#my teacher said it was too detailed for the exercise but anyway I love ading details so too bad for her

[lemoonthetwink]

Some tunnel book I had to do for school, it was really fun to test it out

[marigoldsays]

Marigold Says... 

Random thoughts on travelling and life in general. 

Our blog didn't win Blog of the Year. Again. That's three consecutive years it's been on the Shortlist and all it has to show for that feat is three 'Highly Commended' awards.  Not even a rosette! 

Oh well, que, sera, sera.

We have over 165,000 'unique' followers by now, it's over 167,000 actually now,so we're not too disheartened. 

What's different this year is having not one but two separate blog posts being singled out for a 'Best Single Blog Posts' award. They're on very different subjects but recognition of any kind is welcome. Feed the ego; body and soul. That's never a bad idea.

If you're interested in what critics think (!) the two posts they selected for special praise are:

Hippie Life in Spain

and

Party for Grownups

You'll find them and much else besides in the list of titles, almost 200 separate postings on a wide diversity of subjects and locations.

As for awards... Well, as we've had well over 165,000, yes, that's ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE THOUSAND individual readers by now, we must be doing something right. Anything over ten thousand readers meant we'd arrived in the Bloggin' Premier League, so hitting a hundred and sixty fivethousand plus is just WOW!

Who needs awards anyway?

G regards himself as an ex-writer these days, but a pandemic brings many surprises in its wake. He's written a new book, quite the departure from the style that brought far too much fame and far too little fortune as compensation for all that life disruption, hence the ex-writer tag.

The new book is a Young Adult novel about a pandemic, written a year before most people even imagined such a thing. More details and a link to this book and a few others long hidden from public view are in the recent blog post, Staying Alive.

Stop Press.

We may not have won Blog of the Year, but our blog post Only the Lonely, written during Covid-19 Lockdown, has been chosen from a few million other offerings as the Best 'Pandemic' Blog Post by the very clever people who judge this sort of thing for a living. We like critics! 

This isn't Marigold. Far too sophisticated.

Here’s that Only the Lonely blog post, just as a sample…

Solitary Confinement - It's Not All Fun and Party Games

M Says'

I havedecided my hair needs cutting. I actually said to G, 'my hair needs cutting badly' and he of course jumped straight in with, 'sounds perfect job for me.'

I have two styles to choose from. It can either be Boris post virus locks or Michael Fabricant. To actually wear a wig like that needs an award. Love it. I haven't decided yet. It all depends on G's patience, and nifty use of a rather large pair of kitchen scissors. As their use is varied from cutting up a chicken, cardboard or old clothes for dusters, am sure they will be up to the task. 

As my hair is not a favourite asset it doesn't really matter. In fact I can't think of an asset I have got. Anyway need to work up to it when G isn't on his exercise bike or wandering up and down the path. 

Have started to think about waste a lot. Had loads of peelings yesterday and thought about making our own potcheen. Anyway, I thought about it and then put them in the bin. We have made all sorts of strange and varied things in the past. 

We had a spell making Kombucha when we lived in France. It was very successful. In fact too successful and we were left with lots of Mother pancake things and didn't know what to do with them. It was suggested you fry them and eat them. We in fact buried them in the garden. I wonder if any have grown into something that can't be identified. 

I also added cheese to olive oil and herbs. It went rancid. Buried that as well. Tried rhubarb wine. Awful. It would have been great as a toilet cleaner. We had grape vines, lots of them and the wine we made was a success thankfully. We had vineyard owning friends who were good teachers and we ended up with a quaffable product. 

I was in charge of labels and my only instruction was 'put them on straight'. Did they think I was going to put them on upside down? Why do people get bossy when they know more than you? We even had a wine bottle hedgehog. Look it up. Surprise, surprise. 

We have been walking up and down the path and G counts his steps. As I was borrowing his Fitbit and he claimed I was pinching his steps he bought me one. No stopping me now. Onwards and upwards. As it is a narrow path G starts one end with me at the other. We meet halfway and do a dozie-doe circle as in Scottish dancing to liven us up a bit. 

Marv. 

I have walked to Lands End and back. G said you would be better in shoes and not your slippers, but comfort is really important for athletes. 

Have had requests from family, friends, debt collectors and people I have never heard of to do a video something or other called Boom, Zoom or something or other. Can't think of anything worse. 

What does it involve? Do you have to wear make up, remove any rogue hairs, have an interesting back drop? It all sounds very stressful and have had to decline. What if we came on their screen and they screamed, or we screamed? Our conversation could be over in 3 minutes and then you have to revert to 'somebody is at the door' while G can clearly be heard shouting 'I don't want to talk to them'. Then you are trapped in a cycle of daily non goings on. 

I imagine it is like visiting someone in hospital and saying 'what did you have for lunch' or 'are you sleeping ok'. I would rather people imagine we are having lockdown parties and doing handstands. 

A friend said she started to do a diary. Day 1 Got up, had breakfast Had walk for an hour Had lunch Had tea Had shower Went to bed 

Day 2 -ditto-. She won't be doing it anymore. 

On the Thursday night clap session a woman over the way from us was clapping in an upstairs window, well actually a bit more energetic than that; she hangs out of the bathroom window with a large saucepan and a plastic veg drainer. Anyway, saucepan went flying and would have killed the old geezer underneath if he'd been there at the time.

It is still on the lawn. I have got my eye on it, as it looks better than mine. G said she could be lying on the floor having fell off backwards off the stool shouting 'the clap has killed me'. 

Just off to do steps and catch up with G. I need to win. 

After I made such a brill job of cutting his hair G came at me with large wallpaper scissors, a tin basin and said 'put your legs in the stirrups' and guffawed. He is not taking it seriously so can bog off.

Yes, I'm sure they mean well, but...

A bit more nonsense now...

G Says'

I don't go in for Zoom or any other type of video conferencing malarkey. Quite apart from having to make a bit of an effort with my appearance there's the absolute certainty I would be miles away, both literally and figuratively, when faced with the distraction of someone else's living room in the background. If there's a bookcase in view, forget conversation, my attention is elsewhere.

Even television presenters work from home now and I find it hard to listen to what they're saying as their furniture, fixtures and fittings become my main focus.

Actually, I prefer it like this. Something to occupy the mind while they waffle inanely on, just like they always did, but now I have a valid excuse for tuning them out.

Even in real life situations, whatever they used to be, I constantly found myself contorting my head and neck to read, sideways on, any books on a shelf. Talking to me under these conditions is a waste of breath. Oh, and no, of course I can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Multitasking is not in my DNA. I struggle to cope with one task at a time.

I messaged a friend a week ago, just to say hello, and asked 'what are you up to anyway?' She hasn't replied. I can't believe it requires so much thought. A simple question, surely?

Is overthinking yet another byproduct of our recent isolation? Or am I reading too much into this? Did she just forget to reply? Even worse, is she ignoring me and my fatuous remarks? I wish I hadn't mentioned this now. I may not sleep tonight for worrying'

The same friend moved house 18 months ago and she's still got numerous taped up boxes in the 'spare' room. Getting sorted out after a move, that's just asking for an onset of prevarication, isn't it? Some 'stuff' gets unpacked and put away virtually straight away. By which I mean, within the first week. Or so. After that, it's bye bye box, see you whenever.

I find the best removal system (and we've moved house many, many times) is to incorporate the science of random selection. Obviously, one should never write on a box what it contains - where's the fun in that? When its time comes to be opened, possibly far into the future, there's a frisson of excitement about the process.

There's about an equal balance I find between, 'oh, finally, there you are' and 'why did we ever imagine we'd need that?'

Best of all are things you really needed, couldn't find and so went out and bought a new one. Now, inside the box you finally got around to opening is that most precious of all items, 'a spare.'

I see Marigold has referred to our 'French' period when we grew, nurtured and cherished the many grape vines on our land. We became confirmed oenophiles in the process, but not everything went smoothly all the time. I developed a condition related to tennis elbow, namely secateur wrist through pruning about a million vines.

The vast wine press in the cellar of our isolated farmhouse took all our combined strength to operate - we only learnt later that the previous owner used a mule to provide the muscle power - and Marigold, for all her many virtues, having briefly and unsuccessfully tried every other aspect of the wine making process was finally relegated to sticking labels onto the bottles.

Easy? Not as I recall. Getting a wine label to attach to a bottle and look anywhere near level must be harder than it looks. Perhaps the major chateaux have a ready supply of spirit levels to hand as our finished wine bottles would never be snapped up by the head buyer of Majestic Wine.

I heard someone on the News this morning saying how much they're missing their grandchildren. They come over to wave and shout hello occasionally and the proud grandparents throw them down a Magnum each as a treat.

'Sorry we can't come down to give you a cuddle,' they shout.

'Don't worry,' the kids reply, 'we'd rather have the Magnums anyway.'

Marigold has now started saying 'I'd rather have a Magnum' to me every time I give her a kiss or a squeeze in passing. It ceased to be funny five hours ago.

In retaliation I have threatened to withhold all future aspects of intimacy, but that strategy seems to have backfired. Oh well, as long as she's happy.

The modified sheep dip pit I ordered to protect us from people calling at the house hasn't been entirely successful. Our postman wears shorts, winter and summer, and yet is still insistent on blaming me for the full body rash he claims to have contracted by his very brief immersion.

Yes, I fully accept I made an error in not realising he was relatively short of stature before filling it to the brim with Domestos, but if he carries on complaining for much longer he'll be risking missing out on the usual 50 pence tip come next Christmas.

Marigold was dead against the plan from the start and continues to complain about my choice of Domestos when Tesco's own brand bleach is so much cheaper.

'Have you even glanced at the comparative efficiency ratings in this Which? Report,' I ask, but Marigold has always shown very little interest in my extensive research material.

I suppose I shall have to just carry on digging the moat as a back up now the Council have taken up such an unreasonably antagonistic stance to my outline planning request for a minefield.

'High explosive devices not allowed on domestic dwelling units within the Borough' indeed.

If they had bothered to read all 96 pages of my dossier they should have realised the mines would be concealed underground and therefore not visible at any time.

It's bureaucracy gone mad in my view.

The news flash along the bottom of the television screen just said, 'Greater Manchester Police attended 500 house parties last weekend.'

Well, that's not setting a very good example, is it?

My latest NHS letter, my third since the decision was made, presumably at Cabinet level that my life expectancy if exposed to 'other people' or other equally dangerous entities starts off by saying' 'Persons like you in the clinically extremely vulnerable cohort will continue to be advised to shield themselves for some time yet, and the Government recognises the difficulties this brings for those affected.'

Wow! Last time I was classified as being in the 'clinically extremely vulnerable group.' Now it's the 'clinically extremely vulnerable cohort.'

Is a cohort better than a group? More selective? Even more special?

Who writes this stuff?

Pubs, bars, nightclubs, snooker halls, Burger King and gyms are all closed. Hordes of people have apparently had their lives ruined by the enforced absence of these recently deprived pleasures.

But, even allowing for this devastation, it appears my own routine will be completely unaffected.

That can't be right.

It's now day something or other since we entered the deep hibernation of lockdown. Not every day is a bundle of laughs. I'm finding it a bit upsetting to see Marigold with her nose pressed against the window, tears streaming down her face making whimpering noises.

It's heart breaking, it really is.

I've even considered letting her come back inside, but after she went out and collected that Amazon parcel left on the path we'll need to wait a few days yet to see if she starts coughing.

Oh, I know it seems harsh but rules are rules.

Just hope those Midget Gems in the Amazon box are okay out there. It's getting a bit nippy at night.

Marigold has decided to cut my hair. No fastidious micro examination of a stray hair, none of that two mirrors malarkey or inane chatter about inconsequential trivia, it's sit down, keep still and don't distract me.

