#whcc

[woundedheartwithin]

New prices, because I need the money. This is a permanent price cut btw, so there’s no time limit. As such, I’m not going to offer any sales moving forward

$8 - 8x10 semigloss print

$10 - 8x12 semigloss print

All prints are fulfilled by WHCC on archival quality paper

Shop can be found here

[big-ass-magnet]

@queenofbaws tagged me in this thank you queenie :* I tag @experimentalmadness @jay-auris and all my other writers whose tumblr usernames I cannot remember.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Exactly 100! 39 of them are just for What We Do in the Shadows, thanks to the time I went insane and wrote a friend like 20 different fics for a Christmas exchange.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

375,883 WOW THAT'S A LOT HAHAHAHA

3. What fandoms do you write for?

oh goodness. Mass Effect and Dragon Age I'll always come back to; at the moment I've settled into Girl Genius.

4. Top five fics by kudos

Relationship Status: It's Really Complicated (Venom 2018)

The Things We Can't Take Back (What We Do in the Shadows)

Safe and Sound (Venom 2018)

A Hole in the Family Portrait (WWDITS)

A Change in Perspective (WWDITS)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I TRY I REALLY DO, even if it's just to say thank you

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

THAT IS A HARD QUESTION, I literally had to go back and review all my posted fics because I don't write a lot of angsty endings; I'm a happy ending bitch!!! I gotta end on love and light!

Timing, a Beast Wars fic that is probably the saddest and unsexiest smut I've ever written, about Rattrap mourning Dinobot after his death. I wrote it in college so it's old to be "oh god no never look at my old writing it's so embarrassing", so I'm afraid to look at it.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Also a hard question but for the opposite reason! I'm going to go with Consider This, where Cassandra realizes Varric is in love with Hawke based on how he writes in Tale of The Champion--and then makes it Varric's problem.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not out and out, but I've gotten a few "constructive criticisms" which made me feel so bad about the fic I stopped writing it--so yeah I'm going to call those hate. Just a few though, across my entire writing career.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes, but I go through phases where I'm so embarrassed about writing it and I'm sure people will think it's badly written, but in between those, I will write it. (I wrote...a lot of it...for wwdits).

10. Craziest crossover?

Fang and Fur and Snow - yes, it's my only crossover, but considering I only did it because both What We Do in the Shadows and Werewolves Within have a) werewolves and b) Harvey Guillen in them, I call it pretty crazy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I've ever noticed.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! Best Served at Muzzle Velocity (sole survivor Shepard learns that shooting thresher maws on foot makes for great therapy) was translated into Russian here!

[They changed the title to A Dish That is Best Served From Service, which I've assumed means 'military service', which I thought was very cool!]

I was extremely flattered.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, a couple! It was always a fun time.

14. All time favourite ship?

God. Hard to say. In terms of longevity, Shepard/Garrus, but Hawke/Varric is so consistently fun to write and read and they are such a perfect 'weird puzzle pieces that fit perfectly' ship it always makes me happy.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I try to never say never! ...but, When History Comes Calling was supposed to be the first in a series about the Shepard twins--one is taken by batarian slavers, one becomes Commander Shepard. I've got Kiryn the assassin and Commander Keris Shepard; I really wanted to do a companion piece with Commander Kiryn Shepard and Keris the gladiator.

Aaaand I haven't been able to. (I also wanted a sequel to WHCC and haven't had much luck with that either.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue for SURE. I'm very proud of my dialogue, both quality of writing and (in fics) how true to canon I can make it sound. If there's an audio component, I'm very good at mimicking the dialogue patterns of characters, to the point where I can tell I need to rework a line if I can't hear the character saying it in my head.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

PLOTS.

I have SUCH a hard time finding the inspiration and discipline to follow through with a long fic plot. Mostly I'll have a neat idea or scene, but not be able to come up with a story to carry it. You'll notice more than a few of my fics start in media res.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I want to know what people are saying!! I feel like I'm missing out on useful information/character stuff! (More than anything this is for conlangs, especially ones that aren't Klingon or Tolkien Elvish where only the author knows what any of it means. TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING.)

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Avatar the Last Airbender. I was a Zuko girlie and boy did I write for it. Those fics are long since lost in the depths of fanfic.net.

