#how much do you think an antique charm bracelet goes for? who knows.

[ap0110-and-c0]

*Staring at my Hakukai time loop fic plot, sweating* Anyways time to write a drabble!

[belphegor1982]

Well, officially presenting the first chapter (on AO3 and here) of my Mummy story I’m in the process of resurrecting :o)

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson...

Chapter 1: Old Friends (on AO3 here)

Cairo, Egypt, 1937

A tourist’s first impression of this part of Cairo was mostly a blinding white light. The little houses, the blazing sky, the glittering sun, even the dust flying around helped complete the effect.

Of course, as soon as your eyes – and mind – adjusted, you could see and feel the dust settled on absolutely everything, including your ears and nose, the layers of grime, the heaps of donkey and mule droppings in the streets… and if you were very careful, you could catch the hand of the passing pickpocket sneaking for your wallet, as it was in any metropolis big and noisy enough for passers-by to be distracted.

Not that this particular thought worried one particular Englishman currently sauntering across the streets of Cairo. As a fairly skilled pickpocket himself, Jonathan Carnahan didn’t need to eye every corner warily – all he needed to do was to watch his own self and make sure that no belongings of his landed in anyone’s pocket. Or vice versa.

Jonathan turned round a corner, whistling a jaunty jazz tune. Despite his cheerful demeanour, he was feeling slightly miffed, having gone out in the hopes of finding something for Evy’s birthday and coming home empty-handed. Lucky thing that he still had a couple of weeks to go. After years of searching frantically for a gift at the very last moment, he was determined to get his hands on something she might like – and preferably something that didn’t involve puzzle boxes, big black books, and three-thousand-years-old mummies rising from the dead. That was over. He, for one, had had his share of insane stuff like that.

Thinking of their last trip to Egypt all together wiped the smile off his face. It had been two years, but how could he ever forget that horrible, ice-cold feeling that had left him completely numb, as he sat down next to the dead body of his sister, trying to comfort his nephew and failing so thoroughly? He had never felt so miserable in all his life. Since his life included a stint in the trenches and being chased by the undead more times than necessary, this was saying something.

There it goes again. Jonathan shook his head, and quickened his pace. He’d got fairly good at actively ignoring this kind of memories, but it was getting harder when they kept popping back up without a warning. Unlike his brother-in-law, for whom this part of the world meant little else than bloody unnecessary conflict, the inside of a gaol, and the aforementioned undead, Jonathan didn’t really mind returning to Egypt. He’d had quite a few fond memories of the place before the whole nasty mummy business. It was the reason behind the trip that bothered him a little.

Two years ago, the second before the oasis of Ahm Shere sank into the ground, Jonathan had taken as a souvenir – and compensation for his troubles – the enormous diamond resting atop the pyramid. He’d felt very proud of himself for that, and it had come to him as a nasty bit of shock when Evy had told him there was absolutely no way he would take it to London. Yet, after much arguing on his part, and even more talking and coaxing on his sister’s, he had finally admitted, despondently, that she might be right after all.

The Cairo Egyptian Museum of Antiquities had offered him a tidy sum, but it had not really consoled him – not when he had been strong-armed to give a substantial part to Izzy as compensation for his troubles. Since the man never knew the real value of the gem, however, said compensation amounted to a quarter rather than the half he had been demanding, a fact which Jonathan adamantly refused to feel guilty over.

Even Evy reminding him that the diamond couldn’t be safer than in this hidden room, under the constant, hawk-like watch of the Medjai curator, had not been quite enough. The diamond was beautiful – gleaming white, inlaid with elaborated gold and pearls – and big – the weight of it had nearly pulled Jonathan down from the dirigible. Parting with it had not been easy.

And now, just a few months ago, the British government had contacted Evy and Rick through the curator of the British Museum where Evy oversaw the seven Egyptian galleries; they had decided that the diamond was no longer safe in Egypt, with the Italian army invading Ethiopia not so long ago and the ominous tidings from Germany, Italy and Spain – the O’Connells had been kindly asked to return to Egypt, and accompany the diamond on its way to England. Which had meant, in a more prosaic way of putting it, that they were mandatory volunteers. The look on Rick’s face when he had explained it to his brother-in-law had been a murderous one – partly because he hated the idea of being ordered about, mainly because Evy was more than enthusiastic about it.

Alex had told his uncle afterwards of the row they’d had one night, thinking he was sound asleep. Poor kid had never heard his parents truly fight in the space of ten years, and that had obviously disturbed him. To tell the truth, it had disturbed Jonathan himself, who saw Evy and Rick as the perfect couple in so many ways it was disgusting. Egypt – especially its supernatural side – had lost its charms for Rick ever since Ahm Shere. There was no way in hell he’d let his wife go there alone.

“And he said that Mum was ‘a magnet for trouble’, that each time they went to that ‘damn place someone died’, and after that Mum shouted something rude –”

“Rude? Evy? Are we really speaking of my baby sister there?” Uncle and nephew had been sitting on the carpet on the floor of the latter’s bedroom, back against the bed. Jonathan quite liked it when he went over to ‘baby-sit’ Alex – Evy had finally come to trust him when she and Rick had to go out for whatever reason, and they usually had a good time together. That evening, though, Alex had sat silently, looking crestfallen. When Jonathan had eventually managed to get him to talk, it was rather late in the night, and Alex ought to have been put to bed long ago. But neither of them were very eager about it just then.

His uncle’s attempt at humour got a reluctant smile from Alex; he repeated what Evy had said to Jonathan, who let out a low whistle. “Indeed. Even your dad would call it rude, I guess.”

Alex gave another slight smile, and snuggled beside his uncle. A tad uncomfortable at first with this rather unusual display of emotion, Jonathan put an arm around his nephew’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “Hey. Want a piece of advice from your old uncle?” Alex nodded, not saying anything. “Don’t worry too much. I’ve seen your parents together for twelve years, and if there’s only one thing I’m sure of in this world – they are so in love it’s sickening. It’s always been this way, and I’m sure it’ll always be this way.” Alex raised his eyes. Jonathan looked down at him, winking. “Get used to it, partner. We’re doomed.”

A moment’s silence passed, more comfortable and relaxed than it had been a few minutes earlier. Then Alex raised his blond head to ask, “D’you think we’ll go back to Egypt, then?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan shifted slightly on the floor. “I wouldn’t say no to a trip there – the country’s a fine one. And after all, we’re talking about my diamond here, dammit.” Alex snorted, and Jonathan chose to ignore it. “Seriously, I like the place. I spent most of my time as a kid there.”

“Well, I’d love to go.” The passion in his nephew’s voice echoed his mum’s whenever she spoke of Egypt, and it wasn’t lost on Jonathan.

“You sure? I would’ve thought that you would hate it, actually. You didn’t have what I’d call a good time last time you went there.”

