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loaksky · 2 years ago

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hello! would you consider writing modern avatar stuff? if ur cool w that can i request modern human neteyam relationship headcanons?

wait hold the phone yes i would actually ! wanted to hold off on posting this to include headcanons about what modern!neteyam would be like in a relationship, but i’m so eager to come back ! instead here’s some background about him & reader leading up to the relationship (part 2 pending if you guys want it) ! headcanons under the cut & for all intents + purposes, i picture college-neteyam ! additionally, in my brain, it’s canon that teyam as a human would be poc, hence the reference pictures i included below ! <3

so i definitely see neteyam having a very soft aesthetic, he’s such a sweetheart tbh

fs think that the two of you would have a meetcute in university & then end up being college sweethearts

his major is something specific like environmental engineering or child psychology ? he’s definitely really smart and excels in all of his classes !

which brings me to how the two of you would meet ? perhaps he’s taking an elective course in pottery and your major is in art with a concentration in three dimensional composition

the class is considered a lab, so the professor emails out the syllabus and students come and go as they please during class hours to work on their compositions.

halfway thru the sem, you and teyam stumble upon each other in the storage room between two classrooms, fetching different pieces that need to be glazed + fired.

“sorry, you can—”

“nah, you first—”

you laugh and neteyam’s smiling because WOW you’re really cute + had he known that someone as lovely as you was in the same section as him, he’d probably hang around the classroom more.

from that moment on, neteyam’s always lingering during the class’ meeting time, even if he’s already finished with his projects for the week because he wants to get to know you SO bad, but he’s way too shy.

(probably still canon that he’s phenomenal at literally everything, but i think it’d be so cute if he had 0 legitimate rizz bc he’s so used to kinda just bein’ him and pulling bc he’s a jack of all trades type of guy)

“what are you making?” you ask him one day and he snatches his airpod out of his ear so quickly even though he’s not listening to anything.

“ashtray” he answers quietly, a lil self-conscious because he’s come to find out that you’re absolutely amazing at sculpting and while you do this for your future, he does it is as a pastime / elective to graduate. “but like i don’t smoke or anything yknow, i just thought that i’d be a good thing to–”

you’re staring at him with the corner of your mouth quirked and he shuts up quickly, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he slumps on his stool.

“you should score using a crosshatch,” you tell him simply. “makes the pieces stick together better.”

he looks down at where he’d been scratching the damp clay laterally and your hands hover over his, head tilting to the side.

“can i?”

oh yeah, yeah! sure,” he splutters, leaning back a little to watch you work your magic.

can’t help but watch the way your fingers work over the clay, knuckles smudged with glaze and dust coating the silver of your rings.

he watches your hands, but soon he’s watching your face because you’re concentrated so hard on making sure you’re using your best technique for the little ashtray.

lo and behold, the pieces stick together so perfectly and smoothly, ready to be fired in the kiln, and neteyam’s grateful.

“thanks,” he sighs almost dreamily.

“yeah, of course. glad to help,” you tell him.

when you return to your own project, you slam back the rest of your melting drink and neteyam’s eyes are squinting the get a read on what it is you order.

you’re pleasantly surprised when you turn up to pottery the next session to work on a new project, and neteyam’s there with two coffees, one next to his wheel, another near yours.

“what’s this?” you hum, tying your apron with a messy bow.

“a thank you,” he says shyly. “for helping me last time.”

your eyes widen when you see your favorite; a chai with almondmilk, vanilla, and a shot of espresso.

“how’d you…”

“it’s what you were drinking…” he responds. “last week. i think.

“oh…” you trail off, cheeks hot because he noticed ???

“you don’t have to—”

“NO!” you yelp, a tad loud. some of the other students working on a few last minute projects peer at the two of you and teyam’s grinning like an idiot when he sees the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and reach for the drink. “this is good! it’s great. thank you so much. i actually missed my run this morning.”

“yeah, of course,” he sighs, rolling his lips together as the two of you kinda get off to a clunky start.

the silence between the two of you is a lil awkward, but you decide to break the ice since teyam’s technically played his hand and the ball’s in your court.

“are you an art major ?” you ask.

“uh, nah,” he'd say, rubbing his sweaty palms on the thighs of his baggy jeans because HE SHOWED UP TO CLASS 15 MINUTES EARLY and the agony of not knowing if you’d show up made him so nervous. “environmental engineering.”

your eyebrows raise ever so slightly, lips forming an ‘o’ bc wow that must mean he’s super smart.

“wow, that’s insane,” you say quietly. “what made you take pottery ?”

“only elective that didn’t make me wanna claw my eyes out,” he laughs nervously. “what about you ? what’s your major ?”

you seem to mull over your thoughts for a moment, obviously a little hesitant to answer.

“3d art...nothing special...” you trail off.

neteyam begins working with the slab of clay waiting for him in the center of the wheel, cheeks going hot because the words leave him before he can stop them.

“no, no. i think that’s really cool. art is a really challenging passion to have & i admire people willing to dive in full stop.”

the comment makes you smile, fingers pliant over the wet clay.

neteyam wants to DIE because he can’t read whether or not your smile is genuine or if you’re grimacing because he’s the biggest idiot ever.

he supposes it’s the former when you two are parting ways, signing the attendance log and you decide to bite the bullet and write your instagram handle on the bottom corner of the page and tear it off to hand to him.

he’s barely able to get a ‘thank you’ out before you’re racing out the door with your gifted coffee in hand.

you’re so giddy when you run out of the building and your phone pings in the front pocket of your satchel and you see that teyam.sully has followed you.

after that day, you two become really friendly !

neteyam frequently dms you about class, but eventually, he starts sending you vids and memes, saying that they made him think of you.

it becomes so obvious to both of your friend groups that you’re crushing on each other, but both of you are too painfully shy to say anything despite every green flag.

soon, looking forward to seeing each other during class turns into neteyam subtly asking you to hang out.

you make a comment about one of his hoodies and he mentions that he thrifted it.

“wait really??” you’re pausing your work to look at him. “i love thrifting!”

he smiles wide, word vomiting before he can stop himself.

“yeah? i know a couple of good places if you’re down.”

you say yes, DUH !

looking back at it, maybe that’s your first date because he picks you up from your dorm & bc you guys live in a fairly walkable city, you commute to the thrift and you’re SO giddy because the backs of your hands keep brushing every time some impatient pedestrian pushes by you guys on the narrow sidewalks.

you guys end up spending HOURS and teyam’s internally screaming because you find a shirt that has a peeling heart with the phrase ‘if lost return to wife’ and he happens upon the match to it a couple aisles down that says ‘i'm the wife’.

when you’re not looking, teyam buys the shirts and stuffs them in his canvas bag.

DUDE IS WHIPPED.

he wants you SO bad.

after the thrift, you guys get pizza, and after that, ice cream, and JESUS he doesn’t want the day to end because being with you is so easy.

over the course of the rest of the semester, the two of you make it a routine to hang out at least once a week and you’re always looking forward to it.

dates excursions include; trips to the museum to see recent exhibits, weekly pizza parlor dinners, study sessions at the 24 hr cafe a block from the school (in which he always walks you home after), park days where he reads books on environmental sustainability and you secretly draw portraits of him.

in these times, he learns that you want to become an art teacher, your favorite cereal is froot loops with the marshmallows, your all time show is amazing world of gumball.

almost cries laughing when he finds out that you have a secret pet turtle you hide in your dorm named franklin.

acknowledges that he’s falling, but falls even harder when the florist who owns the flower shop you two always pass hands you the prettiest little bundle of flowers and you spend the entire trek to the park, handing out individual stems to couples, children, and the elderly, telling them to have a beautiful day.

it all comes to a head near the end of the semester when he realizes that he can’t keep dancing around his feelings for you and the feelings he’s almost certain you have for him.

tells you to clear your schedule for the upcoming friday night and dresses a little nicer than usual when he picks you up.

brings you two to the planetarium in the city and, instead of watching the exhibit, he spends the entire time watching how you light up.

he knows in his gut that you could be it for him.

he’s loved getting to know you and spending so much time with you.

he’s so immersed in this feeling throughout the entire night.

probably wipes his sweaty palms over the thighs of his pants before shakily taking your hand as the diagram of the constellations shift.

can’t help but smile when your fingers squeeze his and you seem to shift closer to him as the narrator starts the presentation.

and he’s especially quiet after the exhibit, fingers still twined with yours as the two of you walk down the bustling sidewalks of the city center.

two of you probably stop by a dessert cafe and sit outside on a bench in the spring air, enjoying the buskers as you share a little cake.

you’re talking about home and how you’re excited to see your family again and he can’t help but imagine bringing you home to meet all his siblings and his parents because he knows that they’d absolutely love you and—

you’ve paused your speaking, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth and he’s SHORT CIRCUITING.

“shit, that was weird i’m so—”

his palm cups your jaw, thumb on your cheek, pad of his pinky and ring finger soft against your neck.

“can i?” he whispers.

TRIANGLE METHOD !!

he glances at one eye, gaze dropping to your lips before glancing at the other.

you already know what he’s referring to, could feel the romantic tension between the two of you since the beginning, but only become sure of it in the recent weeks.

”can you what?” you swallow.

he breathes a short laugh because the knowing smile that quirks your lips is a dead give away.

“can i kiss you?” he asks softly, absently setting your abandoned dessert somewhere behind him on the bench.

“yeah,” you’d nod, leaning into him. “please.”

before the two of you go your separate ways for summer holiday, he shows you the shirts he bought at the thrift store the first time around, but insists on keeping the shirt that says ‘i'm the wife’.

#avatar nuggets ˘³˘#neteyam x reader #neteyam headcanons #neteyam fluff #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar the movie

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forecast0ctopus · 11 months ago

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Just wanted to pop in and say that your art is so cool!! It's so-- SHAPES!! And I especially like how you draw McCoy, he's a favorite of mine and he has such a specific set of facial features that seems so hard to simplify, and yet you manage so well! And there's something I really love about your poses and compositions too, they're so very dynamic and/or evocative even when characters are just standing. Aaa so much to say--

I also saw your last ask, and as someone who was also intimidated by the sheer amount of content there is like you, just know that if you get invested you kinda just forget about it. I got into TNG first and that series alone looked like an enormous task to finish. Before I knew it I finished it and went on to watch DS9, and I already can't wait to see more. In general my tip is to go with the flow and see it as a hobby rather than something to achieve, because nobody is forcing you to watch EVERYTHING there is. You get there when you'll get there, y'know! It's a show about silly space people, have fun with it! (but with all the fan art you're drawing, I'm sure you already are hehe)

ANYWAY SORRY FOR THE BARRAGE OF TEXT THIS AIN'T EVEN AN ASK BUT UHHH BUH-BYE

THANKS i just. like shapes and points and lines.. i just think they’re neat…… i really like drawing mccoy hes got such a specific posture haha i will definitely be posting. more of him lmao

im on tng s2 right now and i definitely never push myself to watch things i don’t want to watch (except angel (1999) because. i like spike) but i do take my time with watching things so itll be a good while until i’m on the next series.. it did take me uhhh years to finally finish tos but the dam really broke on that in december so. here we are

bones time

#becoming one of those shows where i put an episode or two on while i drink tea or eat dinner or something lmao #always a good time imo #im just so used to shows that get canceled so. change of pace! fun #ask #aless-was-here #honestly big fan of taking time with shows instead of binging them #if any of you ever watch twin peaks pleaase begging you watch it one or two episodes a day its sooo much better when u get to sit and think #or better yet for the 1990 viewing experience u could watch it every thursday night.#not to discuss twin peaks on star trek ask. oops

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hannahssimblr · 8 months ago

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“I have to say, this is an impressive body of work.”