I lie. I remember my username. No you can't know.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

When History Comes Calling. I think it's one of my most inventive and interesting fics, with the strongest emotional writing, and a lot of really good action pieces. It's also one of the rare ones where I have a plot and plot twists and manage more than a handful of chapters.

[women-health-center-of-chicago]

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[thewestern]

Chapter 16

Driving back over the bridge, the murky brown water beneath was running low and slow to merely a trickle. When they were just a couple of pequenitos, Kitty and her brother used to splash about in the backwater pools of that pathetic excuse for a waterway. Little kids still played there but Kitty thought they were loco to do so. Que agua tan sucia. What with the discarded rubbish — bottles, cans, syringes — bobbing downstream. The poor children — los hijos pobres — wading in gore. Some Monday evenings she would join the Newfy Run Club for a jog along the pedestrian pathway that ran parallel to the westernmost bank, the length of downtown. For their part, the NRC had about a five-kilometer loop, starting and ending at the green awning. There was the option to stretch the route to ten kilometers, although Kitty seldom did. She ran two years of cross country at West High, but even then running was something she could only tolerate. And only to a point. Never one past some threshold of fatigue and pain into one supposedly of euphoria. Runners’ High. As if. Then again, the serial marathoner types in the Monday-night crew sure seemed to be getting off on something. Likely of their own supply. Jogging amongst hobbyists the likes of Kitty, they fancied themselves to be Endurance Athletes. What a bunch of sickos. Fitness tracking every step they took, every breath, every heartbeat. All kitted out in the latest in moisture-wicking synthetic fabrics. Meanwhile Mick’s hand-me-down NFBC tees, which Kitty wore exclusively for exercise and sleep, seemed designed specifically to be moisture-absorbent. Particularly in that heathered gray color, which accentuated the outline of your perspiration just so. Like a Rorschach test of boob sweat. To match, not unlike Michael Jordan, Kitty still hoarded her thread-bare shorts from high school, team-issue, with the little block arrow running through the WHCC, although she’d been meaning to toss those. They were looking a little ratchet, in her words (that she pronounced in the French, ra_shay). Maybe then this Christmas she’d ask Mick for new workout clothes.  

  The bridge was built a good ways up there, high enough to accommodate any underpassing vessel, ironically. Reason being, back when the city was just a tinpan camp for dusty old prospectors, the major land-havers and other boosters would print up these brochures for sending back east, hyping up the city as a desirable frontier destination. A Pearl on the Plains. Good quality of life, great schools, etc. As for its viability as a hub for commerce, since transcontinental rail didn’t exist yet, one of the main selling points was this river that passed right through town. Their copy claimed it was quite a a strong current indeed, as wide, or even wider in stretches than the Mighty Mississipp’. In no time at all there’d be a veritable armada running up and down-stream, shipping all manner of pelts, hides and other wares.

Well that was a fucking lie. Water wasn’t hardly deep enough to accommodate Hank’s kayak, never mind Steamboat fucking Willie. Hell, it was shallow enough Kitty could probably ford that sorry excuse for a creek in her station wagon. Like that old computer game she could vaguely remember playing in the computer lab, where she would seclude herself most recesses. Everyone in your party has died, the screen’d say in that eight-bit font when your simulated river crossing failed, either on account of the riverbed was too muddy and you got stuck, or maybe you tried to float it, but the wagon was overloaded with supplies and it capsized. Could have been any number of reasons how come you and your people came to perish, never mind whether it were you made it to t’other side of that crick. Dysentery and cholera being chief among them. That means shitting yourself to death, basically. But also there was typhoid, measles, getting bit by a snake. For a fact, one in ten of those folks who set off on that westbound trail didn’t make their destination. Hey, speaketh of which, you ever have that funny feeling that you want to swerve off the side of a bridge, crashing through the guardrail, airborne just long enough to reckon with the fact of you’re falling, have that awful, albeit life-affirming sensation of your stomach lurching its way up out of your throat, the one you only get on top of a rollercoaster or before your first kiss in the planetarium; to have that feeling one final time, before your station wagon hits the water, slamming against the surface tension like it’s a fucking brick wall, killing you instantly on impact of blunt force trauma or a spinal cord rupture, or at least knocking you unconcsious to the extent that you drown comparatively peacefully, or preferably, so that you may go out in a blaze of glory, and since the water here is hardly deep enough anyway, the car explodes into a massive fireball upon the jagged rocks below? 

Yea, Kitty neither. 