As a result I have a haircut that will last several months without even seeing a brush or a comb, that takes moments to wash in the shower, is economical with shampoo and yet only took three minutes to create.

Salons of Britain, you can learn much from Marigold. Seat customer, switch on clippers, three minutes later shout 'next.'

I suspect Marigold watched a training video from the United States Marine Corps Induction Centre when honing her technique.

Oddly, my offer to return the favour and cut Marigold's hair has not yet been accepted.

Some say we need social interactions to maintain good mental health. Aristotle said, 'man is by nature a social animal.'

I yield to no one in my admiration for Aristotle. More than 2300 years after his death, he remains one of the most influential people who ever lived. He contributed to almost every aspect of human knowledge then in existence, and he was the spark, the founder of many new fields.

According to the philosopher Bryan Magee, 'it is doubtful whether any human being has ever known as much as he did.'

Even so, and far be it from me to offer an alternative view to old clever clogs, I know several people who are positively relishing lockdown.

There's a couple living behind our place - there's a ten foot hedge between us so I've never actually seen them and their entrance road is 'around the back, somewhere'' but they're obviously elderly and a bit deaf as I used to clearly hear snippets of their conversation on days when we were both engaged in that idyllic activity usually confined to warm, sunny afternoons known as 'sitting out'.

I only learnt the name of the unseen neighbour yesterday as I limped along my 25 step exercise path.

'Malcolm, are you coming in? I've got the thingie all set up to zoom the family.'

The enquirer was female, seemingly not in the first flush of youth, and with more than a hint of exasperation in her tone.

'No, 'I'm stopping here,' replied the unseen Malcolm. 'I've just got to a good bit.'

'The book can wait. Your grandchildren will want to see you.'

Malcolm was obviously having none of it.

'No, they won't, they're as fed up as I am of these wretched video things. Quite frankly I don't miss seeing any of them and if you're honest, neither do you.'

'No, I know, it's been lovely having time to ourselves and no need to pretend we enjoy having the whole tribe turn up on the doorstep, but they think we're lonely. They think we're at risk.'

Silence, then a deep sigh from Malcolm.

'Tell them I've croaked,' he shouted. 'I'm not coming in.'

Another long pause and then the woman said 'I'll say you're on the lavatory.'

I really want to meet this pair one day. Malcolm and I would get on very well. Imagine having to leave your place in a book just as you get to 'a good bit.'

Rules? There are no rules any more

[kpopmalereader]

a sign ; kim namjoon

• summary: namjoon’s first impression of you is negative but he begins to warm up to you after learning more • pairing: kim namjoon x deaf!reader • word count: 3141 • to do

“Excuse me,” Hoseok jogs forward a few steps ahead of the others.

You don’t budge, keeping your steady pace forward. He turns around, arms spread in a perfect “What do I do now?”

Namjoon moves forward, clapping Hoseok on the shoulder. “Excuse me, do you know-”

He trails off when you continue moving. He nods his head. “I guess we’ll find the new building ourselves.”

Namjoon and Yoongi don’t let it get to them. Hoseok, however, immediately begins to mumble. He mutters about ignoring them, the building change, waking up so early, about-

The other two manage to disregard his complaints; all of it is due to him staying up too late to wake up for an 8 am class. Namjoon pulls his phone out to search for the best way to the brand-new building. They attempt to take a shortcut through a building, but a third of the way realizes there is no way out. Which means Namjoon and Yoongi have to listen to more of Hobi’s whining, adding in having to walk back through the building and finding a new route to their class on to his growing mountain of complaints.

“Why did they have to change the rooms around? Why build a new building in the middle of the semester? It makes no sense.” Hoseok leans onto Yoongi as he walks. He whines loudly and drags Yoongi even closer to the ground. “And that boy probably knew the way, and he didn’t tell us! He probably knew we couldn’t go through that way. He didn’t even look at us when we asked!”

Yoongi shoves Hoseok off. Hobi stumbles into a bush and crosses his arms. 

“He ignored us!”

“He ignored you.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Maybe because he knew you were going to be a pain. “He probably had headphones in or something.”

“He definitely did not have headphones in!”

Namjoon walks ahead of the bickering pair, paying no real attention to the words shared between them.

As he continues on his way, he notices you. You stand at a crosswalk a decent way in front of them. You look left, right, and left again twice before finally walking across. It doesn’t look like you have any headphones in, but Namjoon isn’t going to mention that or you.

Luckily for Namjoon, on the longer-than-expected walk, the bickering turns into a conversation as Hoseok works past his annoyed sleepiness. Namjoon finally leads them to the new building, and Yoongi opens the door.

Namjoon sees you once more, leaning back in a rolling chair at the front of the room with your phone in your hand. Hoseok gasps as he sees you, eyes squinting in on your frame. You are wearing headphones this time, which Yoongi gladly points out.

“He wasn’t wearing those before!” Hoseok whisper-yells the words and starts to stomp his feet before realizing that might seem a bit immature. He takes two of the steps it would take to get to the front of the classroom before the door opens behind them.

The Professor walks past the three. She notices you at the front but, once again, you don’t pay any attention. “Hello everyone, sorry about the sudden change of room. Please find a seat if you haven’t already.”

Hoseok settles down, thinking over if he would have said or done anything had he gone over. He probably would have chickened out anyway.

Professor Sun walks closer to you, and you finally look up, face breaking out into a smile rivaling stars in the sky. You pull your headphones off and wave excitedly. You stand up, and she holds her hand out, pausing you. Everyone settles down, and Professor Sun joins you upfront. Namjoon watches as your eyes search around the room. He notices you take in every detail before you settling your eyes on the Professor.

“So,” She starts talking, holding her hands in front of her. She begins to sign as she speaks. “As everyone may know, I am a licensed sign language interpreter. And, as you would not know, this is Y/N. I was his interpreter for roughly ten years.”

“He’s deaf.” Yoongi and Namjoon whisper simultaneously. They both look at Hoseok, who has the decency to look embarrassed.

You smile and nod your head as she speaks. Your eyes are vivid, glancing around the room when Professor Sun pauses in speaking.

“I’ve taught a few signs, just basic ones. No one in this class is fluent in sign language, but there will be moments in your lives where you have to wade blindly through a conversation. You won’t always speak the same language, you won’t always have the same opinions or the same nonverbal cues, and you have to figure out a way to get past that.”

“This is an exercise I do with all of my communications courses, though it is the first time Y/N will be helping us here.” Professor Sun gestures to you, and you wave to everyone. “You will be attempting to communicate with a deaf individual. You will have to convey your questions and sentences to him while deciphering his answers and thoughts. Some of you will be great at this immediately, some of you will need to work on it more, but that is why we are here. I’ll be in the back of the room but will only step in if I feel any of you are completely lost.”

She lets you have the floor, making her way to the back of the classroom. You smile at the class. You sign “Hello,” and rock up on your toes. You start to introduce yourself, fumbling slightly, and it’s obvious (at least to Namjoon) that you’re used to signing much faster. You clasp your hands together, looking around the silent classroom. You search the room for anyone wanting to add anything but come up short. You breathe out and tap your hands together.

Yoongi is the first to breach the unknown. He raises his hand, and you latch on, nodding your head quickly. Yoongi signs slowly, even slower than you were signing. “What is your sign name?”

You nod, and Namjoon hopes he isn’t delirious when he notices a small redness peek out from your shirt. You bring your hands to your face, moving both of your pointer fingers up from the middle of your mouth to your cheeks. You’re drawing your smile. You repeat it once more and nod your head.

The silence returns. You point to Professor Sun before it has a chance to become more awkward.

“Her sign name,” You hold a fist above and just to the right of your head. You rotate your wrist and extend your fingers, wiggling them out like sun rays. 

Everything you have said is basic. Typical greetings and an answer to one question, but Namjoon feels intoxicated. He’s not sure why. It all feels like a mystery to him, but you’re drawing him in with every second. In a way he can’t fathom. Is he merely trying to understand you better? Or is he being pulled in by your face?

With every other guest the Professor has brought in, Namjoon is the first to ask questions, get to know them, but now he’s nervous. He doesn’t want to ask a stupid question. He wants to understand you, wants you to understand him. He wants you to see that he is trying, appreciate his efforts, and maybe pay more attention to him.

He gets out of his stupor just in time to see you point to Professor Sun. He didn’t catch the question someone asked, too invested in watching you.

“I,” Your hand forms a flat O-Shape, and you push your hands towards the Professor. Gave? “Gave her the sign name.”

Namjoon doesn’t wait for the class to return to silence and raises his hand. You light up and nod quickly, full attention on him. He revels in the attention. “Who gave you the name sign?” 

“An old teacher gave me the name. She was my favorite, favorite.” You point at yourself and repeat your sign name. “I smile-”

Namjoon isn’t completely sure of what the sign means, but, given the context, he assumes it means “often.” You roll your eyes at yourself, but that doesn’t wipe the smile from your face.

He raises his hand again, and you nod. He thinks for a second, not knowing the sign for “born.” He spells out the word and looks at you. You demonstrate the movement, repeating it twice. He appreciates it and nods his head, thinking over his question.

“Were you born deaf?”

A slightly confused expression takes over your smile, and you tilt your head left and right. Your nose is scrunched in a way that makes Namjoon’s heart hammer against his chest. You point to your right ear and clap next to it. You make a poof-motion with your hand, effectively showing you can’t hear anything in that ear. 

You point to your left and wave your hand in a “somewhat.” “I was born with half hearing in this ear, but now I hear very, very little.”

Namjoon nods along with everything. Yoongi and Hoseok are forgotten next to him, but they watch his immersed expression. The class goes back to the quiet, and Namjoon waits a moment before raising his hand again. 

Your sign name rings true. It’s obvious why everyone would associate you with smiling. He doesn’t think he could ever grow tired of the soft smile, the appreciative look at every question and comment, or having your full attention, even if it’s on his not-the-best signing.

“Do you like music?”

You slap your hand over your heart. “I love,” The word has more emphasis than anything else you’ve signed. “Music. Deep sounds, loud and bone-shaking.”

“What’s your favorite band?” He doesn’t wait before asking this time.

Your eyes go wide, and you freeze. You think for a few seconds before signing band after band. Namjoon catches the first few but soon cannot differentiate between the ones you’re rattling off. You go into words Namjoon can’t define about the bands you love, no one besides Professor Sun can understand the extent of what you’re saying. Your smile morphs into a warm and welcoming smile, drawing Namjoon in and making him never want to stop the conversation. 

You seem to realize you were signing very quickly and for longer than you expected, and you clasp your hands together, chewing on your bottom lip.

Professor Sun clears her throat and begins to speak, signing to you as she does so. “He will play music louder than anyone I’ve ever met. Even other Deaf people will say he plays it too loud.” You look at her, and as you roll your eyes, she rolls her right back at you. “I’ve only been in a car with him once. When I got in, the volume was at 74. If you get within a 3-meter radius of him, you can hear the music he plays even with his headphones over his ears. When I first met him, he would carry around a tiny speaker and hold it as tightly as he could to feel the vibrations.”

You stand at the front of the room, becoming more and more embarrassed and cheeks growing increasingly redder as Professor Sun speaks. You gesture for everyone to get back to asking questions looking everywhere but at the Professor.

*

Days pass after your visit with Professor Sun’s class. Though Namjoon has tried, nothing can get his mind off of you. He spent the entirety of his day after the class learning signs and researching everything he could about the Deaf/Hard of Hearing Community. He’s sure Professor Sun noticed his interest in you, as she was the one he emailed with questions about the Community, about signs, and everything he thought wasn’t too weird to ask about you.