I shift in my seat, “By impressive do you mean that it’s good, or that there’s a lot of it?”

This gets a laugh. “Both,” says the man, Paul, flicking through a sketchbook with tattooed hands, fingers stained from nicotine. I notice things like this now. Hands. I notice their lines and their bones, all their interesting details, and perhaps Paul himself could gauge this now as he pours over my figure studies where there are pages upon pages of hands, old and young, my friends, my sisters at the piano, an old woman clutching at a handrail on the train, and my own, a hundred times in different ways, blisters, plasters, hangnails and bruises from the rugby pitch.

The woman, Ida, shuffles through a stack of watercolour paintings I did last summer, mostly seascapes, the beach and the rushes, the whitewashed houses and rusted iron of the Wexford coast. Just looking at them I can recall the grit of sand under my bare feet as I warmed them on the deck of our holiday home behind my portable easel. In three months I’ll return again for one last summer, and after that I expect I’ll miss it there.

“And you said you didn’t do a portfolio preparation year?” She says, peering over the rim of her glasses.

“No, I’m still at school.”

“Highly unusual for a sixth year,” her eyebrows climb up her forehead, “You've clearly dedicated a lot of time to this.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I like making art, I don’t know.”

It’s difficult to tell what this woman is thinking. Everything about her is harsh, dramatic, from the sharp fringe that sits straight and neat above her brows to the slash of her mouth, thin lips, pointy chin, hard eyes, but I have to assume for the sake of my own self esteem that she doesn’t positively loathe my portfolio. She spends some time looking through my work, slowly, methodically, sometimes leaning closer to frown at something, maybe some proportion that’s off, bad composition, a clumsy attempt at ambient occlusion that doesn’t hit the mark…

“It’s beautiful,” she says simply, and I exhale.

“Oh look, a familiar face,” Paul holds a portrait to Ida, “That’s the girl that we were interviewing a few people before this, what was her name again?”

“Michelle,” I say, “My girlfriend.”

Paul nods, “Michelle, right! Good likeness,” and places the notebook back onto the table. Leaning back in his chair, he cracks his knuckles, “Look, Jude, there’s no two ways about it here, your work is outstanding. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a portfolio that hits every mark, every requirement and goes beyond, I mean,” he lets out a puff of air and gestures to the table, “this is nuts. And for a sixth year? Come on. This stuff would blow some of our third and fourth year college students out of the water.”

I feel like I could melt off the chair with relief, but try to suppress my utter delight so that they don’t think I’m too hungry for validation.

“Cool.”

“It’s the sensitivity,” Ida adds, “Your observation skills, your sense of weight, movement, knowledge of anatomy. It’s rare to see this kind of work from a secondary school student. Your efforts are just… so impressive.”

“And look, we know it depends on your Leaving Cert points, and yeah, that’ll be a contributing factor when it comes to acceptance, but, like,” Paul looks over the table again, tossing his hands up conclusively, “as far as I’m concerned, we’ll see you in September.”

Ida’s mouth curls into a smile, “We hope. If you choose us.”

If I choose them? Am I dreaming? How have I become the kind of person who is coveted by an art school? Surely not. Surely soon I’ll wake up and discover that this whole interview has been a product of my dreams. Too much time spent stressing out over art, the requirements, the brief... Almost certainly I’ve fallen asleep somewhere and none of this is real.

“That’s really kind of you to say. I’m glad you liked my stuff.”

“Blown away,” says Paul, and he leaps to his feet to shake my hand like I’ve just won a prize, “all we need is a pass in the Leaving Cert, you can surely manage it.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure I do.”

They’re smiling at me as I gather up my work, and still smiling as I give them one last sheepish wave from the door, and I realise I am still smiling too as I face the hallway of waiting students, staring at me with portfolios rested against their knees. I probably shouldn’t look too overjoyed, it might knock their confidence, so I try to look very bored instead as I pass by, though I may explode from the inside out.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2010 #he's back baby #looking cuter than ever #I love hipster era Jude so much??#and c'mon #y'all know what's coming this summer #anyone recognise Ida?

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archandshri · 11 months ago

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9th feb '24 - [arch] characters, interactions and emotion - making a mini webcomic

Gahhhh Shri this has been an absolutely crazy couple of weeks!!!! Hope you are doing well :)) First of all, WOW! You have a lot of goals, and I’m sure you’ll get them done! I’ve worked a lot on my graphic design during the process of making Winter Wellbeing. If you wanna see a blog post dedicated just to that, I can do so! It would be cool to compare notes on the approaches we take for graphic layouts. If you wanna share your knowledge of camera skills when you build that up that would be awesome 😭😭

It’s been a tough few weeks, art wise. I have been reflecting on my process, motivations to create, the ego and all the baggage that’s lumped into the creative process for me. It turns out there’s a lot. I took some space from my illustration practise (literally for a weekend!) and began to realise how dysfunctional it is. I’ve been writing a lot about that so there may be a larger piece of writing coming about that at some point (no promises!!)

But for now, let's talk about little successes!

I’ve been playing with some characters for a while but I’d hit a bit of a block with the plot. I realised the expectation of having a finished project of high quality soon is unrealistic, and an unhealthy expectation to put on myself. I rarely give myself time to play with concepts for a long time and let the characters, plot and interactions evolve naturally. Maybe this in part came from sticking to the short university module turnaround. I noticed that that short turnaround was causing a lot of block, so I have decided to bench it as a comic for now and focus on using it as a playground - falling in love with the characters, creating stories and drawing them for fun. Maybe years down the line I’ll make them into a comic - we shall see!

I *tried* to do hourly comics day this year and it didn’t quite work for me. I think I made 3 comics? And then got distracted with a bigger project that ended up taking a week or so to complete. Let’s have a look at it, shall we?

[you can find the full version here]

First of all, it’s based on an unfinished fanfiction I started a couple of months ago, which was mostly bad, but there was one nice scene that I liked and wanted to expand on. I started by having a look at the script I wrote and thumbnailing on the iPad. I’m away from home at the mo and usually would prefer to do most of my artwork traditionally, but because I don’t have access to a scanner, the whole process was digital this time. A lot of the pages got scrapped because the dialogue wasn’t necessary, and I’m not drawing pages that aren’t necessary.

some more development screenshots

I thought a lot about posing during the process, acting the scenes out in my mind and sometimes physically, really understanding the emotions of the characters, why they’re saying what they’re saying, their tone and how to convey that though their body language and expression (i find grian really annoying normally [affectionate] but I want this grian to step on me).

Pearl was hard with this because she’s quite erratic and unpredictable in this series, so I wanted her to switch from raw explodey anger to playful jabs at Grian. I’m hoping this comes across as somewhat insane, rather than tonally off and inconsistent. I did super enjoy drawing her and her explosive nature though, especially in comparison to Grian’s coldness.

I played with levels and monotone colour too - I’m not working with multiple colours much at the moment so I’m able to focus on things like values composition, characters and backgrounds. My skills limit the kind of stories I can tell currently, so I’m working to improve those foundations. Maybe when I’m back in the riso studio I can play with colours a little more.

Colours - despite the simple pallete it gets a bit nerdy here.I stuck to specific flat percentages for most of it - Pearl’s hair and Grians jumper are 60%, Grian’s hair and Pearl’s cloak are 20%. Then I added a 14% layer for shadows, using a ahrd blend eraser tool for highlights, making the images quite dark. I fill a layer with texture from Forystr’s riso brush for procreate, and turn it into a 40% opacity colour dodge layer. This gives it some much needed texture and makes the lighting feel low and nighttimecore. It also pushes the values to look really nice - I tend to be too scared to push them by myself.

I tried a few different colour layers to get a *vibe* but settled on a low percentage riso blue in a colour layer. All layers besides the riso blue are in a riso black, colour picked from a riso colour pallete. I learnt these tools - using percentages to get good values - from working with risograph. I really recommend having a look at these techniques and doing some monotone work. It's really improved by character designs, page layouts and compositions.

That's all from me today, though I have had MANY other thoughts over the past two weeks about creating, but perhaps we'll dive into them another time. If you (or anyone else) has any questions, hit me up with a reblog or an ask and I will get right to it. Lovely to hear from you! Hope your art is going great too :)) Arch :)

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healingskywalker · 2 years ago

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TBB Boys as Desserts

This has been something I’ve been wanting to do for over a week now, but I’m just now getting around to it. This idea was made by the prompts of the @renegade-force-99 team and our discord. I absolutely took this way too seriously, but here we are, and I regret mostly nothing.

Enjoy our sweet boys and my headcanons for them, and why they match with certain deserts!

Crosshair is a macaroon.

The process of making a macaroon is of high difficulty, at least from my understanding and experience, and I feel like Crosshair, as a person, is just as high difficulty. They are very particular, and require the exact right type of environment in order to ‘come out right’, or in Crosshair’s case, function healthily.

They are stubborn, particular, and time-consuming. They have a hard exterior, but a very soft interior. Despite all of the hardness and difficulty, they are worth every second of effort and time, and deserve to be cherished - they are highly sought after, and considered a delicacy, just like our sniper.

Echo is gelato.

Gelato has some different ingredients than ‘reg’ ice cream - there are some extra steps, or pieces, that exist in Echo, and in gelato, that regular clones and regular ice cream don’t have. Gelato, and Echo, both need to go at a slower pace in order for them to efficiently function. You can’t push or rush them, otherwise, that can spoil it. They need time to warm up, cool down, and it’s better if you let them take their time.

It is a very healthy option, and I feel like Echo is one of our most healthy boys, emotionally and physically. It is dense, as well - as for how this translates into our boy, it doesn’t mean stupid - I’ve taken it to mean more ‘info dense’ because that boy can recite whole reg manuals off the top of his head.

Gelato, and Echo, tend to be more intense than regs as well, but they are still an easy go-to, as well as a comfort item for plenty of people. Repetition (or ‘echoing’ a process) is important to them as well since there is a specific way of going about things.

Hunter is red velvet cake.

