't want to work any more. I thought, "Hey, this is great. This will force me to downgrade and give up television. Now I will have time to do all the things that I need to get done." And while this is very very true, I still miss having television.
I look at the empty black screen with longing, remembering all the shows that I used to watch. And then remembering all the basketball games that I will be missing now that I can't turn it on. Like a phantom limb, I go to turn it on when I sit on my couch and then remember that I will only be greeted with a blue screen.
However, amazingly, it seems like I have more hours in the day. Yesterday, I literally sat on my couch and could not figure out what to do with myself. There were several hours before I could reasonably go to bed and I had absolutely nothing I could think of doing to fill the time with. I was...dare I say it...bored. Don't get me wrong, there was plenty that I could have done, but none as mindless as turning on the television and letting it suck my time away without me even noticing it was happening.
I am not sure when I am going to get used to being without television. When the reflexive reach for the remote will go away. And when I will fill my days with doing things that are much more constructive. But until that moment happens, I can only say that right now things suck. I miss the endless noise that came from my television. Why did I ever think this was a great idea?
I look at the empty black screen with longing, remembering all the shows that I used to watch. And then remembering all the basketball games that I will be missing now that I can't turn it on. Like a phantom limb, I go to turn it on when I sit on my couch and then remember that I will only be greeted with a blue screen.
However, amazingly, it seems like I have more hours in the day. Yesterday, I literally sat on my couch and could not figure out what to do with myself. There were several hours before I could reasonably go to bed and I had absolutely nothing I could think of doing to fill the time with. I was...dare I say it...bored. Don't get me wrong, there was plenty that I could have done, but none as mindless as turning on the television and letting it suck my time away without me even noticing it was happening.
I am not sure when I am going to get used to being without television. When the reflexive reach for the remote will go away. And when I will fill my days with doing things that are much more constructive. But until that moment happens, I can only say that right now things suck. I miss the endless noise that came from my television. Why did I ever think this was a great idea?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Hunters aren't half bad.
I was not sure if I would like being a hunter. It is ranged DPS, just like a mage (which I was trying to get away from), now I just have heavier armor. Don't get me wrong, I like the leather upgrade, but I was not entirely sure if the hunter was going to be a fit.
Well after getting up to level 43, I can safely say that the hunter class is not bad at all. I wanted to be different and not have a cat pet (because for some reason it feels like everyone has a cat as a pet.) so I tried to think of a pet that I don't see a lot of. And after looking at WoW Petopia for a while, I decided on a turtle. Yep, a turtle. I'm sure that others have turtles because it is a good tanking pet (so I have heard) but I don't see a lot of them. And at this point, I was tired of looking at my dragonhawk. I'm not going to get rid of him. I think it might be a good rp pet. However, I won't be questing with it any more. Now it is going to be me and Boomer. (I think that is an awesome name for a pet turtle)
However, I have this feeling that my heart lies with a warrior. It is time to stop being a ranged fighter and just run up and wail on things. Part of me wants to make something totally different aside from a BE, because I don't think I can do the same quests over again. That would drive me insane. I am thinking troll, just because they have an interesting look. Or I could go undead. I played a bit of their starting area and it was pretty awesome. Plus, I think roleplaying an undead could be fun. We shall see.
But for now, I am enjoying being a hunter and having a pet. Just that a turtle is more of a pain to feed than a dragonhawk. Really? You don't eat meat? It's good for you.
Doodles
Not quite sure why I always feel the need to draw something difficult. I don't see why I can't just sketch something simple. So last night, I tried to something that was just that. Simple and easy to do. I decided to draw a goomba. Ah yes, that brings back memories, doesn't it? Jumping on those little fanged mushrooms that must have hated their lives, seeing how much they were scowling all the time. It was quick, it was fun and it wasn't something that made me throw my pencils at walls. (Which I tend to do from time to time).
I recently went out and bought some ink and brushes. Not quite sure when I am going to get around to inking like that, but I am hoping that it is in the near future. I heard something from the webcartoonist, Spike (Templar, Az) that made a lot of sense to me. She is now doing ink washes for her strip and she basically said that she was prepared to mess up what she had drawn with her ink wash. I suppose my problem is that I hate messing up. But to expect perfection when I'm new at it, is sort of ridiculous. I should probably just make little sketches and play around with the inks. If I mess up, so what? If I do well, I can celebrate.
Still playing around in Photoshop. There are several things that I want to learn, like masks and stuff like that. I had been using Dodge and Burn for shading and highlights, but I heard that masks were much better. Problem is, I don't know how to make or use them, though I can see how they work much better.
Another frustration I am having is that I can't draw the same face twice and that is really getting to me. I want to put some drawings together for a small project that I am doing over at Unsung Heroes. But it sort of hinges on me being able to draw the same person over and over again with different facial expressions and at different angles. I seem to be incapable of doing this. No two faces I draw are ever the same and that bugs the heck out of me. And I have no idea how to fix it.
I recently went out and bought some ink and brushes. Not quite sure when I am going to get around to inking like that, but I am hoping that it is in the near future. I heard something from the webcartoonist, Spike (Templar, Az) that made a lot of sense to me. She is now doing ink washes for her strip and she basically said that she was prepared to mess up what she had drawn with her ink wash. I suppose my problem is that I hate messing up. But to expect perfection when I'm new at it, is sort of ridiculous. I should probably just make little sketches and play around with the inks. If I mess up, so what? If I do well, I can celebrate.
Still playing around in Photoshop. There are several things that I want to learn, like masks and stuff like that. I had been using Dodge and Burn for shading and highlights, but I heard that masks were much better. Problem is, I don't know how to make or use them, though I can see how they work much better.
Another frustration I am having is that I can't draw the same face twice and that is really getting to me. I want to put some drawings together for a small project that I am doing over at Unsung Heroes. But it sort of hinges on me being able to draw the same person over and over again with different facial expressions and at different angles. I seem to be incapable of doing this. No two faces I draw are ever the same and that bugs the heck out of me. And I have no idea how to fix it.
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