She told him it was fascinating he developed such a liking for the language and the Community, as she thought no one cared much for it after her initial talks about it. He didn’t reply to that, but he did solidify her thinking when he asked if you would ever stop by the class again. (Professor Sun told you that a few select students had an interest in talking to you more but didn’t drop any names).

Now, with four days of Namjoon looking up signs and practicing his finger-spelling nonstop without knowing if he would see you again, he spots you outside one of the campus buildings. You’re bundled in a jacket, cold air making your nose glow red. Your face is angled up towards the sky, letting what little warmth from the sun engulf your face in a way that is all too ethereal for Namjoon’s sanity. One of your legs is bouncing restlessly, but you maintain a blissful smile on your face.

Namjoon wants nothing more than to strike up a conversation with you, but your closed eyes and calm presence keep him in his place. Questions form and bounce around in his head. What if he walks up and scares you? What if you don’t want to talk to him? What if he can’t understand you and you don’t understand him, and the conversation he’s been hoping to have is awkward and clunky, and you wish it never happened? What if he gets a sign wrong and insults you or says something embarrassing? What if-?

You open your eyes slowly as a cloud covers the beam of sun you were previously reveling in. You stand and gather your things, checking the time on your phone.

Namjoon’s feet begin to move forward without him telling them to. His heart overwhelms his brain’s worries. He gulps and wipes his clammy hands, pretending not to have been watching you for far too long for comfort.

As he gets closer to you, a deep and woodsy, yet still sweet scent hits your nose. You follow the smell and find yourself making full eye contact with Namjoon. He looks familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it as he begins to speak.

“Hi.” He realizes he’s not signing and widens his eyes, bringing his hands up. “Hello.”

“Hello.” You repeat. Your smile is friendly but slightly tense. You’re searching for where you know him from.

“I’m a student with Professor Sun.” He signs slowly, hands stiff.

The pieces come together in your head, and you nod quickly, confusion wiping from the smile. “You asked questions!”

“Yeah! Yeah, I had questions.” He tries to remind himself that he needs to sign, as he doesn’t know how good of a lip reader you are and wants you to get his full sentiment. “I liked your stories. It was interesting.”

“Thank you! Thank you.” Your smile is dazzling. Namjoon wants the image to be burned inside his brain forever. “I liked your questions. Your class was quiet. Nobody asking questions made me nervous, but you helped a lot.”

He nods his head. “I think you made us nervous.”

Your eyes widen comically, and you shake your head. “Me?”

He nods his head again, a laugh bubbling out when you shake your head at an even more significant speed. “Yes.”

“Why?” You sign the question incredulously like it’s the most surprising thing you’ve ever thought.

He doesn’t answer for a second. He knows why he was nervous and didn’t ask questions at first, but you don’t need to know that, and he’s not sure why everyone else was quiet for so long. 

“I think you have that effect.” He signs it without hesitating any further.

You look like you don’t understand the sentence for a few seconds, and he repeats it. You realize he was intending to say what he did and slowly sign “Thank you.” You scratch the back of your neck and look at the ground, ears becoming pink. Something about you being flustered and nervous in front of him with that simple and very genuine compliment gives more confidence than he’s ever had before.

“I know why your sign name is a smile, but I think it also needs something else.” You tilt your head to the side, waiting for him to continue. The look makes him nervous, but he realizes it’s too late to turn back now, so he reaches up and signs the word. “Beautiful.”

He can almost in your eyes as you decipher the word. Your face turns from a smile to blushed shock. You cover your face with your hand, though he can see the ever-growing dark blush and small smile reappearing. You giggle softly and dart your eyes away, everything about you knocking the wind out of Namjoon’s chest. The full eye contact you would generally make disappears completely.

“Thank you.”

He bites his lip and leans closer, snatching your attention from the trees and sky and anything else behind him. “Do you have another class today?”

You shake your head slowly, a flurry of hope and optimism for what might come next crashing behind your beautiful eyes. Namjoon smiles at the apparent expectation, and his face warms at your reaction to his interest.

He breathes in, thinking over the questions he’s practiced for four days now. He attempts to unravel the bundle of nerves in his stomach and settles on the least daunting question. “Are you hungry?”

Your eyes light up. If they were to shine any brighter, they would be spotlights. You nod. “Do you like the café?”

“Yeah, I do. Do you go there often?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Not too often. I like it there, though, if it’s okay with you.”

“Definitely,” 

Namjoon escorts you to the café, opening the door for you. You walk in with a smile. When you believe you’re out of his eyesight, you widen your eyes and breathe out, attempting to relax your shoulders. The clerk at the desk notices you enter and waves for you.

You smile and walk closer, giving a small wave. “Hi.”

“Hello, do you want your-” 

Namjoon doesn’t know what the next sign is, but you nod your head.

“Come here often?” Namjoon asks you. You smile and gesture to Namjoon, waiting for him to order.

“Oh, right.” He orders, trying not to make direct eye-contact with the cashier. You seem to know who is very-much sizing him up. You walk up to a table next to the window, pushing the salt and pepper shakers to the edge of the table. “How often do you come here?”

“Two people here know Sign.” You shrug your shoulders and smile at him. “It’s nice having someone to talk with.”

He nods his head, feeling fondness growing in his chest. You lean forward, cheeks turning red before the words even come out of your mouth.

“Like you. I like talking to you.”

[touchmycoat]

I LOVE YOUR PORN AU!!!!! LIKE SO MUCH - and i'm just. if you don't mind me asking, how - the way you flesh out the characters, their motivations, and feelings in every scene in such an eloquent way, and just little things here and there, a habit or an activity that adds dimension to who they are, and - your prose is wonderful. you achieve this addictive, engrossing narrative space that readers just absolutely melt into, and i have to ask - how did you develop your writing style? 1/2

what books did you read that formatively shaped the way you write? or you know, what did you do to improve your writing? i'm so in awe of how you world-built and established the porn au - like lqg & hc being national taolu champions?? how do you come up with that stuff? i cannot comprehend the amount of research and effort that must've gone into porn au, and i'm just so deeply thankful that you decided to share that with us. i apologize if i'm coming on too strong, but wow. thank you 2/2

--

oh my god please don't apologize, when i saw your ask i rolled on the floor giggling hysterically for a solid 15 min, bless your heart

part of the answer to your question—i've taken like, 8 years' worth of creative writing classes/workshops! there was also a transnational literary component to my degree so whenever possible, i took literature classes fksjdfksd so whatever you see and like is definitely the result of a lot of work. My writing from not even 10 years ago but like, 5? horrid, ridiculous, wild, cringe. The Porn AU itself is the second draft of a MUCH more lackluster piece.

about my writing style. gosh, you really know how to make a writer blush. "I like your writing style" is literally an instant kill LMFAO okay okay, the useful answer: my primary criteria for choosing what to write is, don't be obvious, be interesting. Fiction tells us to show, not tell, right? Poetry is about concretizing the abstract. Screenwriting says cut all useless lines. A lot of writing rules and advice—never start with the weather, avoid detailed descriptions of the characters, don't use adverbs, etc.—are all really about this exact sentiment.

I once took a seminar on writing for horror movies. The golden rule of the horror genre is Never Show the Monster, because whatever the audience is imagining is always going to be scarier than what you actually show them. There are obviously exceptions to this (to all writing rules), but in my mind, it's all the same principle.

LONG answer under the cut

So you start with building a scene. I approach it like essay-writing—I state my thesis for the motivations/main propulsion of the plot. "In this scene, LQG and SY are motivated to save Cang Qiong's porn production, so they have sex on camera." Then you build the sub-motivations: "LQG is also doing this because he's pining after SY."

I learned this "thesis-writing" from theater, specifically from writing 10-min plays. Theater is all about characters being driven by their wants and needs, and the reason I say 10-min plays in particular is because longer forms of writing will give you more leeway, but in 10-min, you pretty much need your character motivations established from their very first line. That's why you need that very clear thesis for yourself—if you don't even know what the character wants from the get-go, then you can't establish who they are, what they want, and where they're going to go in a dynamic and interesting way.

So this thesis drives EVERYTHING that happens in your scene, just like an actual thesis for an essay, just like topic sentences for your paragraphs. Once I do this, I have the emotional direction & narrative scope of how much this scene will cover, I have a sense of where it begins and ends. "Begin with the dynamics of their sex. LQG starts showing signs of his feelings. Reveal LQG backstory for exactly what those feelings are and why he isn't telling SY. The rest of the scene implies that LQG's feelings may not be so unrequited, but also sets up the fundamental problem at the heart of the whole fic—SY's inability to comprehend his own feelings." This is kind of my new thesis now. They're having sex; LQG pines; SY doesn't know he himself is pining.

Now it's time to manifest. This is the "storytelling" part, and the hardest lmfao.

Personally, my approach is largely shaped by my very cool screenwriting teacher, who hammered into us: don't fucking waste lines. The Golden Rule of screenwriting is that every line should reveal something new. I found my old writing kind of repetitive, especially on the emotional front, so this is kind of my editing mantra now—is this line either propelling the story or revealing character? If it's revealing character, is it a revelation that has to happen right now, or is it slowing the momentum of the scene?

But these aren't rhetorical questions! "Momentum" doesn't just mean tumble forward as fast as you can, it also means taking the time to draw the bowstring back further, so your next move has even more propulsion. That's why you get the little "LQG has been in love with SY..." cut scene in the middle of the fucking (at least, that's my reasoning for putting it there). Every line has to bring a fresh revelation that "proves" your thesis further.

That brings me to the details. You said you like the details I inject into the world-building, and honestly that's so gratifying to hear, because that means I'm successfully manifesting my intentions, y'know? "Every line has to bring new info" kind of sounds like a tall order, but the most effective way I've seen it done in books and onstage/onscreen is with these hyper-specific details. If you're writing a scene in which someone feels dirty, never have them just say that—have them say they want to take a shower. Show them running out of bleach again as they scrub down the stall after they wash. Begin the scene like "Steve always washes his throat first now." Then pack the scene with even more revelatory details: "Soap in hand, he heard the pipes above his head groan for a half note on adagio, and readied himself for the blast of icy water that always followed." Shitty shower, probably not rich, is likely a classical musician.

By the same token, I want to build LQG's character. The "Liu Qingge has been in love with Shen Yuan" section is the first insight we get into his background and perspective, right, so: I need to establish LQG's emotional context for filming this scene -> I can characterize him as a nut for martial arts in the same stroke -> so this takes place at a gym, beating up sandbags is a classic way of showing manly emotional distress -> so give me more details on this gym -> Puqi Gym, XL the martial god is obviously the owner -> how do I have XL & LQG a relationship beyond gym owner & client? They spar together -> I want XL & HC's position in this AU to mirror their god/ghost king statuses in TGCF canon -> how can I concretize their fighting prowesses in real-world details? -> they're martial arts champions -> what's an actual competitive martial art form that involves weaponry? -> wushu -> wikipedia Wushu, find taolu weapons sparring

(I just realized that in my songxiao daycare AU, Hualian are Olympic gold medalists by the same narrative logic laksjdnflaksjdnflsd)

So, that's the flow of logic behind my world-building lmao. It's all in the details. Leverage is one of my all-time favorite TV shows and the way they build their stories is super inspiring. If their thesis is "the rich and powerful take what they want, we steal it back for you," they manifest it in the most specific and concrete narratives: mine workers who like the work but are fighting for workplace safety vs. the money-grubbing mine owner who will blow up their livelihoods if it means a bigger payday; the little girl from Iraq with refugee status forced to be an accomplice to antique smuggling vs. international smuggler with a fetish for British royalty.