“You only say that because you were scared to death most of the time.”

“It’s not true.”

“Like hell it isn’t!”

Jonathan managed to give Alex what he thought was a stern look. The boy just grinned.

“And you kiss your mother with that mouth.”

“Bet Dad hasn’t taught me half of what he knows.”

This time, they both chuckled. Then Alex scrambled out of his uncle’s arms and looked at him in the eye. “Why won’t he go back to Egypt?”

“Well, it’s – it’s complicated.” No it’s not. “I guess he doesn’t want to – lose you or your mum again.” Jonathan swallowed. “And to tell you the truth… I have to agree with him on that one.”

“But it’s only for the diamond!” Alex exclaimed. “No Book of the Dead, no mummies, no ancient curses. Only a stupid diamond to take to England.”

Jonathan grinned. “The problem is, each time your mum began her sentence by ‘It’s only’ something, the world went upside down and your mum and dad had to save it. Mostly because they doomed it in the first place. If my memory serves me right, it was first the Book of the Dead, then the chest with that bloody Bracelet of Anubis.” Jonathan shook his head. “Seems you take more after Evy than I thought.” He winked at Alex to make him know he was only being half serious; but Alex went on.

“Okay, I understand that he doesn’t want to lose me or –”

“Let me clear that up, Alex,” Jonathan interrupted, his voice low and serious for once. “It’s not that he ‘doesn’t want’ to. You know him, there’s not many things on earth he’s afraid of, but he’s scared out of his wits at the mere thought of losing one of you two. And that’s saying something, because your dad’s one of the bravest blokes I’ve ever known.”

Alex was silent for a moment, pondering his uncle’s words. Then his jaw clenched, and he looked away. “Uncle Jon?”

“Yes?”

“At Ahm Shere, I was – I was scared to death when – when Mum…”

Jonathan felt a knot tighten in his chest; he shifted closer to his nephew and put an arm around him again. “I know. I was, too.”

After a whole week of deliberation, Rick and Evy accepted the government’s mission. And after another fourteen days of heated debates, Alex was allowed to go with his parents to Egypt, apparently thanks to the high marks he had received in school. But Jonathan suspected that this decision had a lot to do with his nephew’s ability to wear out any guardian when he didn’t want to be left out. Thankfully the boy had never tried his infamous tricks on him, a fact that made Evy wonder endlessly.

In the end, Evy and Rick officially broke the news about the trip to Jonathan; not wanting them to realise that he had known for almost a month, he feigned to be pleasantly surprised, and asked if they minded him going along for the ride. Evy said yes almost immediately, but Rick muttered something about the return of the whole O’Connell-Carnahan family to Egypt bringing down plagues and destruction upon the world.

So, after a surprisingly uneventful flight from London to Cairo, and an equally calm trip to their ‘old haunt’, as Jonathan liked to put it, they were settling down peacefully. The lack of major events so far had made Rick more relaxed, even if he still looked as if danger was about to bear down upon his family any time. But the fact remained that they were to stay in Egypt until the London and Cairo Museums agreed on several points which still needed to be discussed. Ah, the joys of bureaucracy.

Jonathan was jerked out of his train of thought when he finally felt the afternoon sun’s fantastic heat on his head and neck, and wished he had taken Evy’s advice to put on a hat. They had arrived the day before, and while Evy discussed the diamond case with the curator of the Museum of Antiquities, and Rick took Alex to see other things than desiccated corpses, Jonathan had sneaked out to take a stroll, and try to find a fitting birthday present. Evy was a tricky one when it came to gifts – she didn’t seem to like flowers, trinkets or pretty dresses like other women Jonathan knew; but she was crazy about anything that reminded her of Egypt. It had been that way ever since she was old enough to know what she wanted, which had come very early indeed.

Maybe the best thing was to ask O’Connell what he would be giving her, and either get ideas or just contribute to the purchase, as he had done before. But that bothered him. After all, as his one and only sister, she did deserve something special.

Quite lost in his thoughts this time, he barely registered that he was walking past the Museum before somebody knocked into him, hard enough for both of them to crumple, breathless, on the ground. It took Jonathan thirty seconds to get his lungs in working order again and, instinctively, check his pockets for anything missing.

“So sorry I bumped into you, man, din’ mean to,” came the voice of the attacker. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sound of this voice and he squinted up at its owner.

“Ferguson? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”

The fellow shook his head, still looking a bit dazed; then his own eyes, round and brown, went even rounder as he stared at Jonathan. “Carnahan! What the hell are you doin’ ‘ere?”

“Glad to see you too, old chap,” laughed Jonathan, standing up and dusting himself off before offering a hand at the man on the ground, who accepted it gladly.

He hadn’t seen Thomas Ferguson since some time after the end of the war, what felt like ages ago. They’d made quite a pair at Oxford, the two of them – the scrawny, foppish Southerner with the quiet grin and the sticky fingers, and the broad-shouldered, round-faced Scouse with the laughing eyes and the deceptively innocent face. They’d rowed for the Dark Blues for a bit, got properly pickled on Boat Race Nights, and helped each other out of many a tight spot.

As soon as Tommy was on his feet he was wringing Jonathan’s hand with all the energy he’d been famous for as a boy. “Sorry, Jon, mate, I was a bit stunned –” After all these years, he still retained some of that accent, too! “– ‘S’not everyday you bump into a pal from Oxford in the middle of Cairo! How’d you get here, for starters?”

“Well, I followed my sister,” Jonathan replied, grinning. In fifteen years or so, he had not realised that he had actually missed this accent. “She’s giving a hand to the curator of the Museum of Antiquities – she’s something of an authority now, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh yeah? That’s fantastic. I haven’t forgotten how you’d talk about her, y’know. On and on and on. I’m curious to see what she looks like.”

Jonathan stole a glance at the entrance steps of the Museum, and turned to Tommy with a smirk. “Really? Well, if you really want to, I suppose I could…”

His sister had just appeared on the stairs, accompanied by the curator, an elderly man with greying hair and whiskers. Tommy followed Jonathan’s gaze and looked at them, goggling at Evy in particular.

“Jonny – are my eyes mistaken, or is this gorgeous woman Doctor Evelyn O’Connell? I’ve read about her, she’s famous in my line of work… According to what I’ve read, she was one of the first people to make it out of the City of the Dead alive –”

Jonathan’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, that’d be her.”

Tommy rambled on as they walked closer to the stairs, “That’s bloody amazing! I thought she’d look, you know, like in the pictures in the paper, the bookish type with glasses – your typical Southern spinster”, he added with a wink. They waited for the curator to bid her goodbye, and Jonathan, greatly enjoying the situation, crept up on his sister to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hey there, old mum – how’s your day been?”