A lot of this is just based on vibes. This man screams ‘red velvet’ to me. Like all cakes and most clones, they are good with kids and are a good, easy option to interact with. Hunter and red velvet both are easily loveable, and aesthetically pleasing, as well as a classic to gravitate to. I consider them a leader in the cake world and clone world. They are ahead of the game, and setting out a strong example for others to follow.

At its roots, it is technically ‘regular’, but it’s made to look different - for red velvet, it is simply for the sake of being pretty, but in Hunter’s case, he looks the most like other clones, and while being almost exactly the same as the base, he had to find a way to stand out (i.e, long hair), and be different while still ‘being basic’, while also not being basic at all. It’s special.

Tech is cheesecake.

One word: pie. Cheesecake isn’t technically a pie, but it’s also not technically a cake - it’s a funky middle ground that I think works well with Tech, as well as the joke of him being smart and having the name of a mathematical number. In my experience, cheesecake people are always vehement that they are right, and cannot be disproven. Remind you of anyone?

It is straightforward but quirky. They could be left as a base, or add toppings for more flair - in cheesecake, this could be strawberries, but in Tech, it’s his adaptability, ability to work in most situations, and plenty of variety in personality.

They are multifaceted. They are also much more sturdy than they appear to be. (Example: if they fall from a tall height, they are perfectly fine, even if the composition may be a bit broken, they made it, and are still function as a dessert, or a human.) They are also a fan favorite.

Wrecker is cookies.

Unlike Crosshair, Wrecker’s difficulty setting is on easy. How can you look at a cookie, and not enjoy it? It brings you joy, plain and simple. They are straightforward - no lies, complications, or anything difficult here. They are classic, enjoyed by almost everyone, and how you enjoy them depends entirely on how you treat them - they can be hard or soft, depending upon your attitude and approach.

Cookies are easy to cook, which also makes them a good contender to be good with kiddos, just like Wrecker is. There are so many options with them, even if most people gravitate towards one or two ideas, or perceptions, of them. They can be unassuming and ‘stupid’ but they can be much more complicated.

divider by @saradika. go check their stuff out! they have some gorgeous stuff!

remember to like and reblog if you enjoyed! <3

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zone-seven · 1 year ago

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Kobra Kid Headcanons

- avid photographer. Cherri has a little dark room at his place and the two of them go on photography day trips and then hang out while developing the photos.

- He loooooves to show off his pictures, and they’re pretty good! He’s got a natural knack for composition and is very detail oriented, he can spend a really long time carefully setting up a shot if given the opportunity. His subject matter is fairly predictable: exceptionally cool cars/bikes/trucks, close ups of rare or weird car parts, decaying animals and animal skeletons, and bugs. Once in a while he’ll take a candid shot of Cherri or Poison or someone, or a landscape if something cool is going on, but 95% of the time it’s car or decay related stuff.

- He’s really sentimental, and his half of the room he and Poison share is decorated with his photos and the trinkets he’s collected over the years. He remembers the story behind every single one of them, and they are meticulously sorted by some sort of elusive criteria that Poison can’t quite figure out and Kobra can’t quite explain in a way that makes sense to others.

- Absolutely fascinated by vehicles. Can’t stress that enough, dude is ALWAYS thinking about cars. He loves to watch Ghoul work on cars in the shop and help her out when she’ll let him. It’s one of the few topics he’s interested in having an extensive conversation about. It’s basically impossible to be close to him and not pick up a lot of information about car parts.

- He’s got a little collection of die-cast cars and usually has one or more of them on him at any given time (though there are some that are too precious to him to leave their shelf). He does this half because simply having one with him is comforting, and half because he stims by spinning the wheels. He’s never been much of a “pretend to drive the toy car” guy.

- He’s fluent in both Japanese and English, and has picked up a handful of words and phrases in Spanish and Korean. He rarely verbally says more than a word or two unless it’s scripted.

- Generally relies VERY heavily on dialogue from The Mousekat Show for communication, though he’s constantly expanding his repertoire and picking up new scrips from the people around him too. He’s just extremely comfortable with his childhood scripts so he sticks with those a lot. It’s very easy to tell which scripts were taught to him by teachers or whoever because they’re much clearer to outsiders but don’t sound like him at all; it’s rather jarring if you’re used to his typical style of speaking. Very formal, VERY “city” style.

- He loves animals in general, but he had a startling and scary encounter with a military dog as they were leaving battery city and has been terrified of dogs ever since.

- Jet taught him to sew, and he does a lot of that. He does most of the mending and patching for the four’s clothes. He does some of that for friends too, which is how he finances his photography hobby.

- He and Poison have always been close (they’ve never known a life without the other, after all) but Kobra found it hard not to be somewhat resentful of his brother when they were kids. His disability and support needs were judged even more harshly in comparison to Poison’s extreme academic aptitude, and them being identical twins only made the comparisons and expectations worse. Poison has always seen him as an equal, but it was crystal clear to Kobra that people outside of his family only saw one of them as a full person, and it was understandably hard for him to not feel jealous and angry. Their relationship kind of struggled in their teen years and improved a lot once they left the city.

- He’s not religious or superstitious at all and has basically no patience for Poison’s fairly intense spirituality. He’ll put up with some amount of participating in it of it out of love, but he won’t pretend to believe.

#kobra kid #true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days #tlotfk #party poison #I’m back I guess. never left in my heart but I’m back talking about it <3

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moolamixtape · 2 years ago

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Thoughts on Splatune 3!

I wanted to share some of my thoughts on the soundtrack of Splatoon 3 now that we have the final composer credit for each track. This is my perspective as a musician as well as a fan of the lore!

Ryo Nagamatsu carried this soundtrack HARD man. There were six composers total and he did a third of the tracks, including everything by C-Side which came as a shock to me. I genuinely thought those were all Toru Minegishi, who has apparently stepped up to a supervisor role since Splatoon 2 and is less involved in the making of the soundtrack itself.

The new composers—Toshiyuki Sudo, Yumi Takahashi and Sayako Doi—also did a lot of heavy lifting this time around too. Takahashi caught me way off guard, especially when I found out she is responsible for all three DLC Squid Sisters tracks. Apparently she has inherited them from Shiho Fujii, who only contributed Wave Goodbye for this game.

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Takahashi was able to capture Fujii’s essence while adding some cool harmonic ideas that we haven’t seen from the group’s almost satirical J-pop discography. I think she’s the best out of the new team members at writing chord progressions and strong hooks, and I’m really looking forward to new Squid Sisters tracks if it means she’s behind the wheel!

She’s also a really tight funk arranger, and one of my admittedly few correct predictions was that she was responsible for the vast majority of the lobby tracks. They all reminded me of her tracks from Animal Crossing New Horizons, especially with their mellow chord progressions and laid-back feel. Takahashi’s lobby tracks have energy but don’t carry too much momentum, keeping the tension low and the groove up front while switching occasionally to a more lush and complex progression on the bridge. She is everything I love in a composer lol

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Sayako Doi also had my attention when I found out what she was responsible for. She’s only been with Nintendo for about four years now and barely as any individual track credits to her name. As it turns out, she did all of the Alterna map themes as well as the Tableturf soundtrack. All of the Tableturf tracks are intentionally camp and I think they did her sort of dirty by making that a good portion of her contribution, but the variety in her RotM tracks almost makes up for it. She seems more sound design-focused than Takahashi and it sounds like she focuses more on the overall feel of her tracks than the theoretical details behind them. I’m curious to hear what she might contribute for Side Order!

I said before that Minegishi is moving up to a directorial role as many game composers do, and he contributed significantly less this time around musically. He mainly handled the stage themes in RotM, a couple of which I thought were by Sudo and Nagamatsu. With Flying Colors is marked by orchestral sample spam, which I thought was Nagamatsu’s signature sound, and Ride or Fry sounds like Sudo’s Deep Cut compositions. Minegishi did both!

I don’t know what the best way to do this is on tumblr but I guess I’ll just share this now and edit it later? I wish it was more intuitive to make a thread or something I guess I’m just twitter monkey brain

#splatoon #splatune 3 #composer #reactions #deep cut #c side splatoon #front roe #Youtube

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perplexingly · 2 years ago

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Hi I noticed something specific that really prevalent in your art which is sort of the charm and unexpected shapes thats hard to get without looking at real life or references. the grounded/personable feel. This is something I really like and is specifically something I want to get better at. Is there some sort of technique you go through or often draw off references? its really cool!

Ohh is it about clothing folds, or something else?

If it’s about clothes, there’s multiple things that come together for that effect I think.

Yes, I do use references a lot (whether from looking in the mirror - which I have a body sized one by my desk, or photos, or old master’s paintings; also by the way a great thing about folds is that you don’t need to find references in the exact same pose as you’re drawing - you can just find references of a similar garment that is bending in a vaguely the same direction and transpose that onto your pose).

But, also, my style is very simplistic and I rarely do any shading, which means that if I do things that don’t make much sense but have pleasant shapes, it’ll look ok. I did study composition and shape language a lot in the past, and I think it helps on a smaller scale too. I hope that answers at least a bit 💦

#replies

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darkerknowledge · 2 years ago

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OPEN DND ONE SHOT ON DISCORD

Hello, I’m planning on running ‘Prisoner 13′ from the upcoming dnd book ‘Keys from the Golden Vault’ on Friday the 17th of February at 6:30 PM CST. I will be the DM. I’m looking for 4-5 people to join me as adventurers! If you are interested, there’s more information below the cut.

How does dnd on discord work? It’s a lot like in person play, I will narrate, you will interact with your fellow party members during exploration/roleplaying. Combat is the only thing different since we won’t have physical battle maps and minis to use. How will combat work? I will have a hand drawn map that I will stream via webcam. I don’t paint minis, so it’s a lot of ‘this is a dragon, this is you, what happens?’ Do I have to show my face on discord to a bunch of strangers? Nope! I won’t be. Are you LGBTQ+ friendly? Yes! Will this be a good space for women? Also yes! Age requirement? 18+ preferred, not out of any explicit reasons, but when everyone is over 18 it makes it easier. If you are younger, let me know as we will talk about it and mention it to the table so nothing inappropriate happens. How much does this cost? A whopping 0 dollars! Are you a good DM? I had a dnd show for awhile, I wrote content for dnd as a freelancer for a third party publisher for awhile, and I’ve been DMing for four years this summer! I’ve had players stick around long enough to finish 3 campaigns, and that number keeps climbing! I’m not very experienced, is that okay? Sure, as long as your familiar enough with the terminology, we can work together. If you’ve watched a dnd show like Critical Role or Dimension 20, you should be good. I am newbie friendly! Why are you blazing a post for a one shot? I want to meet cool dnd friends, and I’m hoping after a trial run of one shots, if we all like each other, it’ll turn into a weekly or biweekly campaign! How long will the game be? I’m not sure, there’s all sorts of ways the game could be short or go longer. I’ll confer with everyone on how long they can stay, and find a good stopping place if it goes on too long. Then we will do a part 2 if you all want to. You needn’t worry about having to go to bed and the rest of us playing. Will there be a session 0? Yes and no. For a one shot, I don’t think we need to meet up beforehand, but there will be safety tools in place (such as lines and veils) and what I call ‘hard-no’s’. What is a hard-no? There are a few things that I as a DM am uncomfortable with running, and therefore won’t. For example, explicit roleplay. This will be covered by a ‘fade to black’ if it even comes up (it probably won’t.) If you had to rate your content like a movie what rating would it be? Pg-13 that allows you to say ‘fuck’ more often than just once. I cuss a lot, but less out of anger and more filling in my sentences. Can I play homebrew? Not for a one shot. The limit is officially published classes/subclasses/species/subspecies with stuff Matt Mercer made by approval. Is there anything banned? Yeah, Silvery Barbs and bigotry.