Last pieces of writing advice I've gotten: pay attention to the real world. A writing exercise we did was just sit in a public spot and make concrete observations on our surroundings. There are stories in everything!!! I learned to observe things like weird holes in the concrete (earthquake? drilling accident? bullet mark?), odd patches of moss or bird shit (look overheard: it's an AC unit dripping water for the former and nesting swallows for the latter), ladies in flipflops walking alongside ladies in high heels (excited mother walking her antsy daughter to the bus for the daughter's first job interview—the daughter's shirt collar is unfashionable and she's taking the bus, so there's a good chance the shoes were passed down, maybe from an office lady aunt. Maybe she's even overdressed for the interview, so will her outfit be an unintended source of tension once she gets to the interview? Is it a group interview, to make the comparison more stark?).

Also, write what you know. You know why SY is a video editor in porn AU? Because I'm a video editor. One of my more popular MDZS fics is set in a plant shop 'cause I worked in a plant shop. SL was First AD in Bachelor!AU 'cause I was First AD on a set once. Concrete details like the editing software having a split-screen, always answering questions about how often to water plants, and being up until 3AM editing call-sheets are the ones that will fully immerse your readers.

And if you can't do the actual things, just watch someone who is, listen to them talk, pick up lingo, and fake it. I watched like a 15-min vox video on fencing for the fencing!AU and a 45-min music theory video on the hospital pianist!AU (also I started learning piano sklfjnlsdjlfkjsd). Of course, I just finished reading a wangxian fic that had me going, "holy fucking shit, the author is literally getting their masters in a music program" so my 45-min youtube video ain't shit, but if you just need a little bit of character establishment, then it's enough to do the trick.

Anyways, tl;dr. Find the details, find the tension. Never tell outright what the tension is supposed to be, manifest it instead. Make the manifestation as interesting as possible, and if it's meant to be funny, make it funnier.

Sorry this turned into a fucking lecture lskjnflskdjnflskd but last thing, someone asked me before if I had formative authors, and this was the list I wrote at the time:

Angels in America (play) by Tony Kushner

The God of Small Things (novel) by Arundhati Roy

The Penelopiad (novel) by Margaret Atwood

“Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out” (poem) by Richard Siken

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (poetry) by Ocean Vuong

Giovanni’s Room (novel) by James Baldwin (and then Go Tell it on the Mountain and then his essays)

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

And, ooh, now that I have this list I think I can even roughly sort it as such: Kushner, Atwood, Siken, and Salinger I really latched onto for their dialogue and very present narrator voice—same is true for Go Tell it on the Mountain. Roy, Vuong, and Giovanni’s Room, I think, are texts more representative of the kind of saturated figurative language I like, and emulate. Of course they all do imagery and voice and overall structure amazingly, but that’s the rough dividing line I’d draw.

But yeah James Baldwin is my fucking hero.

[merakimousumi]

Appreciation - Self realization

Let me share you a story to give you the context.

Once GOD ( Grand overall design) the creator of the Universe started contemplating of making a Unique place. However, he was not getting enough idea. He called 2 of his greatest painters and asked them to create some unique paintings on the two walls of his hall facing each other so that looking at them he gets inspiration. There was only one condition. Both the painters could not speak or see each other’s work till it was over.

GOD declared that any items required by these painters should be made available and to ensure that they do not see each other’s creation , a thick curtain where a speck of light could not pass was placed along with guards who would ensure that there is no communication in any form by them.

The first painter requested for finest brushes, exquisite colours, crystal clear water, rubies and diamonds for decorations.

The second painter ordered for Sandpapers, bucket, water and extremely fine quality of silk and cotton clothes white in colours.

GOD wondered, two painters with so distinct materials what could they create.

The work started; time passed by. One day, both the painter declared that they work is done.

GOD was summoned. All the Angels, Masters and other beings arrived to see the painting along with GOD.

The curtain was removed, and everyone’s jaw dropped. Two exact paintings were revealed. GOD immediately sorted for the guards, who confirmed that there is absolutely no communication that was there between these painters. GOD called the first painter and asked which wall he had created. He showed the right wall. It was a great, a masterpiece, intricate work was done with detailing.

GOD looked at the second painter and asked him, you never took any material of paint then how did you create this? The painter bowed. He said, I never painted my lord. I only polished the wall and converted it into a mirror.

GOD smiled and thanked the second painter for the uniqueness. Earth was created soon after this inspiration. Human were given the key to their own lock, however hidden like these two walls of painting in the mirror.

“What you see in others, is your own reflection?”; “As above, so below”. These are quotes, statement which we have heard and read multiple times. However, many do not know it in reality. Read ahead to understand how does this works and tastes.

We all know, Human the most intelligent animal on this planet. They found to bypass this too.

We started sugar quoting our words, most of our praises were to project their image and not a real praise. It is like Corporate year end appraisal. You would be initially told about the good/great/excellent work and most likely it would be followed with feedback!!! They feed you back with their own projections, in the name of your scope of improvements, for your progression etc. As human do you remember those good words or the Feedback that would linger in the days/month and even years if this is cruel.

If this was restricted to only professional life this could have been in only in one environment. However, knowingly or unknowingly people transformed and imbibed this nature in all aspect of life.

I am giving you my own account on the same.

Not so long ago, I was attending a weeklong session with my teacher and at the end of each session we were given assignments. One of the assignments was just to collect from 10 friends whom we consider close to ask them – “What do you think is my good quality?”. Simple straight forward question on the face value. We had to just copy paste every word shared by the friends and collate it in one document and submit it within the given date.

This is not an easy task for a person like me who has many followers in Instagram and Facebook and handful to be called friends in real term. The most time invested by me was to make the list of 10 people (since these were not random people). Then I sent them message informing that as a part of my assignment to the course I am doing, request you to share “What do you think is my good quality?”; Informed them on my deadline too.

Thankfully, all 10 friends responded. 8 told me so many good things which I too failed to see in myself. 2 of them after mentioning my good qualities added my area of improvements. This rattled my inner world. I submitted by assignment exactly it was mentioned.

Next day, during the session, my assignment was picked up by my teacher. It was only my submission which had comments which were nowhere close to good quality. I was not sure where was I wrong. Why it happened with me, out of 21 participants who had friends who showered them with good qualities only. Here I am, considering them my close friends and in a forum my work being picked that shadow loomed than the shine around. I had my memories of year-end appraisal coming out !! This could happen in personal life too. Do these friends really appreciate or they looked for an opportunity to tell you the things they do not like about me. If at all they had to share, in spite of knowing it is for assignment, they choose to share it now ? Million questions started making rounds in my head as I was pinned on the screen.

My teacher first reconfirmed if these comments came from people whom I considered close. I affirmed with a gentle nod. I looked sad and being pinned on the camera exposed it a lot more. Then, he asked for the one person who mentioned “you become hassled at times, do not take stress” and few more words, if I see them ever hassled, stressed etc. I mentioned that yes, I have seen them breaking down due to various reasons and circumstances however I never thought that is something a quality which needs improvement or even mentioned. It is human nature and nothing wrong about it. I reflected again that I had never made it a point to even give a thought up until my teacher asked.

For the next friend of mine who wrote “I do not understand you, I feel that you belong to different Universe”. Teacher wanted me to read it and see if I understand that person. I reflected and mentioned, when I am understanding myself daily and my understanding of self is ever changing how can I ever comment on anyone. If I am not able to understand, I shall attempt to probe and find out if possible. If I still do not understand, anyway I am not giving any examination where the marks matter, I am okay to be incorrect and open to be corrected.

There was a deep silence after what I shared. I had spoken from my heart space rather than my head space.

He then spoke to all mentioning how things we say, do and action is our own reflection. This exercise was to gather about our good qualities however remember when winds blows it brings fragrance and sometimes dust too comes, sweep your house clean. We were asked to give a note of thanks to all our friends who shared appreciation, also mention that these are their own qualities.

This lesson was significant in my life, I continue to speak and express with authenticity and ensure I express what is asked, not more or less. This awareness bought a shift within. The moment I am judging in my mind or even by saying, I become aware of the pixel within me that needs cleaning.

Dust will come, just do not allow it to settle within my being anymore.

Stay bless, stay in love.

[hysteriamodes]

Coloring in grey scale

So, hey, this is somewhat of a tutorial for those curious about some of my coloring and blending. I made this especially for anyone younger than me and is exploring digital art, but this is also for others who are curious about what I do. I love reading other artist’s comments and looking at their WIPs, so why not.

Another reminder: if you’re looking for my artwork, please follow @rainbow-illness and not this blog. All of my finished stuff goes there; usually, my works in progress (WIPs) or Angry Doodle Corner go here. Sometimes I use this blog to repost my art, but that is my official art blog, no this one. Not unless you like nonsensical posting and metal, then have at it. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to hit me up, I love talking about art.

So I can’t always sit down and talk about my processes and how I go about doing them, but I was able to sit down and take some screencaps while I was working on my iPad Pro. Using the iPad is actually my first choice to draw on because of the convenience of carrying it around like a sketchbook, whereas my laptop isn’t always easy to carry around--it’s a big laptop. While I use my iPad, I also like to go back and correct things, recolor, re-proportion, or spend more time privately working on a drawing. I have my iPad with me, all the time, so I’m out in places usually like Starbucks doing this. I also struggle with pretty bad PTSD and agoraphobia, so having my iPad out with my headphones on gives me an excuse to put my mind elsewhere to calm down.  My family just usually looks at me and goes “oh, she’s working on her art again”; I did this as a kid, too, only with sketchbooks.

I do not have a Cintiq either, though I would absolutely love one. This laptop is capable of using a stylus, but I think I need a better one to do it with. All I’m using is a cheap Wacom Bamboo tablet that I’ve had for five years, that’s it. Everything I’ve done on this blog has been on a small surface. So if you’re just dabbling into art, don’t beat yourself up for having the small stuff, I’ve worked with small stuff and still do. The only thing I have that’s not small is, well, the space and processor on my laptop are much faster than any other laptop I’ve owned, bought especially for graphic design classes and my artwork. 

So, that being said lemme just forewarn some of you guys. My artwork is all done in two to three layers! Yes, you read that right! Why? When I was 16, I didn’t have a Wacom tablet to mess with, so I had to use a mouse and learned from there. When I turned 18, I got my first Wacom tablet while working my first official job and the family computer didn’t have a good processor. So when I got my first official laptop, it was basic and not made to run anything beyond the web browser and such, it could barely handle Photoshop. It did, however, run Paint Tool SAI with no issue (which is why I still prefer it over anything I use), it just couldn’t handle more than five layers. After losing my drawings constantly and not being able to do anything in the prized software I’ve been eyeing since my Sophmore year of high school, I found a workaround with it. 

And that’s what I’m going to write about here. With that in mind, no, you do not have to limit your layers! I’ve taken traditional art classes so my first instinct is to literally paint over my stuff like I would on a canvas. If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to! Yes, I am nuts. 

That being said, let's do this.

If you haven’t taken traditional art classes, that’s cool! I’m going to be using some art terms you haven’t heard of, but you definitely will when you take your first ever drawing class. These terms are foreground, value, negative space, contour, and weighted line (I’ve seen it called line weight too). For the more experienced art students who are likely groaning over that stupid contour practice from that book “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain”, I’m sorry, guys. Newbies, you are going to know this. 

And you are going to hate it. While I still hate it and, yeah, my eyes are rolling into my skull right now just even talking about it, there are some useful practices in here that I... actually use. Who would have thought? At least we’re not talking about still lives.

Anyway, here’s what I’M going to say that some art teachers will not tell you but I want anyone to read this to know:

- Do not obsess over your drawing to look exactly like your reference. Just don’t. Forget this completely, worry about it later or don’t even worry about it at all. This is your style, your interpretation.

- Digital art is hard. Art is hard! Practice makes perfect and you learn over time just by studying (looking at) other pieces of art. It took me like well over 10 years to find my own little niche and I’m still playing around with coloring styles. I have a lot.