Evy started, then her expression shifted from slightly irked to a smile at her brother’s laugh. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jonathan, the things that amuse you…”

“You’re just miffed I startled you. C’mon, I’d like you to meet someone – an admirer,” he added with a grin to Tommy, who stood there, his eyes wide. “Thomas Ferguson, an old school friend of mine. Tommy – Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell, my famous baby sister.”

Evy held out her hand, which Tommy grabbed and shook heartily. “So you’re the old scoundrel’s sister? No wonder he spoke about you – though you don’t quite fit the description now…”

“What exactly did you tell your ‘school friends’ about me?” asked Evy, warning in her voice, though the twinkle in her eye did not quite disappear. Nevertheless, Jonathan preferred to ignore her question, earning a hard nudge in the ribs.

“So, what did you say your ‘line of work’ was?” he asked Tommy.

“Well – don’ laugh. I work at the British Consulate in Cairo, specialising in antique stuff. Oh, I’m sorry, Dr O’Connell,” he stammered with a glance at Evy who had an eyebrow raised, “I mean I’m one of the chief agents in the British Antique Research Department.”

“I’ve heard of you!” exclaimed Evy. “At least of that Research Department. They’re gradually cutting off public funds – encouraging individual financing – that won’t do any good for scientific research. Such a stupid decision is only going to –”

“So you lot are the ones she kept fuming about for half a year!” Jonathan snorted. The infamous Ferguson rotten luck struck again.

Tommy looked dejected. Evy must have seen this, because she bit her lip and said, in softer tones, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. But as my brother said, I’ve been – rather upset over this. There’s been some pressure on the British Museum lately by private patrons who threatened to pull out their funding on some… sensitive collections. Without the Crown to back us up, we might have to cave in to their ridiculous demands.”

“I’ll – I’ll tell my superiors about it,” said Tommy, still looking unsure. “See what I can do. Surely that won’t be much, but… Well. I’ll have tried.”

“That’s nice,” Evy said cheerfully, taking Jonathan’s arm and starting to walk. “Look, the two of you – I’ve had something of a rough day, so I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. You can –”

“Brilliant idea!” said Jonathan, flashing a grin at his sister. “I thought of going to the Sultan’s Kasbah, but you might find it a tad – let’s say – dingy, my good friend.”

“Worse than the Turf?” Seeing Evy’s puzzled look, Tommy explained, “Sorry, private joke. I mean the Turf Tavern, that’s where I saw him for the first time. Me family didn’t ‘ave much money, you know, so I used to work there to pay for my studies. Very nice pub, didn’t deserve the reputation.”

“I’m sure you did indeed see a lot of my brother there,” Evy slipped in slyly. Jonathan threw a mock glare at her.

“To think you are almost my only family. What a shame.” Then, as Tommy looked uncertain, “Carry on, Tom.”

“All right. So I was one of the only students who needed a job, and there were some others who thought that it was – how’d they put it? – a ‘disgrace’ to our university.”

“Preposterous,” said Evy sternly. “As if money could take you further than talent.”

Jonathan bit back on the cynical comment that crossed his mind. Sometimes Evy’s naïveté baffled him.

“Right,” said Tommy uncertainly, glancing at Jonathan. “So, one day, a little bunch of lads come in, and Jon here was sometimes hanging with ‘em at the time –”

Evy glared at Jonathan in advance, and he threw his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t done anything!” Evy’s gaze softened, and Jonathan finished, “…Yet.”

That earned him a playful slap on the arm, and a laugh from Tommy, who went on, “Anyway, one of the blokes orders somethin’ or other, and starts to poke fun at me. Well, I was used to it, so I let them be. Then they continued, and I finally noticed that skinny lad in the corner who was makin’ fun at them for making fun at me. Didn’ quite understand what the hell was going on – oh, sorry, Dr O’Connell – what was happening.”

Evy smiled. “You’ll have to watch your mouth in front of my son, but otherwise it’s fine. And please, call me Evelyn.”

Tommy beamed. “Right, uh, Evelyn. So, uh –”

“What he didn’t know at that point,” interrupted Jonathan, “was that I had my eye on that fellow – what’s his name – Farbow. He owed me quite a bit of money, but wouldn’t repay me. So I was looking for a way to get him back for it.”

“And get the rest of his wallet in the process, of course.”

“Evy, he owed me seventeen pounds. And he was not what I’d call a ‘decent bloke’ – nasty, disdainful piece of work he was, and his little friends with him. Always a dirty word about the Scouse who worked at the Turf Tavern, just because he didn’t belong to his snobby little world. I did the community a favour, really.”

“Don’t push it, Jonathan,” warned Evy.

Tommy carried on. “Well, I was glad there was at least one person who didn’t think like Edwin Farbow – nice change. Then Farbow said something – I don’t remember what it was about, I jus’ remember it made me really angry, really. An’ it’s not a pretty sight when I’m really angry at someone.”

Jonathan remembered, but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.

“An’ – an’ I just lost it, y’know? I dropped his tea over his ‘ead –”

“I say, that one was pretty funny,” Jonathan said, smiling widely at the memory. The strangled yelp that had followed had definitely been one of the best parts.

“So they all leaped for me, obviously – began to punch me, the six or seven of them – hey, I still managed to get back at them!” Tommy added quickly, as if defending his honour. Evy hid a smile, and it occurred to Jonathan that that last sentence had something very Rick-like about it. “But I’m not a fool. I know a losing fight when I’m in one.”

“Don’t tell me. Jonathan bravely threw himself into the fight to take on as many attackers as possible.” There was mischievous laughter in Evy’s voice, and her eyes were twinkling. If any other than her had quipped that way about him, Jonathan would probably have taken offence, or at least pretended to. But they knew each other enough not to cross the line.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t quite Jon’s style – I don’ know, might’ve changed since then. But yeah, he did. One moment I was squashed under six or seven guys, the nex’ I found out we were two on the floor.”

Evy began to laugh. “Why, Jonathan? My Jonathan, in a fight, for someone he barely knew?”

At that Jonathan cleared his throat, a mite embarrassed. “I told you, I was looking for Farbow’s wallet. That was the perfect diversion – you should’ve seen that twit looking in every corner for his lost wallet afterwards. It was three months before he gave up.” And it’s lucky you didn’t see me then. I was a bloody mess. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.” Evy smiled. “You never told me that.”

“Should I have?”

“I don’t know, it’s – it was nice of you to do that, even for the wrong reasons. I’m proud of you.”

Jonathan felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat. Not a very big one, but enough to keep him from talking for a few seconds. It was always like this whenever she said something really nice to him. It caught him off guard each and every time.

“We’re home,” announced Evy after a little while, stopping in front of a door.

“Nice house,” commented Tommy, taking in the sand-coloured neat front and the curtains at the windows.

“Our ‘old haunt’ since the family moved to Egypt,” Jonathan said, opening the door and stepping aside to let his sister in. “Evy wasn’t even walking then.”