What if I want to play the one shot but not the campaign you’re looking to start? Yeah, that’s fine. This isn’t a contract. Can I talk with the other players to build a better team composition? If you all are the type of players to want to build a group together, you are more than welcome. However, you should be able to go through the one shot playing whatever you like. I will balance for the party rather than the last person who joins getting pushed to healer if there isn’t one already. Your fun is important! If you want to be a tiefling warlock and we have 2 other warlocks, then who cares? ELDRITCH BLAST FOR DAYS, YO! Can my friend join? Yeah, if there’s room. What if I really want to play and miss an open slot? The more the merrier, I say. I’m also building a discord server for dnd nerds to have fun, so you could join that one and play something else! What are your inspirations? I love horror, but this isn’t a horror game. What I like about the fantasy genre is how cinematic it can be. It’s fun to narrate, like jumping in the air and bringing an axe down on the dragon’s head while it tries to shake you off, but you hold on! That’s epic! I love that, but I also love down to earth character moments, too. Your party slayed the ancient dragon and now have its hoard. Do you keep it and run? Do you pay off your debt to the Thieves’ Guild? Or are you Robin Hood types? What happens when all three of those are in the same party? Nicholas Eames, writer of Kings of the Wyld and Bloody Rose, is pretty similar to how my games feel, but with a lot less wink-wink-nudge-nudge third wall breaking. What if my question wasn’t answered here? I’m here to answer questions. My ask box and my direct messages are open!

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #one shot #prisoner 13 #ttrpg

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bluebird-practices-drawing · 2 years ago

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fill in the gaps

She first crosses path with him when she's running to her music theory class, trying with one hand to wrangle her books into her bag and with the other to keep her hat from flying right off her head. Koala looks down for one second to shove Music Theory and Composition: A Guide in as deep as it will go, and the crunch of an old granola bar wrapper is all she hears before she runs headlong into something warm, heavy, and which makes a shocked Oomf as they go crashing.

Shit, Koala thinks and her hands fly out to steady herself, anticipating the shock of hard concrete on her gloved palms, but all she manages to do is trip them up and she falls hard onto the sidewalk. Her side twinges in pain and Koala curses as her books and hat go flying, the wind gleefully picking up the covers and throwing them open to pages of text and notes.

"Shit!" she swears, out loud this time, and scrambles to pick everything up, shoving her hat into its rightful place and stashing her books away as fast as she can. "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to slam into you - "

In her haste, she fumbles with one of her binders and it slips loose from her grasp, only to be caught by a hand that isn't hers and handed back. Looking up, she realizes that accompanying the offered binder is a smile, and warm dark eyes, and a face framed by wavy locks of blond hair.

"It's alright," her accidental victim says with a small laugh, too cheerful for 7:56 on a Tuesday morning, when the sun is barely even up. "You're a music major , huh?"

"Yeah," Koala manages, wondering if she's winded from the crash or from the way he laughs, boyishly charming. "I am. Thanks."

Before she can make a fool of herself, she grabs her binder and pushes it into her bag. "Sorry for crashing into you again - I should have been watching where I was going - "

"Hey, no, it's fine!" he says. "Running late, huh?"

Oh, she really has to get going now. "Yeah," Koala says, starting to walk in the direction of her building, trying not to be rude with the speed of her pace. "My alarm ran out of battery and I forgot to put new ones in, so - "

"Ah, you don't have to worry," he laughs. "What's your first class? Anything except music history and you'll be just fine, the professors are all really laid-back."

"Music theory," she says. He's easily keeping up with her, despite the fact that she's halfway to jogging and considering a full-on sprint. Then again, he's a good bit taller than she is. "You?"

"I don't have a class this early, so I'm really just out wandering," he says, and the sheepish way he rubs at the back of his head makes her laugh despite herself. The moths in her stomach settle down a little. "It's cool that you're studying music, though! What instrument?"

The doors swing open with one shove. "You haven't even told me what you're studying," she rebukes, playful, and he laughs and something in her gut does a backflip.

"You got me. I'm a sociology major," he says. "I know, it sounds boring, but it's actually fascinating!"

She finds the lecture hall and makes her way inside with Sabo just behind her, on a passionate rant about class divisions and the urban consequences. He moves into a fervent whisper when he notices that they're no longer in a hallway and Koala finds herself entranced by the way he talks, gesturing as he does so, mapping out a world only he can see and that she could only dream of. Only when she picks out a random spot and sits down does he stop talking, for the sole purpose of saying,

"Wait, so what was your instrument again?"

Koala can't help it - she laughs, hiding it behind a hand, as she takes out her textbook and notebook and fishes a pen from somewhere in the depths of her bag. "I never told you," she says and he pouts at her, stupidly cute. "Violin. I'm majoring in strings performance."

"Woah, violin?" His eyes go adorably wide. "Wow. Can I watch you practice sometime?"

"It won't be interesting," she feels the need to warn. "80% of it is just scales and studies. I'm sure you don't want to watch me play double stops for an hour straight."

"I don't even know what those are," he tells her, sincere in his admission. Ten minutes into meeting him and she's already taken in. "Everything you do will be impressive to me, I'm sure."

"Don't you have a campus to wander around on?" she jokes. The professor is starting and Koala flips to a clean page on her notebook, clicking her pen.

"Is that a yes?"

Koala opens her textbook. In the corner of her page, she draws a checkmark and then a time and room in black ink. His answering grin is enough to make her smile in turn.

When he gets up to leave, she resists looking at him - then can't help it and Koala turns back at the perfect moment to catch him give her an exaggerated thumbs up and mouth something - I'll be there - before he vanishes out the door.

To her surprise, when she gets to the practice room at 1:00 with her case and bag in tow, he's there, leaning against the doorjamb, eyes closed and a backpack sitting by his feet. Koala sets down her case, wondering if he's sleeping - the sound of it doesn't elicit any reaction.

He probably is asleep, she reflects. She debates for a moment on whether or not to wake him, then decides that he did want to watch her practice and she may as well, so -

"Gah!"

Koala yanks her hand away as he tries to bat it out of the air, like a startled cat. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead," she teases. "Why were you napping outside the practice room?"

"Oh, you know. The usual," he says with a bashful smile. "You came!"

"I should be the one saying that," she says, opening the door. Picking up her case, she walks inside and starts to set up her violin. Behind her, she hears him follow, the door clicking shut. "You sure about this?"

"Oh, definitely. I like to listen to music when I do homework, so... "

"So I'm background noise," she says, tightening her bow, and can't hold back her laugh when he hurries to assure her that that's not what he meant. "I'm joking! I don't mind, though like I said - it's not very exciting."

"Ah, well, the music I listen to isn't very exciting either," he says, unzipping his bag and pulling out two textbooks. "It's just to help me concentrate, you know? What's that?"

"Oh, this? Rosin," Koala says, wrapping up the cake and dropping it back into her case. "It's to help the bow make a better sound."

"And that?"

"Shoulder-rest. Makes the violin easier to hold."

She's used to playing in front of a mirror, watching and correcting her posture. Thankfully, the practice room has one, so Koala drags a stand over and opens her book of scales. She sets her metronome onto the stand and turns it on, the rhythmic ticking filling their space. Through the mirror's reflection, she can see him opening a laptop and starting to type, soft clicks beneath the sounds of the metronome.

Koala sets her violin on her shoulder, lifts her bow, and starts playing.

Arguably, scales are boring. Considering she's been playing for a good nine years, though, Koala can understand their importance. So she plays through all the major scales, then harmonic and melodic minor, then takes a minute or so to roll her shoulders before starting on chromatic.

Before, Koala used to play for hours on end, losing herself in repertoire. Now, she's learned to take breaks for important things, like water or schoolwork, and that much of practice is meant to be boring. So she stops after the major arpeggios to take a drink of water, then pulls out her binder and flips to a sheet of vibrato exercises.

"Wait," her companion says when she finishes the last one. "That song you just played."

Koala tilts her head, watching his reflection in the mirror. He's staring at her like she'd just started levitating. "What about it?"

"Is that - Is that Bink's Brew?"

"Oh, that's what it's called?" Koala says. "I never knew the name." Hachi in particular loved the song, as did much of Fisher Tiger's family - they would sing it after nights out, and it could often go on well past the moon's zenith.

"Wow," he laughs. "I was not expecting to feel so nostalgic today. Do you have any other songs?"

"I mean, yeah, but unless you grew up on a household in love with classical music I doubt you'll feel as nostalgic," she says. "I might be able to play the rest of the song, though, if I can remember how it goes."

"Please," he says and she laughs but obliges, closing her eyes to pull on those gold-tinted memories.

Her second family, because they'd been her family after she crawled out of the burnt remains of Saint Gregorius' mansion, hadn't been quite on the legal side of things. But they were good, caring people, and they took care of her. She remembers a seedy bar, with the bulbs cracked and flickering, but feeling perfectly at home with them - they never let her touch alcohol, but they somehow got her juice and she would sip on it and listen to their raucous song, Hachi's voice the loudest of them all. It was a simple song, one without much difficult technique; it was a song that rejoiced at being alive, and at being heard.

She ends the song on a flourish, adding an ornament just for the way the notes dance and linger - and for how her companion applauds, grinning from ear to ear.

"You play so well!" he gushes. "I really wanted to sing but I can never sing on-key. It'd sound horrible."

"Oh, don't say that," she laughs.

"No, trust me. My brothers tell me I sound like a goose being strangled to death," he informs her, all earnest eyes.

"Yeah, but it's not what matters," Koala says. "It's not exactly a performance song. It's just for fun."

He's quiet for a moment, absorbing what she just said. Then he tilts his head and smiles at her and something in Koala's chest flutters to and fro.

"I never did get your name," he says. "I'm Sabo."

"Koala," she says. "Nice to meet you, Sabo. Though, it's a few hours late."

He grins at that, carefree as the wind. "Nice to meet you too, Koala! Better late than never, right?"

She leaves the practice room that day with a new bounce her step and a new number in her phone. On her way out of the building, it vibrates and she pulls it out, swiping up to see -

From: Sabo was really cool to meet you today wanna chat again at some point?