- If you’re just starting to draw with a tablet of any kind, play around with it. My first official program was a cheaper version of Paint Shop Pro and when I first got it when I was 14, I sat around and experimented on layers to see what it would look like. Explore!

- When you start drawing figures or faces, try not to think of it as, well,  face or a figure. Reduce it to basic shapes, like squares, triangles, and circles.

Greyscale can establish light source, value, scale, and negative space.

I don’t always use greyscale for my art, but when I do, I appreciate it because it makes my life easier. For example, Alphonse Mucha’s pieces here from his “Slav Epic”.

Chances are, you’ve seen Mucha’s art nouveau on prints, fanart, fabrics, and all of that. But Mucha did so much more and he is a huge influence on me for a reason. By the greyscale we see here, we can see foreground/subject with each illustration. Mucha is using value (that’s shadow) to emphasize this, in addition to negative space (background) to draw you in, just by using black and white. Notice how the other subjects don’t have such a powerful contrast and light source versus the other, especially the woman on the left. Mucha made his art pop by his understanding of contrast.

For this first part of this entry, I’m going to be using Papa Emeritus II from “Ghost”... who is a good example of how to draw faces, too. Huh. Regardless of what drawing program you’re using, keep your opacity low, at 50%.

Simplicity at its finest

Instead of focusing a lot on Emeritus’ face, I’m going to focus on the negative space behind him. I’m using this to define his figure. This is a good picture because of the stark contrast, though, it’s a little tricky because it is really contrasted and you can’t see where the light source really is. But that is okay!  I am going in and just using this negative space, the contour of his head and torso. Before I even think of a face, I want to softly go in and use black (or grey) to fill up that negative space. Keep it simple and work your way up.

After I lightly fill in the negative space around him, I can start lightly going in and establish his face by blocks of shadow.  And this is why Emeritus II is such a good example for this kind of work. I don’t usually start going in and drawing eyes, I rely on the shadows of the face to see where their eyes, ears, lips, and such lie. 

Here’s another example (though, it’s old):

This is in my maroon style underpaint, which is what I post most of the time. For their faces, I just used basically eye sockets to start working on their faces, like Papa Emeritus II down below. Again, this dude is a great example.

Here is where it may get a little funky.  I created a new layer and set that layer to Multiply, still keeping that opacity low. Since I have no light source and I just want to create a really dramatic lighting, I made a vignette with a simple airbrush tool.  

With that little vignette, you can create a new layer (unless you’re me, I just merge it down because of that constant fear of nonexistent software crashing) and I’m using the color pick tool to go back and forth to start using greys to really get into Emeritus’ face, especially his wrinkles. I’m painting over it constantly, switching back and forth between a paintbrush tool and color pick tool to blend. Again, keep your opacity low... unless you’re me and you’re feeling adventurous. You’ll also notice here that I have more than one photo reference. I use several for a lot of my art, so I encourage you to do the same. I had no idea what his jaw looked like, so I grabbed a second photo. Now that I have a better idea of where his hat ends on his forehead and how his nose looks, I start doing a weighted line.

Weighted line and Contour

Now is the dreaded talk. Of contour.

Welcome to Drawing I hell. This cursed image is from the book “How to Draw on the Right Side of the Brain” and if your teacher does not talk about this in your first drawing class, I am going to eat my hat... I have a hat lying around here somewhere. ANYWAY, the contour line exercise is basically you just using a neverending line for a drawing. I don’t know who drew this (and tbh, thanks a lot for every single boring assignment I’ve done in drawing classes), but this guy used contour lines for his drawing. I’m having war flashbacks over here, but I managed to find an art teacher’s page talking about different types of contour. My god, they are evolving.

Going back to our dear friend Papa Emeritus II, I used weighted line to start adding in little shadows to his face.  Weighted line goes hand in hand with contour; it is a great technique to not only add details, but add little bits of shadows.

This is a simple example; the thicker line is adding to the shadow of the apple, giving it value!

Papa Emeritus II is such a good reference... I used him as inspiration for King Melwas here.

Gwenhwyfar is also a good example of weighted line. Gwen is essentially a very, very pale character. In contrast to Melwas, who is in darker clothing, Gwen is soft, she is the focal point in this drawing. For the little pieces of her hair, the corner of her lips, eyelashes, and her fingertips, I used a weighted line to establish these things, otherwise, Gwen is so pale, she’ll easily be washed out completely.

This drawing of Alice, which I’m still messing around with, is another example of how effective a weighted line can be with depth. The lines I added into her face, eyelashes, creases, hair, and fingers add those little details since everything I’ve done before like Papa Emeritus II was so soft with a low opacity on the brush settings.

Layer masks and curves

There are two ways you can color greyscale images.

You can do this by going into Layer > Adjustment Layer > Curves (this is how it looks like in Procreate).

This gives you a neat ol’ base color! I am playing around in the blues, adding soft hues of blue in their figures and the white in this picture can either turn blue, cream, or even green. You don’t have to use Blue, you can use any of the other colors. For me, I’m always drawn to blues. Another cool thing to play around with is Color Balance, which is underneath the same function as Curves.

But if you don’t have any of these, you can add a new layer, and do Multiply.

The only drawback to this, of course, is how destaturated (the lack of color) it looks. And yes, that’s an issue you will have and I did run into this while doing this. How I combat this is using additional layer masks. Believe it or not, Alice here was once at a grey scale, looking even more desaturated than Gwen.

For Alice’s face, I went in and use:

- Soft Light because she needed more peach and roses in her skin. Omri’s original drawing gave her a light rose blush so I wanted to do the same.

- Overlay to mask out the black lines from the greyscale I had.

- Lighten which I used to make her lips pinker, her apron’s shadows lighter, and parts of her hair brown.

The same went for Gwen, who is, again, very pale. But while she’s supposed to be pale, I didn’t wash her out completely. To add more saturation, I used a combination of Soft Light over my Multiply layer and Overlay to start working at the highlights on her hair, nose, and shoulder. 

This little walkthrough isn’t as visual as I like, but with limited software like Fire Alpaca, GIMP, or Paint Tool SAI that don’t have the abilities of Photoshop in terms of color correction and playing around with colors, I really encourage you, readers, to play around with these tools. Using the color picker back and forth, especially after using layer masks, gives you an ability to mix and blend colors. The reason why I work with greyscale or a maroon under paint is that you can create brilliant colors and make a new palette; the trick is to constantly mess around with them. I never go in and flat out color anything, with the exception of things like “angry doodle corner” which is basically what I call my lazy drawings, drawings where I’m just honestly goofing off with.

So in summation...! Or me trying to summarize this.

 Experiment and explore with layer masks and adjustments. Whoever says that using these tools isn’t real art, they’re wrong. And please don’t ever be afraid of using references of any sort!  Alphonse Mucha is saved ten times over on this computer.

[sending-the-message]

HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL AND THIN by Skelethin

Hello everyone, so, uh, I want to be beautiful and thin. And I’ll tell you exactly how you can too!

There’s a storm deep within me that’s dying to get out. It’s a storm of rage and self hate, constantly gnawing at my fat to escape. I must admit, I’m not fat and I never have been. I have always been a size small, since I’m 5’3 and 105 lbs to begin with. What hurts more is that I’m simply average. Normal body, normal size, normal everything. I’m considered “normal thin”, and not fat nor skinny. I’ve never been anything special. I’m 15 and I frequently enjoy, well, different things than your average teen. I’m obsessed with books, and only classic literature. I only listen to classical music and I play a few instruments, as well as spend my time writing poetry and practicing ballet En Pointe.

Anyway, now that you know a little bit about me, I’m here to tell you exactly how I got thin and beautiful. So, I had tried everything at this point; being Vegan for a few months, which resulted in Anaemia, I tried the Keto diet, which also didn’t work. I even tried diet pills, which no, did not give me a tapeworm. I will admit, I was losing 4 pounds per week, but that’s simply not enough. How do people even have the patience to diet for months while losing as little as 1-4 lbs per week? I didn’t. I had to find a way to speed up the process. I stumbled across a diet known as an “Ana Diet”, unbeknownst to me, it definitely would work. It was on some website called “AnaBones4evur.com” and i figured it was a spam site at first, since it popped up like an annoying ad on the bottom of my computer when I was searching other legit dieting websites. This one didn’t seem professional, as it was a minimalistic page. The font looked as if it were tipping and falling off the page, as well as little blue sparks were glitching all over the deep black wallpaper of the website. I looked closer, and I noticed that the millions of little blue sparks that were glitching were in fact mini pixel butterflies. Strange. There were only a few links displayed on the page, which were clearly misspelt.

There was an “Abooout”, an “FAQ”, a “Store” And a “Dietes, Tricks and Ttipss”. Now, I know what you’re thinking, clearly it’s a fake scam website as all the red flags were there. Mind you, I was absolutely desperate to lose weight. As silly as this sounds, I couldn’t just be happy and satisfied with a body like any average girl. I wanted mine to be surreal, angelic, ethereal, like sharp jagged bones protruding like glass. So first, I clicked on the store. There weren’t many items being sold; just scales, measuring tapes, laxatives, diuretics, exercise merch, and a bunch of purple bracelets with the same bluebell butterfly symbol on them. The prices were all surprisingly low, and I hoped that the FAQ would say something about the butterfly, so I clicked on that next.

There were only 5 Questions with short non-detailed answers below. It’s weird, since all the questions seemed odd but well punctuated, and the answers from the website host was misspelling everything and often using foreign letters such as “ ç, ż, ł, ß, æ, ø, œ, ü, ę, ŵ, etc.” It was strange. One of the questions was “How long does it take to lose about 60 lbs?” And the host answered “well, if you follow all the ÅNNNNÁ rules, then you will lose 60 lbs in about 5 months. Usūally yoau losę 8 pounds p3er ŵeek (((:” the rest of the questions weren’t very important. So I clicked “Abooout” and it was also short paragraphed. It looked a little like this:

“Hallo And Welcym freinds!!! U are now part of the ÁnNa famly. Everywun who joyns, is my fellowe sister or brothear!! U can onlye be acepTed on 1 Condishin. You MUST FOLLEW allkklllllll the rules. If u fail to follew evry rool, u will be BANNED FROm THISE WEBSIGHT. How will I Kno if u breyk a rule?? TrUuuuuust me. I kno. I am Alwaus Watching u. It u sighn up here, I Will Automauticalli have Access to sey what u r doing 24 HRs A DAY. SeveRe Punichment will come ur way if u Brayk a rule.

Remember, have Fün and liive Dangeroushly!!”

Xoxoxo- MIA

Finally, I clicked the diet, tricks, and tips. All of them were normal enough, at least at first. “Eat only X amount of calories per day” and the punishment is, if you eat over 900 calories then you will have severe nightmares for 8 days. You have 3 strikes. If you go over 900 for the third time in a row, you will have severe physical pains. I don’t believe in a lot of supernatural stuff, I mean, I believe in ghosts, but not that some random person on the internet has the power to control your mind and your body. You have to exercise until you faint, if you stop exercising and you’re still able to walk and stand fine, then you aren’t doing it enough. You must count and measure everything that goes in your mouth. You must make yourself throw up in case you accidentally consume a little extra calories. I hate vomit, but if it will make me lose weight, I will do it.