“I do believe I was,” Evy protested.

Jonathan snorted. “Oh, you weren’t. You crawled.”

Evy seemed to resist the urge to slap her brother and walked into the living room, her nose in the air. She was greeted by two simultaneous voices:

“Mum!”

“Hey, hon.”

Jonathan waited a few seconds, then walked into the room in turn, and grinned at the sight of his nephew looking genuinely eager to see him. He was not fooled, however – as soon as Evy wasn’t looking, Alex mouthed the words “Got one?” and frowned as his uncle shook his head. No, he still had no present for Mum’s birthday.

Then Alex peered behind Jonathan and saw Tommy standing there, looking uncomfortable at the family reunion.

“Uncle Jon? Who’s that?”

“Who, him?” Jonathan pointed at his friend, and Alex rolled his eyes. “Tom Ferguson, was in class with me at Oxford. I ran into him by chance today.”

Tommy stepped past Jonathan and held out his hand to Alex, nearest to him. “Hi – glad to see ya. Jon’s nephew, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, eyeing him with all the suspicion of a ten-year-old who’d seen what he had seen. Behind him, Rick’s eyes spoke loads about his own distrust. But mistrust towards Jonathan and everything related was par for the course on his part, and, admittedly, reasonable.

“Thomas Ferguson, British Antique Research Department,” said Tommy, holding out a hand towards Rick, who shook it slowly, still reluctant.

“Rick O’Connell.”

“So you’re Dr O’Connell’s husband? Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m impressed, you’ve no idea.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“It seems I’m rather famous in the Research Department,” said Evy, laughing.

“Make that infamous,” quipped Jonathan.

“The Department owes your wife a huge amount of information about some obscure periods of Egyptian hist’ry, as well as the major part of serious knowledge we’ve got on Hamunaptra,” Tommy pointed out, and Evy blushed. “She’s a legend – one of the original three who managed to go to Hamunaptra and live to tell the tale – but – I assume you’re another one?”

“Yeah,” said Rick, looking a bit nonplussed. Jonathan definitely didn’t regret bringing Tommy in. Seeing Rick O’Connell confused was a very rare occurrence, too rare to be missed.

“I never knew – who was the third one?”

Jonathan was now struggling to keep a straight face. Rick blinked, and pointed at his brother-in-law. “That was him.”

“You!?” God, the look on his face was priceless. “You were at Hamunaptra?”

“Yes,” risked Jonathan, laughter rising in his voice. “And believe me, it wasn’t quite the picnic. Oh, by the way, there were four of us, not three.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick roll his eyes and grinned, undaunted. This was proving to be a fun evening.

__________

1937 was a conscious choice on my part, and so was the choice to make it two years after Ahm Shere. I know that in the film we clearly see the caption THEBES – 1933, but 1935 is the date at the back of the DVD and at the back of the novelisation. Besides, in the film, Red (the bald-ish one of the three thugs) states that the events of TM happened "nine years ago", and Alex is eight. I'm not good at maths, but I chose to trust it nonetheless. There are other explanations to the date goofs, both Doylist and Watsonian, and this is mine.

Hope you liked/will like the rest!

[mayamatiln]

What are some of your zaya headcanons?

You have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone to send me this ask… Just get ready because I have a whole 2 pages already written out ready to go! 

Maya decides that she can’t go on tour with Craig but she goes to meet him and explains that her mental health has to come first. Surprisingly he tells her about his past and his own mental health problems and he assures her that she isn’t getting away that easily. He tells her that he will hire her (for very little pay) during the school year as an assistant at his studio in LA and in return he will help her with her music. He tells her that he believes in her because her music is amazing and it sort of reminds him of Ashley

Before Maya and Zig and Tiny set off on their road trip to California, they stay for Grace’s surgery and to help out for a week or two after if she needs anything. (I’m still kinda jipped that Jonah was the only one in her pics.)

On their road trip, they caravan with Tiny and Shay because Caltech is only 40 minutes from SoCalArt. But half way through the trip Maya and Zig decide to take more time to explore so Tiny and Shay keep moving because Shay is going to a track and field camp there and has to make it on time. Tiny says he will meet them in LA when Maya and Zig finally make it there. He is totally cool with leaving them behind because they are literally on the verge of hooking up. Plus, he wants to spend more time with Shay ;)

When they leave for the road trip they have yet to officially get back together because both of them are nervous about making the first move. But both of them literally act like a couple minus all the kissing and making out and they literally hang out every day which is why they are so comfortable traveling cross country together

Maya is scared of getting back together because she wants to focus 100% on her mental health and her music career and not worry about keeping up a long-distance relationship. She knows that Zig would totally move out to LA but she doesn’t want him moving out there just to be with her because that is a lot of pressure on them if they only JUST got back together. So, she wants to be with him but doesn’t know how it would work out

Zig feels pretty much the same but that he WANTS to move out to LA to be with Maya even if they aren’t a couple just because they are best friends and he can’t imagine not having her around. But he is scared to tell Maya that because he thinks it may sound too clingy and he doesn’t want to rush things this time around.

But they both go on the road trip and they know that they are gonna end up hooking up because it really isn’t a secret that they both have romantic feelings for each other.

Before they go Zig is sure to go to a doctor and get tested because after being with Esme who knows what he could have gotten – it was Tiny’s idea to go. At first Tiny said it as a joke but Zig wanted to get checked out just in case anything happened with Maya…he couldn’t be too sure.

The trip is 44 hours with no stops and they decide to go through Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, Grand Canyon, and Vegas to really try to make it the best road trip possible.

They aren’t in any rush to get to California so they pretty much stop at all the cute little shops on the side of the road and if they see anything fun going on they do it. They buy all their friends little souvenirs along the way. At one of them Zig sees an antique ruby ring (like Maya’s middle name) and he has no intention of asking Maya to marry him any time soon but he knows that she’s the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with so he says what the hell and just saves it for the right time whenever that may be.

They finally hook up somewhere in the middle of Kansas. He is singing along very badly (on purpose) to an Ed Sheeran song and she’s laughing at him until she just says “pull over.” And he’s instantly concerned and worried about her so he does and as soon as he puts it in park she kisses him. After a couple of minutes they pull apart and start laughing until she says “okay keep driving”

About 2 days into the trip while they are driving at night waiting to find the nearest motel, Maya blurts out that when she was unconscious after she overdosed she saw Cam. She doesn’t know if it was her seeing him from the afterlife or just her body’s way of trying to make her live but he talked her into staying and that killing herself would be a mistake. Zig just holds her hand and traces tiny circles on the back of her hand because this is the first time in a long time that they have really reflected on how much Cam’s death had affected both of their lives.

They take super cute couple photos at the Grand Canyon. So much so that an elderly couple asks them if they are on their honeymoon.