Zeke was likewise looking out over the bridge, just thinking. It bears mention that this was no average bridge. It was a brand-spanking new suspension bridge the city had just erected. (Just a few short years after civil engineers had determined its predecessor to be on the verge of collapse.) This as part of a massive transportation infrastructure, overhaul funded through Mayor Mockingbird’s public bond package, the signature (and sole) legislative achievement of his first term. That was what he ran on. More bridges, tunnels, lanes and roads. For to get you to work more faster. Zeke too. About on the hour, almost every hour, right over top of this great big new bridge, this monument to the Mayor’s executive virility, traveled the Number Ten bus. Of all the five busses he took in total getting to and fro the brewery, The Ten was the by far sketchiest. Maybe because it emanated from the downtown station — a central gathering place for fringe types. But also because the bus itself was old and sad and decrepit. All the seat cushions — if you could call them that, they were so worn down — had been upholstered in a very seventies plaid, of whose crisscrossing colors — oranges, yellows and browns — had faded underneath god only-knows how many coats of fermented bodily fluids. (Perhaps that was how come they chose that rather unfortunate palette. For to camouflage the phlegm.) On that leg of the commute, Zeke elected to stand. 

Hitching a ride in Kitty’s car then was far more comfortable. Even if the back seat was considerably cramped for a fella his size, it was still downright spacious when compared to the Ten Bus at rush hour. Good thing then he rode mostly during off-peak times, although his fellow passengers on the pink eye could be a somewhat poorly lot. Grace’s recent antics notwithstanding, this was a much more civilized traveling party. Nobody was using Kitty’s station wagon as a toilet, for example. Although by now she was getting damn close. She’d have used the bathroom unit on the way out of #x_brüing but the line was still too damn long. Mick about pissed himself just looking at it, and he hadn’t even had to go. 

Come to think of, Zeke had noticed Kitty was driving a fair bit faster on the return trip. Although with her lead foot, he was in capable hands. Always at ten and two, pulling up to school at precisely ten of eight and not a moment sooner. Partly because the Mick would often make a big production out of breakfast — steel cut oatmeal garnished with seasonal berries and nuts, five-cheese omelets with garden-fresh veggies and hand-foraged mushrooms, fucking challah bread french toast and bacon. The latter or some other confection only on occasions that he deemed to be special. Not an especially high bar to clear. An average Tuesday could qualify if he’d been as such inclined. 

Burning rubber into the faculty lot with a belly full of eggs benny, Kitty couldn’t help but notice all the fancy foreign cars. How in the world could her colleagues possibly afford these on a teacher’s salary? Was she managing her and Mick’s money poorly? Were they spending too much on breakfast foods? Now she was feeling self-conscious. And doubly so, she was feeling self-conscious About feeling self-conscious. That was a feeling she felt all too increasingly of late. Get a grip, girl. Who cares? Probably they had significant others who were doctors or lawyers or something. Multi-car families. Zeke had always been in a zero-car family, unless you count his uncle’s panel van that he split with his brother for going on jobs. On the side, they printed DRYWALL, above a number for a beeper, which they also shared. 

Zeke’s phone buzzed. 

From: Mayor Lawrence Mockingbird for Governor (info@M4M.com) 

Subject: I Need You [Pointing emoji]

Preview: Yes, Ezekiel. I need You. You specifically … 

Whoa. Wait a second. For a moment there Zeke really thought the Mayor was reaching out to personally seek his council on a matter of urgent city business. Something so important that he used his given name. Then he opened the email and right there at the top was a big blue button marked Click to DONATE. Turned out to be an invitation to an upcoming Young Professionals fundraiser at #x_brüing. Zeke didn’t much consider himself a young professional. For one thing, he hadn’t conducted a lot of official business on this his work email. Really he hardly received any messages at all, unless of course you counted Thadeus and Louisa copying the entire Newfy staff plus Kitty on their interminable back-and-forth thread of idle threats, essentially an online extension of their IRL quarreling, annotated with hyperlinks to viral videos of backyard bare-knuckle boxing matches and people being attacked by wild animals. 

All which begs the question, why would the mayor ask Zeke for money? He didn’t have any. Like didn’t he — the mayor — know the second richest person in the world? He should hit up that guy. 