To: Sabo sure!

Sabo is, Koala finds out, the eldest sibling of three ("I mean, Ace is technically a month older, but he's also an idiot sometimes, so I think I get to be the oldest, you know?" "Sabo, that's not how ages work."); he's roommates with someone he calls Ivankov, who is in cosmetology school but is also a passionate activist and is frequently helped by Sabo ("See this scar? Yeah, a cop clipped me with a rubber bullet once." "You know you should run in zig-zags from bullets, not directly away, right?" "I'll keep that in mind for the future, then."); he boxes, and is taught by someone he calls Dragon ("He's got this wicked tattoo on his face and he hits like a damn truck. I swear he can teleport." "He's called Dragon? I think I've heard of him before." "Oh, really? You should come with me sometime!").

The last point is one Koala takes in with interest. "I should!" she agrees. "I do kickboxing, actually, in my spare time. It'll be fun."

"Ooh, then we definitely don't need to teach you," he says. "It makes sense that you do kickboxing. You need the reach."

She flicks him in the forehead for that, which he accepts chortling like a loon all the while. "Shut up."

"You'd have to reach my face to make me do that!" he grins and hurriedly ducks away when she leans over to pinch at his cheeks.

"You're a dumbass."

"I've been told it's one of my charms."

Sabo is also, Koala finds out, passionate, intelligent, and impulsive. He texted her once if i mix together coffee, sleeping pills, and yogurt will it cancel out into just yogurt? with a blurry picture of his kitchen counter and she'd run over to stop him in the middle of the night, knocking the cursed concoction out of his hands when he opened the door. That same night she met Ivankov, who took a liking to her immediately for managing to stop one of Sabo's horrific, sleep-deprivation fueled plans.

He's top of his class and she could (and has, before) go for hours listening to him talk about his interests, whether over phone call or in-person as they work. Everything about how he speaks, from the way he skips over syllables when he gets excited to the gesturing of his hands to the clear zeal in his voice - she thinks of it when she plays, sometimes, trying to translate that same fervour into her pieces.

He's also a right idiot sometimes, but it's so easy to relax around him, to let herself come free. She thinks of that when she plays too, sometimes, letting his laughter drift through her head and hearing her notes bounce to a similar rhythm, clear and joyous.

And he's a good boxer. He does bring her to meet Dragon at one point, and she wraps her hands and accepts the gloves and gets in the ring against him, and they trade blows until she knows she'll feel the bruises the next day but so will he, until he gets out between heavy breaths that she's packing a lot of muscle in your tiny arms, damn and she finds the strength between panted laughter to (gently, of course) whack him on the head, which he ducks to let her do, snickering all the while. It's the same day that she meets Sabo's brothers - Dragon, apparently, is Luffy's father, though none of them refer to him as such ("It's complicated," Sabo says, and leaves it at that) - and Hack.

Put short, he's a good friend. He's -

"Anyone ever tell you you look like that one fairytale prince?"

"Ew, princes," Sabo says, wrinkling his nose, before she can even register what she just blurted out and feel embarrassed, at all. "I don't want to be a part of oppressive nobility. C'mon, Koala, can't I be like - a cool rogue, or something?"

She elbows him. "Fine, fine. You're a cool rogue."

"With a top hat." He grins down at her, conspiratorial, and she thinks a top hat would suit him - would look dashing on him, even.

"With a top hat," she indulges and lets herself believe, for a moment, that her comment had been forgotten.

"So, what's that fairytale with a prince?"

Shit. "It's just an old story my family used to tell me," she says. Sabo's aware already that the people Koala grew up with were perhaps not quite always on the right side of the law, and his only reaction was just Cool, can I meet them? To which she'd had to say No, and didn't elaborate.

"Yeah?" Sabo says. He leans on her shoulder, a steady weight as she studies for her upcoming music history test. His voice is no demand but is an invitation, letting her decide, and she doesn't think she can't be any more grateful for his friendship.

"There's a girl," Koala says. "She lives by the ocean and she makes a living there, when an injured bird washes up on her shore. She takes in the bird and nurses it to full health, whereupon it promises her that if she keeps it with her it will grant her riches beyond measure. But she doesn't want to keep an innocent animal trapped, so she declines and goes to release it. When she sets it on the sand, it transforms into a prince, who tells her that she has freed him from his curse and they fall in love and marry. The end."

"Riveting storytelling."

"Oh, shush."

Just a story, just a memory shared first by firelight and now underneath the lamplight. He is kind of like that prince, the sort of boy she would have dreamed of as a naive child, whether curled up in their stifling room in the servant's quarters or watching the stars through the crooked window lying on Hachi's back.

Sabo shifts a little closer. He says, "When I was a kid, my brothers and I got it into our heads that there was a monster stalking our home. So we found old pipes and went to hunt it down."

"That does sound like a you thing to do."

"Hey, what does that mean?"

Koala snickers at his mock-offended expression and lightly pokes his cheek. "Did you succeed?"

"Nah, we were kids. But our grandfather came and beat it up for us, then taught us how to use those pipes." He spins a pen between his fingers, and she watches the clever bend and flick of them. He could be a pianist, with his nimble hands. "Fun times."

She recognizes it as the offering it is - story for a story, memory for a memory. Their own little bargain, their own little trade.

She lets herself relax into his shoulder and turns a page in her notebook.

From: 'dashing' rogue so how'd it go?

To: 'dashing' rogue how'd what go?

From: 'dashing' rogue your test you were studying for it right? saw your textbook

To: 'dashing' rogue better than expected what about your presentation? you were stressed when you were rehearsing

From: 'dashing' rogue i may or may not have gone over the time limit :)

To: 'dashing' rogue sabo

From: 'dashing' rogue hey it was only by like two minutes it's fine... probably :) :)

To: 'dashing' rogue don't smiley face at me >:((

Okay, so maybe the butterflies in her stomach haven't been digested yet. Maybe they're still there.

That's life. Koala has other things to focus on - like her upcoming recital, where she's managed to earn the chance to play solo and not just in the orchestra.

"With passion!" her teacher says, spinning about in the room. It should look ridiculous, one full-grown adult doing pirouettes with a (comically shorter) girl playing violin in the center, the metronome ticking in the background. "With love, Koala! Pour all your heart into it!"

Professor Brook has been deemed eccentric by many, but he's a damn good teacher. Some of the student body rumour that he's immortal, based on the pictures they've seen in his office. Whether or not those rumours hold any truth to it is another matter (though, privately, she thinks they may be accurate - no mortal person would talk so personally about some of history's greatest composers).

"And steady now - let that note take its time! Let it ring! The audience needs to feel its full weight!"

She finishes the piece on a dying chord, the sound fading delicately away like morning mist evaporated by the sun, melancholic and wistful as the piece demands. Professor Brook wipes a fake tear and claps.

"Bravo, dear! You've improved much since you started this piece!"

"Thanks, professor!" Koala says, rolling her left shoulder.

"But, something is missing," Brook says, voice becoming more serious as he pulls up a chair and sits in front of her. "Not that your playing isn't beautiful! Your technique - stunning. Your vibrato is marvelous. That double-stop passage in the midsection so many have trouble with - your intonation there is nigh perfect. Yes, yes, you would wow every audience."

He looks at her, serious, and she abruptly remembers her first time visiting Brook's office and seeing the bookshelf of awards, every single shelf absolutely filled - one he'd waved off as 'unimportant' when she asked about it, instead pushing tea into her hands and imploring her to sit. If there was something lacking about her playing, he of all people would certainly know.

"Music can have no uncertainties, dear," Brook tells her. "Even pieces like the Autumn Suite - ah, such a lovely work of art, a shame about Ellis cheating on his wife or perhaps we would have the complete version - must be played by a violinist who knows perfectly well their purpose." He taps her forehead with a cool finger. "You need to be confident, Koala. You are showing your best self, through your music. What is making you hesitate?"

She looks - not at Brook, but past Brook, to the girl she sees watching in the mirror. She's played for Sabo more times after their first meeting, but each time has grown more nervous, with more wish to impress. And it's impressed him, alright, when she's shown him some of her flashier caprices and concertos, when she's dipped into her repertoire of fugues and sonatas. But this will be the first time she plays as a performer, onstage beneath the searing spotlights, the crowd expectant and him in it.

"Someone is going to be there," she admits. "I don't want to mess up in front of him, not when they want my best."

"Ah. A lover?"

"What - no!" she shrieks. "He's not that! He's a friend."

"Young love," Brook sighs wistfully. "You make me nostalgic for my own days - then again, those were only forty years ago!"

"I thought they were fifty?"

"Ah, forty-five. Nonetheless!" Brook says, waving a hand. "This is the one you think of? This is your focus? Your muse?"

She really wishes he wouldn't say it like that. Still - "I.. guess?"

"No uncertainties, dear. Do you think of him?"

I do, Koala knows in her heart, and she says, "I do."

Too much, maybe.

"Then you will go up on that stage," Brook announces. "You will bow and you will find him in the audience. And you will close your eyes, and think of him. Do it now, in fact! Let's run it through one more time."

She raises her violin to her shoulder and lifts her bow to the strings. She can hear Brook stepping over to the piano, and the mellow notes ringing through the room, bouncing off the walls, off the glass of the mirror. Koala knows this piece by heart, inside and out - she's tapped it against tables, against her palm, against armrests. She's hummed it in the shower and when studying ("You have a nice voice!" "Thanks!).

"And close your eyes," Brook calls, over the piano's introduction. "There is nothing there but you. You are alone, and the only person you are playing for, Koala - "

- the only person in the audience who matters, the only person she can picture at that moment as the white lights hit her eyelashes and overtake most of her vision and for a second she panics, she thinks I can't find him, where is he? There's just so many people.

But then. Blond hair, sandwiched between two other people she can recognize as Sabo's brothers. Ivankov is there, too. Dragon, as well. But most of all is Sabo, his attention fixed on her. The whole room, fixed on her, watching her, and he is all that she cares about as her cue approaches.

Koala shuts her eyes. Squeezes them tight, blocking out the harsh glare, and thinks of lamplight and warmth. Affection snuck between them, shoulders pressed and legs tangling. Tenderness.

This is why she loves music, she thinks - it is her, in every way possible, and it will say everything she does not dare put to words. Her breaths rise and fall with the beat, inexplicably steady. Tenderness. This is what she fell in love with, this feeling of total synchrony, of total unification. Nothing but her, and her muse, that matters.

A love confession, she thinks with some irony - can Sabo even tell? There is a knowledge needed, to decipher music. But it won't matter, because this is as much for her as it is for him, and when she gets off the stage she will feel lighter than she has in months, all her longing poured into her notes and disseminated into the air.

She opens her eyes on a moment of stillness, people spellbound and entranced. Koala lets her bow hover, allowing the silence to run its natural course. She doesn't try to find Sabo in the audience, this time.