In Vegas, they get really drunk and embarrass themselves doing karaoke.

While in Denver, Zig begins texting Tiny and suggests they get an apartment in LA together because there is no way that he can’t not stay with Maya.

When Maya finally caves and says that she wants Zig to stay in LA, but they can’t live together or anything because Maya is living in the dorms, he replies that Tiny is already on the hunt for cheap apartments.

While in LA, Zig gets a job at a fancy restaurant as a chef and after working there for a while he decides to go to cooking school. Mostly in part because he grows really close to his boss at the restaurant who inspires him to really strive to be a chef and make something of himself. Also being able to go to culinary school will allow him to stay in the US for longer than 6 months while still being a Canadian.

During the school year, Maya is technically living in the dorms but in reality, she spends most nights at Zig and Tiny’s apartment.

A little after Christmas, Maya moves into their apartment officially mainly because Zig and Tiny desperately need someone else to help pay the rent.

They adopt a dog from the animal shelter and name him Sheeran because it was Zig’s horrible rendition of Give Me Love that caused them to officially get back together.

Over a year after she first got to LA, Maya gets a chance to open for Craig at a huge venue in LA. Tristan shows up over a week in advance to visit. But before the show, Katie, Zoe, Miles, Winston, Grace, Jonah, Tiny (of course), and even Tori all come out to LA to support Maya in her big show.

Maya still wears the charm bracelet that Cam gave her all those years ago for every performance, but after her big show it’s Tristan that buys her the first new charm to go on it since Cam gave it to her.

While working with Craig at the studio she has met Ellie, his fiancé, several times, and they have gotten pretty close. So close that Ellie takes Maya with her to group therapy on Wednesday nights. Ellie really takes Maya under her wing and becomes like another older sister to her.

Back during his senior year, Zig began getting closer with his family again even though he lived in a group home. He is especially closer with his younger brother who is starting at Degrassi soon. Zig occasionally travels back to Toronto for a week or two during the year to go visit them and Grace. While he’s back he briefly checks in on Esme too to make sure she is doing alright. But just as friends, which Esme completely understands.

During his weeks back in Toronto, the snapchats, text messages, and FaceTimes between Maya and Zig are absolutely ridiculous. Let’s just say that they couldn’t have pulled off long distance because they miss each other WAY too much.

[justine1518]

PORTENTS

Positive, she said cheerily, as if I shouldn’t go out and hang myself this instant. I held on to the phone for a long time; I was sure that if I let go I would fall down. The coffee turned to mud in my mouth—I ran to the sink and heaved. Congratulations, it’s a fetus. You frigging idiot. 

Afterwards I sat at the kitchen table and tried to make sense of the stuff swirling around in my head. Visions of blood and umbilical cords and feeding bottles whirled before my eyes like malevolent frisbees. The newspaper was lying next to the platter of toast; I read the headline about two hundred times. “May use poison gas, Iraq warns.” Next to it a picture of a dead Kurdish woman clutching the body of her dead child. Mother. Child. I felt like throwing up all over again. I imagined a creature ripping out of my stomach in a gory mess, like the monster in Alien. 

There was a Post-it note on the mirror: “Lunch with Lawrence, 12:30,” Lawrence being a fifty-fifty candidate for the father. I painted a face on and stared at the mirror. I saw my belly swelling up, my clothes rising like a circus tent, and all I could think about was the ten pounds I’d just lost, and the new dress I bought to mark the occasion. Finally I got my new dress out of the closet and put it on while it still fit. 