So I tried. On August 1st I began my diet. I restricted. That was the main word etched in my mind: Restriction Restriction. Other words were “Willpower” and “Self Control.” I have the willpower to restrict my calories, and I feel like I am the Goddess of my own body. I have immense self-control that people often express how jealous they are, that I easily decline delicious sweets being offered to me. Every time my stomach rumbles and moans and screams at me for my cruelty, I smack it and tell it that it’s not hungry, just bored. Who knew that feeling hungry and empty felt so good?? The “full” feeling I used to feel when I ate normally was disgusting. Bloated belly, full of food, now is empty shrinking belly. I feel so weightless, like a feather. I hated vomit, but soon I began to vomit 5 times a day. I never went over my calories. I was gonna be the one to do everything perfectly so I can impress Mia. I will be the number one winner in her dieting contest. She will absolutely love me. She expresses adoration for me already. Her little voice in my head constantly praises me after a good purge.

September 10th: I feel so nauseous. My bones ache and my whole body is sore. I think I worked out too hard last night. My breath still reeks of last nights vomit even though I brushed them like, 12 times. I had to tell people my teeth are yellow because I ate something that contained food colouring. It’s tiring, having to pretend to make breakfast and lunch so my dad thinks I’m eating. Luckily he’s the only person I live with. It’s crazy how the only reason I manage to get out of bed is so I can weigh myself. The scale is my religion. I hated math, but now I love it. I’m the best at counting calories and measuring the size of my waist and my thighs, and that number that drops every day is amazing. I weighed in at 83 lbs today. My dad doesn’t know since my old clothes are the only thing I wear, and they’re huge on my delicate and dainty figure.

October 1st: I can’t even move. My long pretty fingernails are yellow and brittle and they constantly fall off whenever I scratch my dry, itchy head. My once thick mass of luscious blonde hair is dirty and greasy and stringy, falling out in clumps when I brush it, when I shower, and when I wake up. My skin feels like a snake; patchy and scaly. I’ve always been pale, but never like this. It’s a annoying how everyone asks if I’m sick or if I have a fever. They don’t know. They’ll NEVER understand. I’m constipated so I have to rely on 15 lax a day. I can’t sleep because I’m so hungry, and when I do sleep, all my dreams are food-related to me binging, and I wake up in a panic, crying since I think it’s real. I can’t walk 3 steps to my own bathroom in my own room. It hurts. I want to pass out and pant heavily whenever I walk up the stairs, as it feels as if I have walked 30 miles. I resorted to crawling everywhere. Sometimes, my dad has to carry me.

November 1st: I hate my my life. I used to have depression before, but it’s never been this severe. I feel like the more weight I lose, the more depressed I get. MIA LIED. She said I’d be happier once I’m thin. She promised I’d look like one of those models in the VS show. They don’t look as dead as I. My dad is a mortician, and he constantly remind me that I look and feel like a dead body. I’m cold, my skin is so so cold. I’m cold. I wore Uggs, Sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and thick blanket in 105 degrees and I was shivering and freezing. Every time I stand up my vision fades to black and all these black little dots dance around my blurry vision. It’s like when you stand up too fast you get dizzy spells, except it happens to me all the damn time. I have to lay down 4 towels on the toilet seat to go pee since it hurts my bones. I have to sleep on 5 blankets since it hurts my bones. I can’t sit on wooden chairs because it stabs my bones.

Everyone says they’re worried about me. Teachers pull me aside, my ballet instructor, the nurse, store owners when I go and order a Diet Coke during lunch rather than actual food. I don’t even look twice at the display of pastries. I’m successful. Everyone says I’m too thin and I need a doctor, blah blah blah. They’re wrong. They have no idea how long it took for me to get here. They have no idea how I desperately needed this. They have no idea all the effort I put. They need to appreciate how beautiful I am. I thought they’d praise me. They’re just denying I’m beautiful, they’re all jealous. They stare at me with haunting and pitying eyes and whisper behind my back. They gasp and gape at my body wherever I go. See how jealous they are? They want to be me. They’re just saying I’m dangerously thin because they wish my body was theirs. Well, I had to work for it. If being thin was easy, everyone would do it. We live in a world of gluttony where everyone is constantly stuffing their face, whereas I eat every other day.

December 1st: Too weak. Can’t move. I have missed school for a week now. My skin is more blue and purple than white, and it’s not my veins. My lips are dry and white with a slight pale red and swollen shut with dead skin hanging off. I have heavy and thick black bags underneath my eyes. I FEEL BEAUTIFUL. My body is covered in bruises, even though I do nothing but sit on my ass all day watching TV. Mia said it’s okay to stop exercising since I’m so weak, so I deserve a break. My metabolism is dead, and I’ve hit a few plateaus, but I’m almost to my goal weight. It’s funny because my goal weight gets lower and lower the more weight I lose. At 105 lbs my goal was 95. I got there, and I still looked obese. Then it was 85, got there, and still obese. 75, got there, and still obese. I’m currently 68 lbs and my goal is 59. 5 is my favourite number, and 9 is one less away from being the highest and the greatest: 10.

It’s so funny. It’s like I was blind my whole life. I never really thought I was fat, but Mia said to take one good look in the mirror, which opened my eyes, and suddenly, I realised, maybe I AM obese. Soon those protruding bones became rolls of fat and I physically transformed into a monster. My mirror was alive and moving. It kept morphing and twisting and distorting like a fun-house mirror. Why isn’t enough? I think I was born with a special body that can’t be skinny no matter how much weight I lose. That number on the scale will never be enough. It will never satisfy my cravings and my need for skinny. Maybe my goal should be 50.

December 10th: I’ve fainted 4 times so far. I get Charlie horses in my legs every night. My dad says I have low magnesium and blood pressure. As well has dangerously low blood sugar and severe iron deficiency. He’s lying. He just wants to make a big fat ass again. My heart rate is currently 40 BPM. There is one thing that i love, though, and that’s my period. It’s gone. I haven’t had it in forever. My dad keeps crying and getting on his knees and begging me to eat, telling me I’m painfully thin. He’s just MOCKING ME. Everyone who says I’m thin is a big fat liar. They know I’m an obese pig, they just want to lie to me. I’m the only one who sees my body truly for what it is, why can’t everyone else? I know the real me is fat. Apparently everyone else just looks shocked and surprised when I say I’m still fat. “Gaunt Girl” they call me. “Emaciated Evangeline” they call me. “Starving Sister” I’m called. “Skinny Minnie” “itty-bitty” “Malnourished.” Everyone calls me either a zombie, a vampire, or a ghost.

I don’t even FEEL alive. I feel more like I’m existing, but not living. I don’t feel like I have a life. It’s as if I’m a puppet. Or someone is playing with me like an unmoving doll. I can’t breathe, i can’t sleep, i can’t eat, and I feel dead. I feel brain dead. I can’t even move now. I lay on the couch all day, barely moving my head. I can’t even watch tv or go on my phone. I can’t even tell you what I said 3 minutes ago. My memory used to be intelligent and sharp, now I can’t remember anything. My vocabulary speaking-wise is that of a 5 year old. My mind is that of a 5 year old. I dumbed down as my malnourished brain and mental state deteriorated. I am nothing but a decomposing body, waiting to be as light as dust. Soon to be ashes. I can only really remember to speak 5 words “Hi, Bye, No, Yes, Okay.” THIS IS WHAT PERFECTION FEELS LIKE

December 17th: This is Evangeline’s Dad. I found her diary and all the sickening things she’s written in it about her diet and some website. Evangeline Elizabeth Winters was admitted to X hospital at X address for a possible cardiac arrest. It appears she was found unconscious in her bed. On December 16th 10:31 AM. She is thankfully not in a coma. They were able to shock her heart and revive her. It is an utter miracle that she is along the 2% of patients who are able to recover from cardiac arrest.

January 1st: Hello everyone, I’m back! I’m in the hospital and they have diagnosed me with something that ended in “Nervosa” and I can’t remember what the first part is. All I know is that Mia would be so proud of me. I got a message saying “I’m the official Ana of the website.” And apparently Ana is the highest ranking position. There are many Anas, but there’s only one true perfect Ana. Along with Mia, she promised we’d rule together! I can hear her talking in my head already. Apparently I’m forced to be submitted into an Inpatient facility at a mental hospital for a few months, as well as be supervised and regularly see a dietician, a doctor, and a psychiatrist. I did nothing wrong.. it’s just a diet. Why can’t anyone let me be skinny? Why do they want me to be fat?? I’d rather kill myself than be fat.

January 2cd: I managed to steal a knife off of the medical table while no one was looking. It’s 1:30am and I’m going to do the final step it takes to become a true Ana. Cut off the rest of my fat. My bones are in the way, but I’ll find the fat hiding behind them.

This is what perfection feels like. This is what perfection is. Perfection is death. I am thin and beautiful, and I can already see Mia’s shadowy figure smile at me with glowing fangs across my bed.

ThÁbks For raéDjng this And Becum a Membrrr of THe Dïett!!! -Evangel-AÑNÁ

[blacknovelist]

Yet another Ageswap-AU ask because oh my god ever since you said something about Toshinori not being able to control OFA I laugh every time I think about it. I'm just imagining the Alt!1-A kids all being in one room hanging out when there's this resounding CRASH! from some other room. Dead silence. Cue Toshinori yelling that everything's fine he's got it under control and where exactly is the broom again? And everybody just groans. The Human Bulldozer strikes again. (c)

And soon it becomes an in-class joke that you can’t leave Toshinori in a room unsupervised for longer than a minute because he will invariably break something. Even when he swears he didn’t even touch anything. I imagine it only gets worse when he starts shooting up like a weed and putting on muscle like a linebacker. His friends honestly just think it’s kinda funny and they only tease him good-naturedly but he still apologizes 1000000 times anyway.

DAMN, anon, this is like the third time you’ve come right into my inbox (assuming ur the Toshinko/Enji anon?? I’m p sure u are for several reasons but otherwise this makes for an incredibly comical situation where I pretend all anons are one person, in which case it’s more like five times lmao) and known JUST WHAT TO SAY and I friggin LOVE IT my dude.

This is e x a c t l y how it would go tho. Poor Toshinori can’t catch a break. Everyone in Ageswap 1-A learns to get used to ducking beneath his arms or swerving around him whenever he starts sparking with OfA or even just generally moving, because damn the guy can hit even without his quirk and he always feels bad when he smacks someone, no matter how lightly. He starts off really small too (like, almost Canon Izuku size and scrawny-ness), so it’s just so many levels of hilarious that this classmate of theirs is so clumsy with his own quirk and that he keeps messing things up. I mean, heck. I bet even just swinging an arm near things can break them when the swing is also OfA powered. No wonder he can’t be without supervision around delicates, he doesn’t even have to hit them! 

All of Toshinori’s classmates and teachers are aware of the broom’s location in relation to Toshinori at any and all times. Deku is good at taking Toshinori’s hits both during and outside of training (“this is nothing, kid, don’t sweat it”) so he’s fine, and Inko joins the ranks of effortless dodgers (though she’d also be able to take the hits probably) along with Naomasa, Gran Torino, Nana, and all of 1-A.

Eventually he gets it under control, but no one can resist poking so much fun at him when it comes to being around breakables, ever. By the time Sports Festival rolls he’s mostly got it, though he’s still a bit prone to activating it sometimes if he isn’t paying attention. Deku jokes a lot that Toshinori’s penchant for breaking other things is a lot better than his own old penchant for breaking his own bones when he was new to OfA which, is kind of nice to hear but also a little horrifying bc really, what do you mean you broke your arms three times in two months, Deku-san, what the heck

But then the Growth Spurts start.

So like. @guardianlioness is the one who brought it up and thought up most of it back then but among 1-A, everyone gets their growth spurts at completely different times. The result is that at some point classmates like Ken/Cementoss and Toshinori and Enji are towering a foot or two taller than other classmates who get their growth spurts later, like Aizawa and Hizashi and Kayama/Midnight.