Then she allows her bow to come down, and her violin too, and she waits for the pianist to join her before they both bow and then leave, heralded by raucous applause.

Sabo is the first one who gets to her after the recital. Koala can see some of her fellow music students receiving bouquets and hugs, but Sabo pulls out a gathered bunch of dandelions, columbine, and daisies with a flourish and presents them to her with a smile that she would dare call nervous.

"You played amazingly," he declares. "I can't ever stop being impressed by you, can I?"

"Flatterer," she laughs, certain that her cheeks are a red to match the columbine petals, and accepts. They are beautiful and vibrant, and the gold of the dandelions calls back to Sabo's hair. "Did you pick these?"

"They're small but stubborn, like you," he teases and she elbows him but this time he catches her elbow, draws her in close and wraps his arm around her shoulders in a hug, the flowers pressed between them like a secret.

"You really were beautiful," he murmurs into her hair, and she wonders if she's hearing the hammering of his heart or her own.

"Thanks," she whispers, into the daisy petals, and wonders if what's left unsaid by her will ever come out in the open or if it will haunt them between late nights and punches.

All he does is squeeze her tight, and Koala holds to him with the same strength and her hopes flutter like the flower petals in the wind.

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Wordcount: 4333

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yanderelovlies · 2 years ago

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✨Galaxy Anon ✨ here!

Haha you forget viví? Friends also have to tease each other until they scream for mercy hehehe suffer pfft. Let me think about it….No.

But I still feel bad viví! Just talking with you is enough for me! It shows you care that you even respond to me and call me a friend! I probably wouldn’t take it until I really want something, I will feel bad and hate spending others money unless it was for food…then spend that money since I love food lol. Well at least you have lots of guts but I know I would feel embarrassed still since my stuff can either be normal to my god what the hell why do you like that?! Not to mention alot of stuff I’m into I really have no one to talk to about most of it since usually they aren’t into it or I’m afraid they judge me. Mostly the latter. So I’m grateful you even care about me so thanks for that.

It does I mean I get whey we use it but damn does it suck. Oh makes sense so like a discount basically. Yeah I get that I mean it’s already stressful keeping your grades up in class but having the pressure so you have a easier way to college? Nerve wracking and stress inducing.

At least you care since unfortunately a lot of siblings don’t care enough or put down there siblings. I think your doing a lot now since you worrying about that and even some parents don’t give two shits about it or claim it’s too hard to understand now. I’m sure you are, more than you think. Your amazing seeing how sweet you are viví.

Yes unfortunately especially now it can cost your life being a Good Samaritan on the road if someone needs help and they can rob or even worse kill you. And all people you wanted to be a good person.

Yeah I knew I made a good call. I maybe would’ve have either freaked out or get very aggressive then, mostly the latter if I wasn’t emotional more prepared than how I first started out when first working there. And for sure I don’t want to also get aggressive to some other customers for one lady attitude and they had nothing to do with it. I have done it before and I’m not proud of it since they shouldn’t have gotten my anger.

Pppfffttt moving on! This isn't bully vi hours for their questionable tastes.

IM THE SAME WAY AND IT DRIVES MY FAMILY WILD. I'm always getting them things and when they go "Hey want something?" I just tell them nah I'm good. Then I get asked, "how come you don't let me get things for you." Because I feel bad taking other people's hard-earned money!!!

Not to be too straightforward, but I would love to hear about your fandoms. It's one of my favorite subjects, and who knows we might have some in common! (Lowkey I miss the hoodie ugh I keep looking at the picture).

It really is though, and the fact that I have to take harder math classes lowkey scares me. I am having a blast with Philosophy, sociology, and psychology. I was having fun with composition until this professor. My last one was cool and even sent pictures of his dogs with every assignment.

Aww making my blush

I'm just trying my best. I even had a little evening outing with them. Did some gift card shopping then just rode around and sang our hearts out.

God going for a walk or jog could get you unalived these days. Which always scares the shit out of me since it's in my exercise routine. So I never go alone or without pepper spray. I also trust no one. I'm polite I say good morning, but I'm always keeping am ear open.

Hey at least you learned from that and made yourself better! Might I also add I have so much respect for you for being able to handle that on the daily. People are just getting meaner for no reason, and you don't deserve it.

#vivi talks #galaxy anon

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infrenrev · 1 year ago

Text

Speedrunning Books #1 - On Writing

Introduction to Speedrunning Books

List of all books I have speedrun

C.V

editor is always right

don't copy

Don’t staple manuscripts. Loose pages plus paperclip equal correct way to submit copy.

Do not troll someone you know in your writings (at least don't let them know you are writing about them)

When you write a story, you’re telling yourself the story. When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all the things that are not the story.

Writing is a lonely job (if taken as primary profession). Having someone who believes in you is enough, they don't have to give speeches.

If you don't know about some specific thing in your story (like that is about a group of people whom you don't belong to or a field in which you are not an expert, or even an enthusiast), get someone who knows about it to explain it to you. If possible, you can even look it up online if you couldn't find someone. TL;DR "Always do a proper research"

What Writing Is

Writing is just imagining something and converting your imagination to text. The readers convert the text you gave them using their imagination to a picture (or a video, or whatever). He calls it telepathy.

TOOLBOX

"It’s best to have your tools with you. If you don’t, you’re apt to find something you didn’t expect and get discouraged"

Construct your "toolbox" (with all tools you would need to write) and build enough muscle to carry it.

Common tools go on top. The commonest of all, the bread of writing, is vocabulary.

"It ain’t how much you’ve got, honey, it’s how you use it" (here, vocabulary)

Top Layer (of Toolbox)

Vocabulary

Put your vocabulary on the top shelf of your toolbox, and don’t make any conscious effort to improve it. (You’ll be doing that as you read, of course … but that comes later.)

And also

Remember that the basic rule of vocabulary is use the first word that comes to your mind, if it is appropriate and colorful. (If you hesitate and cogitate, you will come up with another word—of course you will, there’s always another word—but it probably won’t be as good as your first one, or as close to what you really mean.)

Also don't pick words that would change the meaning you intend to present your readers. If there is no other word(s) that conveys the same meaning you thought of, use the word(s) you thought of in the first time.

Grammar

Add grammar to the top level of your toolbox. (Learn it somehow if you didn't already, he recommends Warriner’s English Grammar and Composition).

British Grammar > American Grammar

In this part he basically gives advice from "The Elements of Style" (He recommend to read this book earlier). He also has some personal views but I would suggest you read that book.

However if you want what he says:

William Strunk hated phrases like "the fact that" and "along those lines"

He doesn't like "That's so cool" and "at this point in time" and "at the end of the day"

"You should avoid the passive tense" - Stephen King + The Elements of Style

Reader must always be your concern. Make it easier for the reader to read.

Don't use redundant adverbs. Change the sentence instead. Eg: He closed the door firmly He slammed the door.

He says the best form of dialogue attribution is said. Like "he said".

He suggest reading a novel by Larry McMurtry, the Shane of dialogue attribution.

Second Layer (of Toolbox)

Possessives

Thomas' bike Thomas's bike. (American British)

With a hammer he killed Frank He killed Frank with a Hammer.

Paragraphs

Easy books (👍) contain lots of short paragraphs—including dialogue paragraphs which may only be a word or two long—and lots of white space. Hard books, ones full of ideas, narration, or description, have a stouter look. A packed look.

When composing it’s best not to think too much about where paragraphs begin and end; the trick is to let nature take its course. If you don’t like it later on, fix it then (That’s what rewrite is all about).

The object of fiction isn’t grammatical correctness but to make the reader welcome and then tell a story … to make him/her forget, whenever possible, that he/she is reading a story at all.

Third Layer (of Toolbox)

No fear while writing

Magic

Skills in description, dialogue, and character development all boil down to seeing or hearing clearly and then transcribing what you see or hear with equal clarity (and without using a lot of tiresome, unnecessary adverbs).

The extra fittings include onomatopoeia, incremental repetition, stream of consciousness, interior dialogue, changes of verbal tense (it has become quite fashionable to tell stories, especially shorter ones, in the present tense), the sticky question of back story (how do you get it in and how much of it belongs), theme, pacing (we’ll touch on these last two), and a dozen other topics.

Other than the ones described about, it’s all on the table, every bit of it, and you should use anything that improves the quality of your writing and doesn’t get in the way of your story. If it sounds good, keep it. Else, delete it.

ON WRITING

He approaches the heart of this book with two theses.

Good writing consists of mastering the fundamentals (vocabulary, grammar, the elements of style) and then filling the third level of your toolbox with the right instruments.

While it is impossible to make a competent writer out of a bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one.

Read a lot

"If you want to be a good writer, you must read a lot and write a lot."

You learn what not to do from bad writing and what to do from good writing.

You can read anywhere but make sure you have a door to shut other people from disturbing you while writing. + Remove external disturbance factors.

Make writing a regular habit, just like excercise.

Write what you like (probably it is what you like to read). Don't write in order to impress friends or family (or anyone).

Don't turn towards a specific genre or type of fiction just to make money. "the job of fiction is to find the truth inside the story’s web of lies, not to commit intellectual dishonesty in the hunt for the buck. Also, brothers and sisters, it doesn’t work."

Plot

"In my view, stories and novels consist of three parts:

Narration, which moves the story from point A to point B and finally to point Z;

Description, which creates a sensory reality for the reader;

And dialogue, which brings characters to life through their speech."

He advices against writing stories with a plot in mind. He instead tells to have a story in mind (which is different from a plot) but not to have a fixed plot. He tells to let the characters do things in their own way and later catch up with the plot. (He also gave an excercise for that in the book. He tells you a story about a married couple (the bigger picture of the story, not the details) and asks you to change the sex of the couple and rewrite the story and send him)

Description

Using dialogue, you can show the personality and character of your characters instead of saying them.

Dialogue is what gives the audio of the story. Good dialogue sounds good and bad dialogue sounds bad.

"Dialogue is a skill best learned by people who enjoy talking and listening to others—particularly listening, picking up the accents, rhythms, dialect, and slang of various groups."

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL485VkV9KDCMyPJH9Y9TbRmviU3lg1ixN

"As with all other aspects of fiction, the key to writing good dialogue is honesty." You have to be honest about the words coming out of your characters's mouth.

You should not care what other people want to hear from the mouth of your character. You should write what the character would say exactly.

Character development

The job boils down to two things

Paying attention to how real people around you behave

Telling the truth about what you see

Characters should grow and influence the story as it progresses, with the best stories being character-driven.

Start with a situational aspect, such as a particular circumstance or setting, but ultimately allow the characters' growth and revelations to dictate the direction of the story.

While shorter stories (around two to four thousand words) may not delve as deeply into character exploration, in longer stories, the author believes that the story itself should always take precedence over mere character studies.

By focusing on the people and their internal journeys, the author argues that the story becomes more compelling and engaging for the readers. It allows them to connect with and relate to the characters on a deeper level.