In the elevator my next-door neighbor smiled and said Good morning. She had this sort of knowing smile, and I found myself wondering if she knew about me. I wasn’t just being paranoid; this is Manila, the neighbors know everything. They are extremely sympathetic, and if you let them they will take over your life. It turned out she was just trying to sell me a watch. Her husband had managed to get out of Kuwait by driving across the desert, and when he got home the banks refused to change his Kuwaiti dinars. That’s why she was selling his watches. I felt kind of sorry for Mrs. Santos, setting out with her imitation Gucci handbag and several dozen gold bracelets to sell her husband’s watches. Or was it Mrs. San Juan, I can never remember.  A nervous breakdown would’ve been in order, or a fit of tears and keening, the kind that comes with a runny nose and smeared mascara. But I’ve never been one for hysterics. Thanks to my parents, by the time I was eight, the sight of a chair being hurled across the room was no longer cause for alarm. Maybe there is something to be said for a lousy home life. Ramon says my emotional range is limited to rage, guilt, and occasional hilarity. He neglected to mention blanknesss—there are times when I just don’t feel anything.  Ramon also claims he can read my thoughts by looking at me—he says I’m transparent. I hope so; it’s embarrassing to tell somebody there’s a fifty per cent chance that he may be a father in several months.  By the time it occurred to me to catch a ride I was halfway to my office and decided to walk the rest of the way. I was swallowed up by the crowd of people hurrying to work; rising above the din of traffic, their footfalls sounded like the marching of a distant army.  In front of the church where rosaries and good-luck charms were sold under the baleful stare of the Archangel Michael’s statue, a strange figure appeared on my right; a filthy man with long, matted hair. A tattered bag was slung across his bare chest, upon which his ribs protruded like spikes. A thick layer of soot covered his emaciated body—he looked like a walking pile of ashes. He started speaking to me in urgent tones, as if he were revealing important secrets, and there was a crazy glint in his eyes. I understood nothing. He was speaking either in dialect of in gibberish, I couldn’t tell, I looked on stupidly. People stared, expecting perhaps that he would produce a cleaver and hack me to death. The man went on with his weird recitation; why he chose me I had no idea, maybe he could see past the designer clothes into my dark and grimy soul. After a while he frowned like a teacher who had just given up on a particularly moronic student. Then he wheeled and dashed into the church, stopping a moment to rub with his filthy hand the scowling face of the Archangel Michael.  Through the glass I could see the cashier, Wilma, on the telephone, spewing vile words like poisoned toads into the receiver. She was screaming at some poor bastard who owed her money. Across from me, Pocholo, in his pink shirt and red paisley necktie, sat flipping through the morning papers.  “It’s exactly as Nostradamus said,” Pocholo said. “He predicted earthquakes signaling the end of the world, and we had that big one last month. Then he said a leader from the Middle East would launch a world war. I thought it would be Khadaffi but no, it’s Saddam Hussein.  “Sure,” I said. I watched Wilma slam the phone so hard it fell to the floor. Cursing mightily, she stopped to pick it up. On this particular day she was clad in polyester cloth abloom with pink and purple flowers, which made her look like a demented sofa.  “Anyway,” Pocholo continued, “my aunts say they saw this vision in Taal.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “They saw a horseman in the sky.”  “A what?”  “A man on a horse. Riding across the sky. A hundred schoolchildren saw it. According to my aunt it looked like the statue of St. Martin that stands in their church.”  “St. Martin on a horse?” I said. “Maybe it was St. George or Joan of Arc. I don’t think St. Martin rode a horse.”  “No, stupid,” he said. “You’re thinking of St. Martin de Porres. We’re elating about St. Martin of Tours. And you know what? My aunt says they saw the same vision just before World War II. Then the Japanese arrived.” He ran his fingers through his artfully moussed and tousled hair. “Oh my God, what if it’s really the end. I mean, I don’t even have a kid yet.”  I looked away so he wouldn’t see me grimace, and was just in time to see Wilma spitting into her wastebasket.  All morning I wondered whether I should ask Wilma for her abortionist’s address. She would give the address, I knew, even accompany me to the place. Probably some decrepit wooden house in the fetid alleys of Tondo, where the gangs hunted each other down with homemade revolvers. Wilma hid nothing, she wore her brazen honesty like a soiled and rusty halo. She had had four abortions, she told me casually while I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom; the washerwoman down her street performed the operation, she owed Wilma money. I imagine Wilma’s insides, as torn and bloody as a battlefield. She said she’d regretted her last abortion: it was a girl, she’s always wanted a baby girl. She put the fetus in a jar of formalin and kept it in the drawer where her wedding dress, which had outlasted her marriage, lay yellowing among mothballs and dead flowers.  The others she’d flushed down the toilet.  Lawrence ate his lunch the way he lived his life: very carefully, as if he would choke on it. Everything about him was resoundingly correct, from his hair to his Italian shoes, from the schools he’d attended to the fashionable gym where he wrestled with machines three times a week. I knew that as he read the menu he was figuring out how much cholesterol, how much sodium and fat were in the entrees.  “It’s going to be bad,” he was saying. “By next year the official exchange rate could be 28 pesos to the dollar. That’s a conservative projection. We haven’t considered oil prices and the damage from the earthquake.” Daintily, he chewed on his vegetable. “Inflation will go through the roof,” he added, almost with relish.  While he delivered his analysis of the economy, I twirled the noodles around my fork but I hardly ate anything. No appetite. Idly, I wondered if Lawrence was sleeping with someone else. One of the girls from his office, someone tall and svelte who worked in PR, shopped in Hong Kong, and wore linen suits with tiny skirts. I concluded that he wasn’t—I had no illusions about his undying love and fidelity, but I trusted his fear of AIDS.  “Am I boring you?” he said at last. Mr. Sensitive. He put his hand on my knee—maybe he expected me to salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know we haven’t seen each other much lately, but it’s been hell at the office.” Without missing a beat he slid his hand up my skirt. Boy, he was smooth, no one would’ve suspected that the earnest-looking young man in the pinstripe shirt could be doing something as ignoble as giving a girl a feel in a restaurant. “That guy from the head office is a major asshole. Goes around trying to catch people loafing. The office feels like a...”  Abruptly he withdrew his hand and stood up. A large, red-nosed white man in an ill-fitting brown suit was approaching our table.  “Mr. Fowler,” said Lawrence.  “Alvarado,” said the man, shaking the hand Lawrence extended.  “How was the beach?” Lawrence said. I had to restrain myself from calling the waiter and asking for a receptacle I could puke into.  “Fine,” said Fowler, “Well. Enjoy your meal.”  “Is that the asshole from the main office?” I said.  “Sssh,” Lawrence hissed. “He might hear you.”  “Let him.” I reached over with my fork and speared food off his plate. He hated it whenever I did that. Lawrence had a very definite concept of “mine.” For instance, all his books were stamped “Private Library of Lawrence R. Alvarado.” The strange thing was, he didn’t even read his books. They were lined up according to height on his antique bookshelf, neatly covered in plastic. One time I took a book out of the shelf, and it had been there unopened for so long the pages stuck together.  “Anyway,” Lawrence said, “where were we?”  “You mean until your sahib came along?”  “What’s the matter with you?” he said. Funny he should use the exact same words he said coming up to me at Diday’s birthday party while I stood in a corner holding my breath to get rid of my hiccups. He said he was Lawrence and I should breathe into a paper bag, so we went into the kitchen and rummaged in the closets. There weren’t any paper bags, and when he found a plastic shopping bag I didn’t need anymore, my hiccups were gone. He got my name and my telephone number, it was as easy as that.  “Miggy,” he said. Miggy, for Chrissakes. I knew Lawrence wasn’t going to follow me, he hated scenes—and I walked out of the restaurant, it was as easy as that.  