Enji has never been the shortest kid in their class but he still gets his first - he grows broad and tall with his body type totally different from his dad’s. At this time Toshi is like, middle to short height in their class. Enji jokes a lot about how maybe he can beat Toshi now, and he’s all “don’t worry, maybe you can catch up to my height someday”. If you remember the first few ageswap posts, you’ll also know why Enji is going to eat his words later.

Except, with OfA to boost his whole body, what would’ve already been a pretty impressive growth spurt gets SUPERCHARGED TIMES TEN and suddenly Toshinori and Enji have to get used to being like… twice the height they used to be. So many mysterious phantom bruises and broken objects from both of them as they adjust. It’s a lot of repetitive motion exercises for them, because there’s no way they’re going back into regular training until they can stop stumbling over themselves.

Unfortunately for Toshi, the Human Bulldozer jokes come back. With a vengeance. Plus, now that puberty has decided to start formally kicking his ass, his control has gone wonky again, which basically means even more stuff gets broken, which leads to more jokes. It’s just a terrible cycle at this point. He knows that his friends and family are just teasing and they don’t mind it that much, but it still makes him feel bad when he breaks things and he’ll apologize for ages if you let him.

He tries to brush off some of his mystery bruises as injuries from accidents or training (“fell down the stairs” is a popular one, along with “punched the bag too hard”) sometimes but it never works. Either the person just knows, or someone conveniently comes along to explain that no, Toshinori did not trip and bump into the wall or banister, he just misjudged his arm length again and instead of bashing it into a shelf, this time he slugged himself in the face. Yes, there are pictures. Yes, they are definitely going all over the internet. No, Toshinori, you can’t stop them, they’re already out there. Sorry buddy.

(Spoiler alert: they’re really not.)

Much like the wheelchair incident, it goes viral. Unlike the wheelchair incident, everyone knows it’s actually All Might when he was a student (as opposed to the mystery of very, very blurry young faces). As expected, once context is added, the world is officially in on the joke that All Might, one of society’s symbols of peace, cannot be left alone at all lest he accidentally bump into something and break everything in the process. Toshinori is long suffering about it outwardly but as with all good memes and jokes, he actually loves it. All of Ageswap 1-A love it.

And that’s the story of how Toshinori becomes famous for his ability to break things (or rather, his inability to stop breaking them), which is a detail that is only vaguely relevant but I thought you’d appreciate nonetheless.

[emilycl-aire-blog]

why plot bunny jumping is not evil (and why you shouldn’t feel guilty about it)

When I was 14 years old, I watched Star Wars. What?! You didn’t watch Star Wars when you were three years old like the rest of us?!

Nope! I watched Star Wars when I was 14 years old – picture me on a big couch, with really frizzy oily hair (that wanted to be curly but that’s a different story) in a pair of faded pajamas and worn out socks. And as the big reveal took place and Darth was thundering, “Luke, I am your father!” all I could ask myself was a huge question that suddenly popped into my mind and would inspire a project that I have had for nearly seven years now:

“What if Luke Skywalker had grown up with Darth Vader and was totally for the Dark Side until he realized he was on the wrong side of the war?”

Wow.

And so the big story was born. I had to take that idea and forge it into a tale that grew like freaking Alice in Wonderland.

It’s called Project Meior. I will tell you the gist of it all. A young prince realizes that his dad, the emperor, is running for the bad guys, the wrong side of the war and this prince has to do something about it. It spans on for five books and counting. I created a whole universe as I grew from 14 to 15 and then to 16 – and then I stopped.

And I’ll tell you why.

The Project Meior Universe is really really big. I’m not even bragging right now, it’s just my life and my choices. My fate, really. I’ve got chapters and characters and locations and arcs and everybody’s got clothes that need to be designed, lands that need to be charted, biographies that need to be written. To top all that off, I was and am still studying digital painting and slowly but surely discovering my art style. And when that’s done, I’ve got to make a script and after two drafts of that, I’ve got to design the panels and pages.

And all of that hits me at the age of 16 – like a ton of bricks.

I’m a storyteller and plot bunnies hop around constantly, especially when you’re 16 and bored on it. I got tangled up in another story idea. And when I got bored on that, I had another plot bunny to think of. And it’s not that the story ideas were bad (on the contrary, I can’t really completely delete quite a few of them from my mind!), it’s just that through the excitement of starting a new project, it’s difficult to realize that eventually, you will struggle with it. You can’t even see difficulties and plot snags because you’re in this euphoria of a fantastic idea.

It’s easy to get started on something new and exciting and even easier to get bogged down into details.

That’s what happens. You get tunnel vision and focus on the problem because you’re trying to fix it so you can move on and keep going a hundred miles per hour with the story. And when you can’t fix it, you either give up on the story or you give up on yourself. Or both.

“Maybe it was never a good idea in the first place.”

“Maybe I’m a bad storyteller.”

“Maybe it’s not original enough.”

“Maybe I have no talent at all.”

It all starts building up and cascading down into you. It snowballs into your soul.

I was nineteen and at the end of my rope when I remembered Project Meior. And all the work I had invested in it, all the characters I had made, all the love I put into it. I picked it up and dusted it off. I thought I had been wasting my time with other stories that I didn’t love as much as this one. Maybe I had spent hours and hours needlessly on stories that weren’t mine. Not like Project Meior is mine.

So I beat myself up pretty well and good and then I got back to work with Project Meior. I wrote out the outline to the first book. I made new characters and new arcs, fixed plot holes and added new exciting ideas. I made characters more three-dimensional, deepened the angst and let it simmer!

And then it happened like it always does. I got stuck on a plot hole and I couldn’t get out. I got cold feet in front of all the other work I’ve still got to do for it. Script, panels, pages, art style, design. Plus, preparation for all the other arcs I want to weave through the first story to the third story.

I can stand still and walk away from it. I can freeze and feel guilty about it.

But I’m here to say something to myself and to anyone else who needs to say it with me: I am not going to be guilty about backing up, getting out of the tunnel vision and walking a realistic pace through this story.

I have realized that the time I spent taking a break from Project Meior only helped make it even better. These characters would not have been as deep had I not been practicing with characters that are not in use anymore. These arcs would not be in existence if I had not given them a shot with other stories. These plots holes would not have been fixed if I hadn’t watched Andrew Stanton give a TED talk while I was working on a different story.

The new exciting ideas would not have been planted if I hadn’t been flexing my storytelling muscles and working.

When it comes to our art craft – whether it’s writing or painting or blogging or Youtubing or whatever it is you do – as long as you are doing your art, you are not wasting your time.

Writers, write your fanfiction; you are writing and that is enough.

Artists, paint your fan art and practice, practice practice.

Youtubers, trial and error is a valuable teacher, don’t be afraid of it.

Bloggers, don’t be afraid to write, rewrite, rewrite.

And as for the problems you’re struggling with? That plot hole that you and I are dealing with right now? Or the hiccup you’ve reached in your videography or the writer’s block that has hit you?

Know your story is so much bigger than that. Your imagination is so much bigger than the infinitesimal dot you think is a black hole. Look for the new angle and take it apart if you have to. Or walk away from it, take a break.

I’m going to talk about those two options. First of all, on looking for the new angle. Here’s a great story.

When the writers and artists of Pixar were developing the first Cars movie, they came upon a scene in which Lightning McQueen tells his girlfriend Sally that he hears the legendary Route 66 is back on the map. The script said that Lightning actually takes out a map and shows exactly what he just said...Route 66 is genuinely proven-for-real back on the map.

But then the artists and writers asked themselves, okay, so how is he going to show a map? He’s a freaking car. Is he just gonna pull it out of his side door? No that’d be creepy, but how about this--

And they worked and they worked and they had crazy ideas...but at the end of it all, they were totally stuck. They were all sitting around, not having a clue of how Lightning is going to pull out a map. Until someone said, “Why does he need to take out a map anyway?”

The relief and the frustration! They had tunnel vision on an idea that just didn’t need to be there! And that’s what I mean by looking for a new angle or taking it apart altogether. Go like Joss Whedon and say, “If something isn’t working, if you have a story that you’ve built and it’s blocked and you can’t figure it out, take your favorite scene or your very best idea or set-piece and cut it. It’s brutal, but sometimes inevitable.” Tough love for sure, but this is the craft you do and it matters how you do it. Don’t be afraid to be ruthless and delete your “map” or a whole scene or a character. Get rid of the source of the problem and go from there.

And about taking a break.

Take a break even if it takes five years. My story is so much better because of it.

You’re not wasting your time if you pick up a new idea and give a shot. As long as you are still exercising those storytelling muscles, you are not wasting your time. Don’t beat yourself up for choosing to put down a story in favor of another one, or even putting down a story in order to study up on how to tell it.

“The artist who stops making art is committing emotional suicide. Get off the couch and start painting again.”

And you can take that quote and alter it to fit your own craft.

We are artists, writers, photographers, videographers. It’s not all we do or all we are, but let’s go ahead and face it: we do it. And we will do it. And we will keep on doing it. We’ve been given this gift and it’s our job to express truth, shape our culture and bring delight to our readers and viewers. In whatever form that takes, it’s also our job to take care of ourselves and be able to say “No, not right now.”

Or better yet, be able to say, “You, out.”

Say, “You, out,” to a scene or a character or an arc.

But remember to say, “You, out,” to guilt, fear, anxiety, self-doubt.

You’re not gonna get anywhere by letting poison run your soul. Because we need your soul, people need your voice.

I’m not going to let the plot snag take down Project Meior.

Like I say, it’s just way too big for that!

What are some struggles you are facing right now with your craft? Send me an ask or reply to this post! I’m really excited to be on here and talking about stories and art and lifestyle and I’d love to hear from you. Peace out. <3

[marigoldsays]

Marigold Says... 

Random thoughts on travelling and life in general. 

Our blog didn't win Blog of the Year. Again. That's three consecutive years it's been on the Shortlist and all it has to show for that feat is three 'Highly Commended' awards.  Not even a rosette! 

Oh well, que, sera, sera.

We have over 165,000 'unique' followers by now, it's over 167,000 actually now,so we're not too disheartened. 

What's different this year is having not one but two separate blog posts being singled out for a 'Best Single Blog Posts' award. They're on very different subjects but recognition of any kind is welcome. Feed the ego; body and soul. That's never a bad idea.

If you're interested in what critics think (!) the two posts they selected for special praise are:

Hippie Life in Spain

and

Party for Grownups

You'll find them and much else besides in the list of titles, almost 200 separate postings on a wide diversity of subjects and locations.

As for awards... Well, as we've had well over 165,000, yes, that's ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE THOUSAND individual readers by now, we must be doing something right. Anything over ten thousand readers meant we'd arrived in the Bloggin' Premier League, so hitting a hundred and sixty fivethousand plus is just WOW!

Who needs awards anyway?

G regards himself as an ex-writer these days, but a pandemic brings many surprises in its wake. He's written a new book, quite the departure from the style that brought far too much fame and far too little fortune as compensation for all that life disruption, hence the ex-writer tag.

The new book is a Young Adult novel about a pandemic, written a year before most people even imagined such a thing. More details and a link to this book and a few others long hidden from public view are in the recent blog post, Staying Alive.

Stop Press.

We may not have won Blog of the Year, but our blog post Only the Lonely, written during Covid-19 Lockdown, has been chosen from a few million other offerings as the Best 'Pandemic' Blog Post by the very clever people who judge this sort of thing for a living. We like critics! 

This isn't Marigold. Far too sophisticated.

Here’s that Only the Lonely blog post, just as a sample…

Solitary Confinement - It's Not All Fun and Party Games

M Says'

I havedecided my hair needs cutting. I actually said to G, 'my hair needs cutting badly' and he of course jumped straight in with, 'sounds perfect job for me.'