Avoid one-dimensional characters by understanding that everyone perceives themselves as the main character in real life, which should be reflected in fiction.

Creating relatable characters involves showing their traits and behaviors rather than explicitly telling the reader about them.

Characters should behave in ways that are consistent with their personalities and the story, including moments of doubt, pity, or reluctance to do the right thing.

Well-developed characters in fiction can become so vivid and alive that they seem to have a mind of their own. When characters are fully realized, they start to take actions and make decisions that feel natural and authentic within the story. This phenomenon, known as characters "doing stuff on their own," can be a valuable and enjoyable experience for the author. (It also helps to resolve storytelling problems because the characters' actions flow organically from their personalities and motivations.)

Symbolism

Theme

Theme, in the context of writing and literature, refers to the underlying message or central idea that a work of art or literature explores. It is the broader concept or universal truth that the author intends to convey to the reader through the story, characters, and events.

Writers should consider what their book is about and make it clear in the second draft.

Thematic thinking is useful and helps in shaping the story.

Story should come before theme in fiction writing.

Revising the work

The author says experienced writers don't need help with this part but beginners should revise their work at least two times. One with the door closed and one with the door open.

While you do the first revision with the door closed, don't show your work to anyone for whatever reason. Because:

You may be take off the track by other people's questions or comments, even if they are positive.

Someone may ask if something that you randomly put in the story has any meaning and you may start thinking about things in a different way than you would without their comment.

So basically others words may change your view

Take a break after the first draft (he suggests 2 days)

During the second draft, if possible, revise it in one setting. And do all the minor corrections like spelling.

And get suggestions after the second revision. It is hard to get an unbiased opinion from the people you know.

Pace

Pace is the speed at which your narrative unfolds.

"There is a kind of unspoken (hence undefended and unexamined) belief in publishing circles that the most commercially successful stories and novels are fast-paced."

"I guess the underlying thought is that people have so many things to do today, and are so easily distracted from the printed word, that you’ll lose them unless you become a kind of short-order cook, serving up sizzling burgers, fries, and eggs over easy just as fast as you can."

"this is bullshit"

Not that there’s anything wrong with rapidly paced novels. But you can overdo the speed thing. Move too fast and you risk leaving the reader behind, either by confusing or by wearing him/her out.

Nevertheless, you need to beware—if you slow the pace down too much, even the most patient reader is apt to grow restive.

When it comes to pacing, just leave out the boring parts.

(He got this formula from someone else) "Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%"

Back story

Back story is all the stuff that happened before your tale began but which has an impact on the front story.

Back story helps define character and establish motivation.

Example:

I think it’s important to get the back story in as quickly as possible, but it’s also important to do it with some grace. As an example of what’s not graceful, consider this line of dialogue: “Hello, ex-wife,” Tom said to Doris as she entered the room. Now, it may be important to the story that Tom and Doris are divorced, but there has to be a better way to do it than the above, which is about as graceful as an axe-murder. Here is one suggestion: “Hi, Doris,” Tom said. His voice sounded natural enough—to his own ears, at least—but the fingers of his right hand crept to the place where his wedding ring had been until six months ago.

Even when you tell your story in this straightforward manner, you’ll discover you can’t escape at least some back story.

The most important things to remember about back story are that

Everyone has a history

Most of it isn’t very interesting.

Stick to the parts that are, and don’t get carried away with the rest.

Research

If you do need to do research because parts of your story deal with things about which you know little or nothing, remember that it belongs in the background (and the back story as you can get it)

You may be interested in the research you do but your readers would care a lot about your characters and your story.

"On the whole, I think story belongs in front, but some research is inevitable; you shirk it at your peril."

Keep your research and back story at the back.

Publishing

Writing Classes or Seminars

"You don’t need writing classes or seminars any more than you need this or any other book on writing."

"Writing-class discussions can often be intellectually stimulating and great fun, but they also often stray far afield from the actual nuts-and-bolts business of writing"

So how do you publish?

"Other than Where do you get your ideas?, the questions any publishing writer hears most frequently from those who want to publish are How do you get an agent? and How do you make contact with people in the world of publishing?"

"There is a commonly held suspicion that most newcomers who actually succeed in getting their books published broke through because they had an in, a contact, a rabbi in the business."

"The underlying assumption is that publishing is just one big, happy, incestuously closed family. It’s not true."

Neither of the above assumptions are true. "The fact is that agents, publishers, and editors are all looking for the next hot writer who can sell a lot of books and make lots of money … and not just the next hot young writer, either"

"I didn’t discover until much later that not all agents are good agents, and that a good agent is useful in many other ways than getting the fiction editor at Cosmo to look at your short stories."

"You should have an agent, (and if your work is salable, you will have only a moderate amount of trouble finding one. You’ll probably be able to find one even if your work isn’t salable, as long as it shows promise.")

He suggest the book Writer’s Market for writers who are new to the market.

"Submitting stories without first reading the market is like playing darts in a dark room—you might hit the target every now and then, but you don’t deserve to."

What is the most important thing for a young writer who’s just beginning to submit his or her fiction to remember? (By Frank)

Good presentation, absolutely. When you send your story out, there ought to be a very brief cover-letter on top of the script, telling the editor where you’ve published other stories and just a line or two on what this one’s about. And you should close by thanking him for the reading. That’s especially important.

You should submit on a good grade of white bond paper— none of that slippery erasable stuff. Your copy should be double-spaced, and on the first page you should put your address in the upper lefthand corner—it doesn’t hurt to include your telephone number, too. In the righthand corner, put an approximate word-count.

Don’t cheat, either. Most magazine editors can tell how long a story is just by looking at the print and riffling the pages.

You get practical in a hurry once you’re out of school and trying to find a place for yourself in the business. The very first thing I learned was that you don’t get any kind of hearing at all unless you go in looking like a professional.

Things are very tough in the entry level.

“You can’t make them like your story, but you can at least make it easy for them to try to like it.”

Frank got serious about finding an agent at about the same time he got serious about his novel. “I didn’t want to put in all that work and then be faced with not knowing how to sell the damn thing when I was done,”

Here is Frank's letter template that he sent to a dozen people:

June 19, 1999 Dear :

Dear :

I am a young writer, twenty-eight years old, in search of an agent. I got your name in a Writer’s Digest article titled “Agents of the New Wave,” and thought we might fit each other. I have published six stories since getting serious about my craft. They are:

“The Lady in the Trunk,” Kingsnake, Winter 1996 ($25 plus copies)

“Two Kinds of Men,” Jackdaw, Summer 1997 ($15 plus copies)

“Christmas Smoke,” Mystery Quarterly, Fall 1997 ($35)

“Big Thumps, Charlie Takes His Lumps,” Cemetery Dance, January-February 1998 ($50 plus copies)

“Sixty Sneakers,” Puckerbrush Review, April-May 1998 (copies)

“A Long Walk in These ’Yere Woods,” Minnesota Review, Winter 1998-1999 ($70 plus copies)

I would be happy to send any of these stories (or any of the half dozen or so I’m currently flogging around) for you to look at, if you’d like. I’m particularly proud of “A Long Walk in These ’Yere Woods,” which won the Minnesota Young Writers’ Award. The plaque looks good on our living room wall, and the prize money—$500—looked excellent for the week or so it was actually in our bank account (I have been married for four years; my wife, Marjorie, and I teach school).

The reason I’m seeking representation now is that I’m at work on a novel. It’s a suspense story about a man who gets arrested for a series of murders which occurred in his little town twenty years before. The first eighty pages or so are in pretty good shape, and I’d also be delighted to show you these.

Please be in touch and tell me if you’d like to see some of my material. In the meantime, thank you for taking the time to read my letter.

Sincerely yours,

"Three wrote back asking to look at the prizewinning story about the hunter lost in the woods. Half a dozen asked to see the first eighty pages of his novel. The response was big, in other words—only one agent to whom he wrote expressed no interest in Frank’s work, citing a full roster of clients."

"You should be especially wary of agents who promise to read your work for a fee. A few such agents are reputable (the Scott Meredith Agency used to read for fees; I don’t know if they still do or not), but all too many are unscrupulous fucks."

"I’d suggest that if you’re that anxious to get published, you skip agent-hunting or query-letters to publishers and go directly to a vanity press. There you will at least get a semblance of your money’s worth."

ON LIVING: A POSTSCRIPT

He survived an accident while writing this book.

"Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well."

"It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy."

"Some of this book—perhaps too much—has been about how I learned to do it. Much of it has been about how you can do it better. The rest of it—and perhaps the best of it—is a permission slip: you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will"

"Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up."

And Furthermore, Part I: Door Shut, Door Open

In this section, he offers a piece of fiction he wrote as an example of how the editing process works.

The Example:

The raw version, with the door shut:

The Hotel Story

Mike Enslin was still in the revolving door when he sawOstermeyer, the manager of the Hotel Dolphin, sitting inone of the overstuffed lobby chairs. Mike’s heart sank alittle. Maybe should have brought the damned lawyer alongagain, after all, he thought. Well, too late now. And evenif Ostermeyer had decided to throw up another roadblock or two between Mike and room 1408, that wasn’t all bad; it would simply add to the story when he finally told it.

Ostermeyer saw him, got up, and was crossing the room with one pudgy hand held out as Mike left the revolving door. The Dolphin was on Sixty-first Street, around the corner from Fifth Avenue; small but smart. A man and woman dressed in evening clothes passed Mike as he reached out and took Ostermeyer’s hand, switching his small overnight case to his left hand in order to do it. The woman was blonde, dressed in black, of course, and the light, flowery smell of her perfume seemed to summarize New York. On the mezzanine level, someone was playing “Night and Day” in the bar, as if to underline the summary.

**“Mr. Enslin. Good evening.”

“Mr. Ostermeyer. Is there a problem?”** Ostermeyer looked pained. For a moment he glanced around the small, smart lobby, as if for help. At the concierge’s stand, a man was discussing theater tickets with his wife while the concierge himself watched them with a small, patient smile. At the front desk, a man with the rumpled look one only got after long hours in Business Class was discussing his reservation with a woman in a smart black suit that could itself have doubled for evening wear. It was business as usual at the Hotel Dolphin. There was help for everyone except poor Mr. Ostermeyer, who had fallen into the writer’s clutches.

“Mr. Ostermeyer?” Mike repeated, feeling a little sorry for the man.

“No,” Ostermeyer said at last. “No problem. But, Mr. Enslin … could I speak to you for a moment in my office?”

So , Mike thought. He wants to try one more time.

Under other circumstances he might have been impatient. Now he was not. It would help the section on room 1408, offer the proper ominous tone the readers of his books seemed to crave—it was to be One Final Warning—but that wasn’t all. Mike Enslin hadn’t been sure until now, in spite of all the backing and filling; now he was. Ostermeyer wasn’t playing a part. Ostermeyer was really afraid of room 1408, and what might happen to Mike there tonight.