I wandered around the mall for a while. I went into stores and looked at things. There was this outfit that looked like our uniform at the Academy of Our Lady’s Seven Sorrows—white blouse, blue necktie, and a navy-blue skirt—only the skirt was too short. At Seven Sorrows, skirts had to cover the entire knee area. If your knees were exposed the nuns would give you a lecture on modesty. There was no spanking—the nuns were an enlightened bunch—but after fifteen minutes of having guilt laid thickly on you, you’d wish they’d give you ten lashes instead and get it over with.  Corporal punishment would simplify everything. For sleeping with a guy you weren’t married to, you’d get, say, five hundred lashes. For sleeping with two guys, neither of whom you were married to, one thousand lashes. For even thinking about abortion, ten thousand lashes. And I’d been such a good girl too, until recently, anyway, so I’d probably get five hundred extra lashes for being such a disappointment.  I made a mental list of the reasons for and against having this baby. Pro: This child would be mine, really truly mine, which couldn’t be said of a lot of things. Pro: Maybe I’ll turn out to be a genius who will invent something beneficial to mankind, like a device that would cause world leaders to self-destruct if they got the urge to wage war.  Anti: I’m not sure I’d be such a hot parent. I have serious deficiencies in the responsibility department, as the credit card people will attest. Anti: The lack of a husband, the resulting social stigma, and if not that, my own paranoia. I would drive myself crazy wondering if someone was going to cast stones at me. Anti: my mother would freak. She’s in California, running a Filipino restaurant, and she’s always going on about the decline of traditional Filipino values. I don’t think she would appreciate having me prove her theories. I can just see her talking to my father, blaming him for dying young and leaving her to raise his daughter to adulthood (I was always “his daughter” everytime I screwed up).  When I got back to the office people were scurrying about like newly-beheaded chickens.  “What’s going on?” I asked Pocholo. He was alternately squirting his asthma medication into his mouth with an inhaler and stuffing folders into his briefcase.  “There’s going to be a big earthquake at 2:30,” he said, only there were no pauses between his words.  “Says who?” I demanded.  “It was on the radio,” he said. He snapped his briefcase shut. People were running into elevators. Wilma let loose a steady stream of obscenities while she stuffed into shopping bags the fake Benetton shirts she sold on installment.  “That’s crazy,” I said. “You can’t predict exactly when an earthquake will happen.”  "It was on the radio,” Pocholo repeated, as if media coverage were an infallible confirmation of truth. “2:30. Powerful earthquake, intensity nine.”  “Well, I’m not leaving,” I declared. “I’m not going to fall for an idiotic prank.”  “This building could collapse!” he screeched. “Like the Hyatt Terraces!” “You can’t predict an earthquake exactly.”  “What if there is one? Be reasonable!”  Reasonable! I nearly laughed at that. Pocholo gave up, gathered his briefcase and inhaler, and ran to the elevator.  “Come on,” said Wilma, “It’s almost time.”  “It’s a prank,” I said. “I’m not leaving.”  “They’re closing the building,” she said. “Everyone’s getting out. Do you want to get locked in?”  She had a point. I got my bag—I could use the afternoon off, anyway.  I figured I’d go home and get some sleep; maybe when I woke up this whole thing would turn out to be a bad dream like the one that killed my Uncle Danding. One night he ate too much rice and stewed pork, then went to bed and started screaming horribly in his sleep. They slapped him, poured cold water on him, pounded and bit him, but he never woke up. He died uttering strange garbled noises. The official cause of death was cardiac arrest, but everyone said it was bangungot, the sleeping sickness.  It did seem like a dream, the crowd of people gathered at the parking lot and looking at the building, waiting for the swaying to start. Idiots, I muttered, as I flagged down a taxi.  “Where to?” the driver snarled.  “Salcedo,” I said.  “Too near,” he snapped, zooming off before I could get in the cab. Taxi drivers! This was not a great moment for humanity: everyone was being an idiot or an asshole.  All the taxis were taken, and the buses were so full people were sprouting out the windows. I could see the passengers crammed together like fillings in an enormous sandwich, bumping and rubbing against each other with every lurch of the bus. Maybe if something asks who my kid’s father is, I could say I took a really crowded bus and got knocked up.  By the time I got back to my apartment my feet were throbbing. A menu from a pizza parlor that delivered had been shoved under my door; reading it I had a sudden wild craving for anchovy pizza. Pregnant women are supposed to have these wild cravings, but I was slightly worried. I’ve heard old people say that what you crave during pregnancy determines how your child will turn out. For instance, if you crave guavas, your child will be stubborn. My friend claims her clumsiness was caused by her mother’s fondness for noodles. And singkamas is supposed to produce fair-complexioned children, no matter how dark their parents are. I thought, if I ate a lot of anchovies, would my child have scaly skin, or look like a fish?  I phoned the pizza place anyway, and when I put the phone down it rang. “Hi,” said Ramon.  “How did you know I was home?” I said.  “You’re always home on Sunday.”  “It’s Monday.”  “Oh. Are you going out tonight?” he said. “Can I come over?”  “Okay.”  When I hung up I noticed how quiet the building was. No radios blaring, no TV, no brats squalling down the hall. For a second I wondered if there really was an earthquake. The last time, when the tremors started there was a stunned silence. The phones stopped ringing, the printers stopped whirring, conversations paused in mid-sentence; everyone sat gripping their desks, their eyes wide open and their mouths shaped into O’s. Then people dove under tables and Wilma was saying “OhGodOhGodOhGod” and there was a loud wailing in the air. When the tremors stopped I heard Pocholo’s radio, and the B-52s were singing, “Cosmic! Cosmic!”  I switched the TV on. There was this soap opera about a little girl whom everyone maltreated. The actress was played by a little girl was so good at being a martyr, it was as if she had a sign on her forehead that said, “Kick me.” The soap was interrupted by a news broadcast: 262 more Filipinos had fled Kuwait. A middle-aged woman told a reporter she had been raped by Iraqi soldiers. Why should I be ashamed, she said, I didn’t want it to happen. It was amazing how casual she was. How could she be so cool? War could break out any second, and that madman could use chemical weapons. I thought of worldwide recession, rioting for food, and pictures I had seen of Hiroshima after that blast.  Maybe Pocholo and his aunt were right, the world was coming to an end. What a lousy time it was to be born, with madmen waiting to gas you or blow you away, and the earth opening up to swallow you. On the other hand, with everything going against you, you didn’t need your own mother plotting to get rid of you.  Ramon came in at six. His hair looked like he’d cut it himself, which he often did. He brought a take-out box of friend noodles and a videotape of Road Runner cartoons. I heated the pizza leftovers and he ate them on the card table on the terrace.  He looked exhausted. “I stayed up late filling out the forms for my grant,” he explained, rubbing his eyes.  “I had a weird day,” I said. I told him about the street crazy in front of the church, and his strange message.  He rubbed a spot of sauce off my chin with his thumb. “Maybe it was an obscene proposal. Or maybe he was speaking Aramaic. Repent or else.”  “My officemate says the world is ending,” I said.  He ate the last crumb of pizza. “Maybe.”  “Doesn’t it worry you?”  “It’s not like I can do anything about it. If it’s true. What’s scary is being the last person on earth,” Ramon said.  "Everyone else is dead, and you wander around the rubble and slowly realize you’re alone.”  “God,” I said. “What would you do?”  “Keep looking for another survivor. Try to go crazy,” he reached over and picked a noodle from my plate. “We’re being morbid tonight.”  “I can’t help it,” I said. “All this talk about war.”  It started to rain, so we got up and went inside. As I closed the door to the terrace I thought I saw something in the sky—a man on a black horse, riding through the rain.  “You want some coffee?” Ramon called from the kitchen.  “Yes, please,” I said. My knees were wobbly, I had to sit down. You’re seeing things, I told myself. Pregnant women do it all the time, it’s hormones or something.  “What’s wrong?” said Ramon.  “Nothing,” I said, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a little kick.