I have two styles to choose from. It can either be Boris post virus locks or Michael Fabricant. To actually wear a wig like that needs an award. Love it. I haven't decided yet. It all depends on G's patience, and nifty use of a rather large pair of kitchen scissors. As their use is varied from cutting up a chicken, cardboard or old clothes for dusters, am sure they will be up to the task. 

As my hair is not a favourite asset it doesn't really matter. In fact I can't think of an asset I have got. Anyway need to work up to it when G isn't on his exercise bike or wandering up and down the path. 

Have started to think about waste a lot. Had loads of peelings yesterday and thought about making our own potcheen. Anyway, I thought about it and then put them in the bin. We have made all sorts of strange and varied things in the past. 

We had a spell making Kombucha when we lived in France. It was very successful. In fact too successful and we were left with lots of Mother pancake things and didn't know what to do with them. It was suggested you fry them and eat them. We in fact buried them in the garden. I wonder if any have grown into something that can't be identified. 

I also added cheese to olive oil and herbs. It went rancid. Buried that as well. Tried rhubarb wine. Awful. It would have been great as a toilet cleaner. We had grape vines, lots of them and the wine we made was a success thankfully. We had vineyard owning friends who were good teachers and we ended up with a quaffable product. 

I was in charge of labels and my only instruction was 'put them on straight'. Did they think I was going to put them on upside down? Why do people get bossy when they know more than you? We even had a wine bottle hedgehog. Look it up. Surprise, surprise. 

We have been walking up and down the path and G counts his steps. As I was borrowing his Fitbit and he claimed I was pinching his steps he bought me one. No stopping me now. Onwards and upwards. As it is a narrow path G starts one end with me at the other. We meet halfway and do a dozie-doe circle as in Scottish dancing to liven us up a bit. 

Marv. 

I have walked to Lands End and back. G said you would be better in shoes and not your slippers, but comfort is really important for athletes. 

Have had requests from family, friends, debt collectors and people I have never heard of to do a video something or other called Boom, Zoom or something or other. Can't think of anything worse. 

What does it involve? Do you have to wear make up, remove any rogue hairs, have an interesting back drop? It all sounds very stressful and have had to decline. What if we came on their screen and they screamed, or we screamed? Our conversation could be over in 3 minutes and then you have to revert to 'somebody is at the door' while G can clearly be heard shouting 'I don't want to talk to them'. Then you are trapped in a cycle of daily non goings on. 

I imagine it is like visiting someone in hospital and saying 'what did you have for lunch' or 'are you sleeping ok'. I would rather people imagine we are having lockdown parties and doing handstands. 

A friend said she started to do a diary. Day 1 Got up, had breakfast Had walk for an hour Had lunch Had tea Had shower Went to bed 

Day 2 -ditto-. She won't be doing it anymore. 

On the Thursday night clap session a woman over the way from us was clapping in an upstairs window, well actually a bit more energetic than that; she hangs out of the bathroom window with a large saucepan and a plastic veg drainer. Anyway, saucepan went flying and would have killed the old geezer underneath if he'd been there at the time.

It is still on the lawn. I have got my eye on it, as it looks better than mine. G said she could be lying on the floor having fell off backwards off the stool shouting 'the clap has killed me'. 

Just off to do steps and catch up with G. I need to win. 

After I made such a brill job of cutting his hair G came at me with large wallpaper scissors, a tin basin and said 'put your legs in the stirrups' and guffawed. He is not taking it seriously so can bog off.

Yes, I'm sure they mean well, but...

A bit more nonsense now...

G Says'

I don't go in for Zoom or any other type of video conferencing malarkey. Quite apart from having to make a bit of an effort with my appearance there's the absolute certainty I would be miles away, both literally and figuratively, when faced with the distraction of someone else's living room in the background. If there's a bookcase in view, forget conversation, my attention is elsewhere.

Even television presenters work from home now and I find it hard to listen to what they're saying as their furniture, fixtures and fittings become my main focus.

Actually, I prefer it like this. Something to occupy the mind while they waffle inanely on, just like they always did, but now I have a valid excuse for tuning them out.

Even in real life situations, whatever they used to be, I constantly found myself contorting my head and neck to read, sideways on, any books on a shelf. Talking to me under these conditions is a waste of breath. Oh, and no, of course I can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Multitasking is not in my DNA. I struggle to cope with one task at a time.

I messaged a friend a week ago, just to say hello, and asked 'what are you up to anyway?' She hasn't replied. I can't believe it requires so much thought. A simple question, surely?

Is overthinking yet another byproduct of our recent isolation? Or am I reading too much into this? Did she just forget to reply? Even worse, is she ignoring me and my fatuous remarks? I wish I hadn't mentioned this now. I may not sleep tonight for worrying'

The same friend moved house 18 months ago and she's still got numerous taped up boxes in the 'spare' room. Getting sorted out after a move, that's just asking for an onset of prevarication, isn't it? Some 'stuff' gets unpacked and put away virtually straight away. By which I mean, within the first week. Or so. After that, it's bye bye box, see you whenever.

I find the best removal system (and we've moved house many, many times) is to incorporate the science of random selection. Obviously, one should never write on a box what it contains - where's the fun in that? When its time comes to be opened, possibly far into the future, there's a frisson of excitement about the process.

There's about an equal balance I find between, 'oh, finally, there you are' and 'why did we ever imagine we'd need that?'

Best of all are things you really needed, couldn't find and so went out and bought a new one. Now, inside the box you finally got around to opening is that most precious of all items, 'a spare.'

I see Marigold has referred to our 'French' period when we grew, nurtured and cherished the many grape vines on our land. We became confirmed oenophiles in the process, but not everything went smoothly all the time. I developed a condition related to tennis elbow, namely secateur wrist through pruning about a million vines.

The vast wine press in the cellar of our isolated farmhouse took all our combined strength to operate - we only learnt later that the previous owner used a mule to provide the muscle power - and Marigold, for all her many virtues, having briefly and unsuccessfully tried every other aspect of the wine making process was finally relegated to sticking labels onto the bottles.

Easy? Not as I recall. Getting a wine label to attach to a bottle and look anywhere near level must be harder than it looks. Perhaps the major chateaux have a ready supply of spirit levels to hand as our finished wine bottles would never be snapped up by the head buyer of Majestic Wine.

I heard someone on the News this morning saying how much they're missing their grandchildren. They come over to wave and shout hello occasionally and the proud grandparents throw them down a Magnum each as a treat.

'Sorry we can't come down to give you a cuddle,' they shout.

'Don't worry,' the kids reply, 'we'd rather have the Magnums anyway.'

Marigold has now started saying 'I'd rather have a Magnum' to me every time I give her a kiss or a squeeze in passing. It ceased to be funny five hours ago.

In retaliation I have threatened to withhold all future aspects of intimacy, but that strategy seems to have backfired. Oh well, as long as she's happy.

The modified sheep dip pit I ordered to protect us from people calling at the house hasn't been entirely successful. Our postman wears shorts, winter and summer, and yet is still insistent on blaming me for the full body rash he claims to have contracted by his very brief immersion.

Yes, I fully accept I made an error in not realising he was relatively short of stature before filling it to the brim with Domestos, but if he carries on complaining for much longer he'll be risking missing out on the usual 50 pence tip come next Christmas.

Marigold was dead against the plan from the start and continues to complain about my choice of Domestos when Tesco's own brand bleach is so much cheaper.

'Have you even glanced at the comparative efficiency ratings in this Which? Report,' I ask, but Marigold has always shown very little interest in my extensive research material.

I suppose I shall have to just carry on digging the moat as a back up now the Council have taken up such an unreasonably antagonistic stance to my outline planning request for a minefield.

'High explosive devices not allowed on domestic dwelling units within the Borough' indeed.

If they had bothered to read all 96 pages of my dossier they should have realised the mines would be concealed underground and therefore not visible at any time.

It's bureaucracy gone mad in my view.

The news flash along the bottom of the television screen just said, 'Greater Manchester Police attended 500 house parties last weekend.'

Well, that's not setting a very good example, is it?

My latest NHS letter, my third since the decision was made, presumably at Cabinet level that my life expectancy if exposed to 'other people' or other equally dangerous entities starts off by saying' 'Persons like you in the clinically extremely vulnerable cohort will continue to be advised to shield themselves for some time yet, and the Government recognises the difficulties this brings for those affected.'

Wow! Last time I was classified as being in the 'clinically extremely vulnerable group.' Now it's the 'clinically extremely vulnerable cohort.'

Is a cohort better than a group? More selective? Even more special?

Who writes this stuff?

Pubs, bars, nightclubs, snooker halls, Burger King and gyms are all closed. Hordes of people have apparently had their lives ruined by the enforced absence of these recently deprived pleasures.

But, even allowing for this devastation, it appears my own routine will be completely unaffected.

That can't be right.

It's now day something or other since we entered the deep hibernation of lockdown. Not every day is a bundle of laughs. I'm finding it a bit upsetting to see Marigold with her nose pressed against the window, tears streaming down her face making whimpering noises.

It's heart breaking, it really is.

I've even considered letting her come back inside, but after she went out and collected that Amazon parcel left on the path we'll need to wait a few days yet to see if she starts coughing.

Oh, I know it seems harsh but rules are rules.

Just hope those Midget Gems in the Amazon box are okay out there. It's getting a bit nippy at night.

Marigold has decided to cut my hair. No fastidious micro examination of a stray hair, none of that two mirrors malarkey or inane chatter about inconsequential trivia, it's sit down, keep still and don't distract me.

As a result I have a haircut that will last several months without even seeing a brush or a comb, that takes moments to wash in the shower, is economical with shampoo and yet only took three minutes to create.

Salons of Britain, you can learn much from Marigold. Seat customer, switch on clippers, three minutes later shout 'next.'

I suspect Marigold watched a training video from the United States Marine Corps Induction Centre when honing her technique.

Oddly, my offer to return the favour and cut Marigold's hair has not yet been accepted.

Some say we need social interactions to maintain good mental health. Aristotle said, 'man is by nature a social animal.'

I yield to no one in my admiration for Aristotle. More than 2300 years after his death, he remains one of the most influential people who ever lived. He contributed to almost every aspect of human knowledge then in existence, and he was the spark, the founder of many new fields.

According to the philosopher Bryan Magee, 'it is doubtful whether any human being has ever known as much as he did.'

Even so, and far be it from me to offer an alternative view to old clever clogs, I know several people who are positively relishing lockdown.

There's a couple living behind our place - there's a ten foot hedge between us so I've never actually seen them and their entrance road is 'around the back, somewhere'' but they're obviously elderly and a bit deaf as I used to clearly hear snippets of their conversation on days when we were both engaged in that idyllic activity usually confined to warm, sunny afternoons known as 'sitting out'.

I only learnt the name of the unseen neighbour yesterday as I limped along my 25 step exercise path.

'Malcolm, are you coming in? I've got the thingie all set up to zoom the family.'

The enquirer was female, seemingly not in the first flush of youth, and with more than a hint of exasperation in her tone.

'No, 'I'm stopping here,' replied the unseen Malcolm. 'I've just got to a good bit.'

'The book can wait. Your grandchildren will want to see you.'

Malcolm was obviously having none of it.

'No, they won't, they're as fed up as I am of these wretched video things. Quite frankly I don't miss seeing any of them and if you're honest, neither do you.'

'No, I know, it's been lovely having time to ourselves and no need to pretend we enjoy having the whole tribe turn up on the doorstep, but they think we're lonely. They think we're at risk.'

Silence, then a deep sigh from Malcolm.

'Tell them I've croaked,' he shouted. 'I'm not coming in.'

Another long pause and then the woman said 'I'll say you're on the lavatory.'

I really want to meet this pair one day. Malcolm and I would get on very well. Imagine having to leave your place in a book just as you get to 'a good bit.'

Rules? There are no rules any more