“Of course, Mr. Ostermeyer. Should I leave my bag at the desk, or bring it?”

“Oh, we’ll bring it along, shall we?” Ostermeyer, the good host, reached for it. Yes, he still held out some hope of persuading Mike not to stay in the room. Otherwise, he would have directed Mike to the desk … or taken it there himself. “Allow me.”

“I’m fine with it,” Mike said. “Nothing but a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Mike said, holding his eyes. “I’m afraid I am.”

For a moment Mike thought Ostermeyer was going to give up. He sighed, a little round man in a dark cutaway coat and a neatly knotted tie, and then he squared his shoulders again. “Very good, Mr. Enslin. Follow me.”. The hotel manager had seemed tentative in the lobby, depressed, almost beaten. In his oak-paneled office, with the pictures of the hotel on the walls (the Dolphin had opened in October of 1910—Mike might publish without the benefit of reviews in the journals or the big-city papers, but he did his research), Ostermeyer seemed to gain assurance again. There was a Persian carpet on the floor. Two standing lamps cast a mild yellow light. A desk-lamp with a green lozenge-shaped shade stood on the desk, next to a humidor. And next to the humidor were Mike Enslin’s last three books. Paperback editions, of course; there had been no hardbacks. Yet he did quite well. Mine host has been doing a little research of his own, Mike thought.

Mike sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He expected Ostermeyer to sit behind the desk, where he could draw authority from it, but Ostermeyer surprised him. He sat in the other chair on what he probably thought of as the employees’ side of the desk, crossed his legs, then leaned forward over his tidy little belly to touch the humidor.

“Cigar, Mr. Enslin? They’re not Cuban, but they’re quite good.”

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

Ostermeyer’s eyes shifted to the cigarette behind Mike’s right ear—parked there on a jaunty jut the way an oldtime wisecracking New York reporter might have parked his next smoke just below his fedora with the PRESS tag stuck in the band. The cigarette had become so much a part of him that for a moment Mike honestly didn’t know what Ostermeyer was looking at. Then he remembered, laughed, took it down, looked at it himself, then looked back at Ostermeyer.

“Haven’t had a cigarette in nine years,” he said. “I had an older brother who died of lung cancer. I quit shortly after he died. The cigarette behind the ear …” He shrugged. “Part affectation, part superstition, I guess. Kind of like the ones you sometimes see on people’s desks or walls, mounted in a little box with a sign saying BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. I sometimes tell people I’ll light up in case of nuclear war. Is 1408 a smoking room, Mr. Ostermeyer? Just in case nuclear war breaks out?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Well,” Mike said heartily, “that’s one less worry in the watches of the night.”

Mr. Ostermeyer sighed again, unamused, but this one didn’t have the disconsolate quality of his lobby-sigh. Yes, it was the room, Mike reckoned. His room. Even this afternoon, when Mike had come accompanied by Robertson, the lawyer, Ostermeyer had seemed less flustered once they were in here. At the time Mike had thought it was partly because they were no longer drawing stares from the passing public, partly because Ostermeyer had given up. Now he knew better. It was the room. And why not? It was a room with good pictures on the walls, a good rug on the floor, and good cigars—although not Cuban—in the humidor. A lot of managers had no doubt conducted a lot of business in here since October of 1910; in its own way it was as New York as the blonde woman in her black off-theshoulder dress, her smell of perfume and her unarticulated promise of sleek sex in the small hours of the morning—New York sex. Mike himself was from Omaha, although he hadn’t been back there in a lot of years.

“You still don’t think I can talk you out of this idea of yours, do you?” Ostermeyer asked.

“I know you can’t,” Mike said, replacing the cigarette behind his ear.

Revised version:

The reason he shared this is for us to not be ashamed of our first draft because even the draft of a professional writer like him looks like this. ("I’m hopeful that you’ll see how raw the first-draft work of even a so-called “professional writer” is once you really examine it.")

Most of the changes are cuts, intended to speed the story.

He has cut with Strunk in mind

Omit needless words

2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%

He has keyed a few changes for brief explanation.

The explanations

Obviously, “The Hotel Story” is never going to replace “Killdozer!” or Norma Jean, the Termite Queen as a title. I simply slotted it into the first draft, knowing a better one would occur as I went along. (If a better title doesn’t occur, an editor will usually supply his or her idea of a better one, and the results are usually ugly.) I like “1408” because this is a “thirteenth floor” story, and the numbers add up to thirteen.

Ostermeyer is a long and gallumphing name. By changing it to Olin via global replace, I was able to shorten my story by about fifteen lines at a single stroke. Also, by the time I finished “1408,” I had realized it was probably going to be part of an audio collection. I would read the stories myself, and didn’t want to sit there in the little recording booth, saying Ostermeyer, Ostermeyer, Ostermeyer all day long. So I changed it.

I’m doing a lot of the reader’s thinking for him here. Since most readers can think for themselves, I felt free to cut this from five lines to just two.

Too much stage direction, too much belaboring of the obvious, and too much clumsy back story. Out it goes.

Ah, here is the lucky Hawaiian shirt. It shows up in the first draft, but not until about page thirty. That’s too late for an important prop, so I stuck it up front. There’s an old rule of theater that goes, “If there’s a gun on the mantel in Act I, it must go off in Act III.” The reverse is also true; if the main character’s lucky Hawaiian shirt plays a part at the end of a story, it must be introduced early. Otherwise it looks like a deus ex machina (which of course it is).

The first-draft copy reads “Mike sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.” Well, duh—where else is he going to sit? On the floor? I don’t think so, and out it goes. Also out is the business of the Cuban cigars. This is not only trite, it’s the sort of thing bad guys are always saying in bad movies. “Have a cigar! They’re Cuban!” Fuhgeddaboudit!

The first- and second-draft ideas and basic information are the same, but in the second draft, things have been cut to the bone. And look! See that wretched adverb, that “shortly”? Stomped it, didn’t I? No mercy!

And here’s one I didn’t cut … not just an adverb but a Swiftie: “Well,” Mike said heartily … But I stand behind my choice not to cut in this case, would argue that it’s the exception which proves the rule. “Heartily” has been allowed to stand because I want the reader to understand that Mike is making fun of poor Mr. Olin. Just a little, but yes, he’s making fun.

This passage not only belabors the obvious but repeats it. Out it goes. The concept of a person’s feeling comfortable in one’s own special place, however, seemed to clarify Olin’s character, and so I added it.

And Furthermore, Part II: A Booklist

This is just a list of books he read. (He is sharing because when he encouraged others to read a lot, someone asked "What do you read?")

Abrahams, Peter: A Perfect Crime

Abrahams, Peter: Lights Out

Abrahams, Peter: Pressure Drop

Abrahams, Peter: Revolution #9

Agee, James: A Death in the Family

Bakis, Kirsten: Lives of the Monster Dogs

Barker, Pat: Regeneration

Barker, Pat: The Eye in the Door

Barker, Pat: The Ghost Road

Bausch, Richard: In the Night Season

Blauner, Peter: The Intruder

Bowles, Paul: The Sheltering SkyBoyle, T. Coraghessan: The Tortilla Curtain

Bryson, Bill: A Walk in the Woods

Buckley, Christopher: Thank You for Smoking

Carver, Raymond: Where I"m Calling From

Chabon, Michael: Werewolves in Their Youth

Chorlton, Windsor: Latitude Zero

Connelly, Michael: The Poet

Conrad, Joseph: Heart of Darkness

Constantine, K. C.: Family Values

DeLillo, Don: Underworld

DeMille, Nelson: Cathedral

DeMille, Nelson: The Gold Coast

Dickens, Charles: Oliver Twist

Dobyns, Stephen: Common Carnage

Dobyns, Stephen: The Church of Dead Girls

Doyle, Roddy: The Woman Who Walked into Doors

Elkin, Stanley: The Dick Gibson Show

Faulkner, William: As I Lay Dying

Garland, Alex: The Beach

George, Elizabeth: Deception on His Mind

Gerritsen, Tess: Gravity

Golding, William: Lord of the Flies

Gray, Muriel: Furnace

Greene, Graham: A Gun for Sale (aka This Gun for Hire)

Greene, Graham: Our Man in Havana

Halberstam, David: The Fifties

Hamill, Pete: Why Sinatra Matters

Harris, Thomas: Hannibal

Haruf, Kent: Plainsong

Hoeg, Peter: Smilla’s Sense of Snow

Hunter, Stephen: Dirty White Boys

Ignatius, David: A Firing Offense

Irving, John: A Widow for One Year

Joyce, Graham: The Tooth FairyJudd, Alan: The Devil’s Own Work

Kahn, Roger: Good Enough to Dream

Karr, Mary: The Liars’ Club

Ketchum, Jack: Right to Life

King, Tabitha: Survivor

King, Tabitha: The Sky in the Water (unpublished)

Kingsolver, Barbara: The Poisonwood Bible

Krakauer, Jon: Into Thin Air

Lee, Harper: To Kill a Mockingbird

Lefkowitz, Bernard: Our Guys

Little, Bentley: The Ignored

Maclean, Norman: A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

Maugham, W. Somerset: The Moon and Sixpence

McCarthy, Cormac: Cities of the Plain

McCarthy, Cormac: The Crossing

McCourt, Frank: Angela’s Ashes

McDermott, Alice: Charming Billy

McDevitt, Jack: Ancient Shores

McEwan, Ian: Enduring Love

McEwan, Ian: The Cement Garden

McMurtry, Larry: Dead Man’s Walk

McMurtry, Larry, and Diana Ossana: Zeke and Ned

Miller, Walter M.: A Canticle for Leibowitz

Oates, Joyce Carol: Zombie

O’Brien, Tim: In the Lake of the Woods

O’Nan, Stewart: The Speed Queen

Ondaatje, Michael: The English Patient

Patterson, Richard North: No Safe Place

Price, Richard: Freedomland

Proulx, Annie: Close Range: Wyoming Stories

Proulx, Annie: The Shipping News

Quindlen, Anna: One True Thing

Rendell, Ruth: A Sight for Sore EyesRobinson, Frank M.: Waiting

Rowling, J. K.: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Rowling, J. K.: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azakaban

Rowling, J. K.: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

Russo, Richard: Mohawk

Schwartz, John Burnham: Reservation Road

Seth, Vikram: A Suitable Boy

Shaw, Irwin: The Young Lions

Slotkin, Richard: The Crater

Smith, Dinitia: The Illusionist

Spencer, Scott: Men in Black

Stegner, Wallace: Joe Hill

Tartt, Donna: The Secret History

Tyler, Anne: A Patchwork Planet

Vonnegut, Kurt: Hocus Pocus

Waugh, Evelyn: Brideshead Revisited

Westlake, Donald E.: The Ax

#speedrunning books #books #reading #writing #on writing #stephen king #summary #book summary #book reading #stephen king books #writing advice #writing community #writer #creative writing

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