Malevolent- having or showing a wish to do evil to others.

like malevolent Frisbees- The persona in the story feels like the problem she is facing is being thrown towards her.

[divorceyourring]

How to Design an Effective Jewelry Collection part 1

Designing a cohesive jewelry collection

Good Design = Good Business

“Only well executed objects can be beautiful. The aesthetic quality of a product is integral to its usefulness because products used everyday have an effect on people and their well-being.” –Dieter Rams

“There are three responses to a piece of design, yes, no and WOW! WOW is the one to aim for.” –Milton Glaser

There are so many “designers” in the world today that it is overwhelming at times, particularly if you are a “designer.” When I started teaching a class on designing a collection I did a lot of research into what a designer is, what the art of designing is, and what the basic elements and principles all of us should know and use when approaching design are. Having grown up in a family of artists, been married to an artist, having a daughter who is an artist, and having been a jewelry/metals major in college, the subject was not new, but I had never thought of it from this particular direction.

Here’s what I learned. A designer is a person who sets out to create a body of work that serves a purpose, fills a need and has the ultimate customer in mind. A designer creates work that is user friendly and captures his or her own personal design aesthetic and voice.

A collection is a group of pieces that have a similar design aesthetic, material/metal, feel, and they just work together or complement each other. Often these a collection will have the same design element running through all of the pieces. This could be a cube, a horseshoe, a heart, a spiral … it could be anything tying the pieces together. And, yes, there are some basic design principles that can be observed if you want to have a well-designed collection.

I am going to write three blogs on designing a collection. Each time I will go deeper into one of the areas below. I encourage you to send me your thoughts, experiences and ideas because these concepts can be subjective, and I welcome your perspective.

Designer

Cone pendant

 The overused term “designer” describes a person who understands that what she is creating not only about her own personal artistic vision but also about serving the needs of the ultimate customer. She understands that the act of refining her designs is never done. She takes a basic concept and keeps pulling at it to see where it will go, to see how many pieces she can make from a single element, material, or process as the basis for her work. Here are some questions you can ask yourself as a designer.

Why did you decide to become a designer?

What did/do you expect to get out of this decision?

What is your passion and inspiration in your work?

What designer/s do you emulate?

What do you experience when you design?

Do your designs reflect your personal aesthetic?

Name a specific product that you think is well-designed, not jewelry.

Name a specific product that you think is a bad design, not jewelry.

Collection

The 4C’s for a collection: clear, concise, cohesive, consistent.

A collection is a body of work that fits together seamlessly. You want galleries to see it as a whole so they can pick the individual pieces they feel are a good fit for their customer base. The ultimate customer prefers a cohesive collection rather than random pieces because it makes sense, and they know they can add pieces to it when they want. A collection tells a story and people love to tell stories about their personal purchase and it connect it to your story.

Most designers have more than one collection. Think about all the great artists; whether they are composers, architects, painters, writers, dancers, actors, or jewelers, they all have something in common. When you think about them, you can draw a mental picture of their work. It is distinct yet consistent. Imagine Frank Lloyd Wright designing a Renaissance-inspired building. It just doesn’t work.

Cone earrings in Emanuela Aureli‘s “Solids” collection

How do you create a collection? If you already have a body of work, invite some friends or peers over and lay out all your work for them to look at. Ask them what seems to go together. You aren’t asking for a critique, just a time to play with your jewelry. Let them move pieces around, put them together. You will often be surprised that others will see things, a common thread, in your work that you don’t. Listen. Take notes. Ask questions. Ask your guests to give you words describing your work. This will be handy later.

Here’s an exercise I give to all of my clients, even if they only have a few pieces or are just starting out. Pick out a single element in your work about which you feel strongly, that you really love. Then do at least 40 thumbnail sketches using this single element in all types of jewelry: bracelets, rings, pendants, bands, earrings, necklaces, pin/brooches, cuff links, charms, etc. I want you to pull your design, to discover new ways a single element can define your collection. This is when design gets really creative!

Here are some questions to get you thinking about your own collections.

 Does your work follow the 4 Cs outlined above?

 What is the strongest element in your work? Why?

How many pieces can you create using this single element?

Do you see a similarity in much of your work?

 Are there pieces you would be just as happy not having in your collection? If this is the case, move them out to make room for new pieces.

What are your customer’s needs? (affordable, comfort, one-of-a-kind, fashion-forward, a well-known name/brand, green, commitment, etc.)

Does your collection fill the needs of your customers?

Describe your collection.

Why should someone purchase your work?

Is it user friendly? (clasps easy to work, earrings not too heavy, necklaces hang right, pieces don’t snag, wearability, etc.)

What emotion does your jewelry evoke?

What is special about your collection? (the materials/metal, the process, the details, the main design element, the findings, etc.)

Basic Design Principle Guidelines

“Indifference towards people and the reality in which they live is actually the one and only cardinal sin in design.” Dieter Rams

Square Circle Bar earrings in Emanuela Aureli’s Solids collection

There is a famous product designer, Deiter Rams, who designed cutting-edge products for Braun, was an architect, and designed furniture for Vitsoe. He is also well known for his Ten Principles for Good Design or as some call them, The Ten Commandments for Good Design. I am sharing these with you straight from him. I am going to be covering other points of view and philosophies about basic design guidelines, but this is the perfect place to begin.

Dieter Rams’ Ten Principles for Good Design

Good design is innovative.

The possibilities for innovation are not, by any means, exhausted. Technical development is always offering new opportunities for innovative design. But innovative design always develops in tandem with innovative technology, and can never be an end in itself

Good design makes a product useful.

A product is bought to be used. It has to satisfy certain criteria, not only functional, but psychological and aesthetic. Good design emphasizes the usefulness of a product while disregarding anything that could possibly detract from it.

Good design is aesthetic.

The aesthetic quality of a product is integral to its usefulness because products we use every day affect our person and our well-being. Only well-executed products can be beautiful.

Good design makes a product understandable.

It clarifies the product’s structure, better still, it can make the product talk. At best, it is self-explanatory.

Good design is honest.

It does not make a product more innovative, powerful, or valuable than it really is. It is not an attempt to manipulate the consumer with promises that cannot be kept.

Good design is unobtrusive.

Products fulfilling a purpose are like tools. They are neither decorative objects nor works of art. Their design should therefore be both neutral and restrained in order to leave room for the user’s self expression.

Good design is long lasting

It avoids being fashionable and therefore never appears antiquated. It lasts many years—even in today’s throw-away society.

Good design is thorough down to the last detail.

Nothing must be arbitrary or left to chance. Care and accuracy in the design process show respect toward the consumer.

Good design is environmentally friendly.

Design makes an important contribution to the preservation of the environment.

It conserves resources and minimizes physical and visual pollution throughout the lifecycle of the product.

Good design is as little design as possible.

Less but better—because it concentrates on the essential aspects and the products are not burdened with inessentials. Back to purity, back to simplicity.

As I mentioned earlier, I will be continuing this series of blogs going deeper in depth on each of the three categories about design and would love to have your thoughts and ideas. Please share them. In the meantime, here are some resources you can use to explore this topic a bit more.

Watch the Netflix series Abstracta about designers in different fields.

Watch the movie Objectified about designing a product.

Watch the move Helvetica, a fascinating history of the font and that goes into product design.

Read As Little Design as Possible by Sophie Lovell about Dieter Ram’s Ten Principles.

Marlene Richey started a jewelry design firm with no prior business experience. During the 35 years since, Marlene has run a wholesale business and a retail gallery, participated in hundreds of craft and trade shows, and traveled across America selling the pair’s jewelry. She has served on the boards of SNAG, CJDG, Maine Craft Association, Metalwerx and WJA. Marlene consults with artists, teaches workshops and was professor at the Fashion Institute of Technology and Maine College of Art. She is also a contributor to various jewelry and craft publications and wrote an award-winning book on running a jewelry business, Profiting by Design. Have a business question for Marlene? Leave it in the comments section below and she’ll get back to you.

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