It was for this reason that the Mick was most happy to pass his old new phone down to Zeke. That he hated having correspondences delivered to his pocket. All the day long, it would tremor at his right hip. The lawyers. The contractor. The bank. The lawyer again, reaching out on behalf of the contractors, cc’ing the bank. The detective from the Parks Service. The Council of Brewers. (D-d-d-douchebags.) The lawyer, two more times. Everybody wants something he doesn’t got.  

And all these inbound inquiries to his work address, the mick at newfybrew dot com, those weren’t even counting the emails related to his actual job. Although those he could mostly ignore with reckless abandon. The obscure brewing industry vendors shamelessly attempting to upsell the latest and greatest in craft beer innovation. Are you getting the absolute most out of your glycol chilling units? Have you serviced your brewing equipment with the highest-performance food-grade lubricants? What does malt Mean to you? Not exactly the questions that keep you up at night. 

However, even if the electronic solicitations were only a minor nuisance, the reviews … well, those he did lose sleep over. Oh, how he hated the fucking reviews. If the Mick could rate reviews, he would give them zero stars. Fervently he believed that one day we would all reflect on them — these online reviews — as something we wish we could un-invent, paraphrasing Nicholas Cage in his favorite movie, The Rock. 

(As justification for the United States invading Iraq [this for the second time … unlike The Rock, Desert Storm — the far inferior Michael Bay movie — got a sequel], Bush Administration officials cited intelligence reports that Sadaam Hussein was rapidly accelerating a chemical weapons program. Among their expanding capabilities was said to be a skin-melting gaseous agent, packaged in spherical glass containers that were strung together like killer Christmas lights. Turns out, not only did all the Intelligence about that camel fucker’s supposed arsenal of WMDs turn out to be totally bogus, but that specific fantasy about the anal beads filled with flesh-eating gas … well that was taken straight from a Hollywood film: The motherfucking Rock, starring none other than Nic motherfucking Cage.) 

Let‘s for a second consider the personal ramifications of these Reviews, from the Mick’s perspective. Okay. So every time some dickhead wanders into the bar and has even a modicum of an opinion about his or her experience — be it positive, or let’s be honest, it was definitely negative — he or she may now dictate that proto-though, stream of fucking consciousness, into the Cloud, wherefrom instantaneously thereafter it is beamed from that person’s fat fingers, off a satellite somewhere in goddamn outer space, back down to wherever on planet earth the Mick happened to be at that given moment, quite often on the the toilet, at which point his mobile phone would begin to seizure uncontrollably, alerting him via email notification settings that he does not know how to modify. 

Then the Mick is rendered this review, a final judgement that is arrived at through no semblance of due process, nor is it subject thereafter to any appellate procedure. Nonetheless, it ascribes to him a numeric rating which is inscribed on the Internet in digital ink for all time. A jury of your peer has found you guilty on two counts of felony pouring too much foam, and three counts of it being too loud in here. The honourable judge Doug F. of Sacramento sentences you to one of five stars. [Bangs gavel.]

Having that hanging over your head at all times … well, it was existential dread-inducing, even for the most self-assured of service industry professionals. 

Funnily enough though, it was the rare positive feedback that would really get his goat, even moreso than the garden variety vitriol. Regarding the latter, it was easy to be dismissive. Like, fuck ‘em, you know? Bunch of entitled assholes. You’re a one-star person. How do you like that? 

(You might expect Thadeus and Lousia to have received their fair share of unfavourable reviews. Not the case. They were merely ever mentioned. The Mick thought it was for fear of retribution.)

But, as for the positive feedback, the full-throated recommendations, the unabashed praise … well, that was something else entirely. Something which the Mick could never quite get his head around. Like, what’s your angle? Were you so blown away by the Black Hole Imperial Stout (the Mick wanted to call it Horse Fucker, after Catherine the Great, but Hank would not abide despite also his being a history buff), and the atmosphere in which you consumed it, to the extent you felt compelled to crank out five hundred words? What, on the transcendence of that experience? Why, exactly? Out of the goodness of your heart? For the civilizing arts of commerce? Sorry, bud. I don’t buy it. Say what you will about the morality of our American tipping culture. But, hey, that’s cash in my pocket. U.S. dollars, kimosabe. Your money spends. Your opinions? Opinions are like assholes, Cliff used to say. And this time the Mick remembered why. Because everybody’s got one. Yep. 

The worse he was for it, the Mick read every solitary last one of those reviews. He’d drop whatever he was doing too to do so. When he had that phone, with the email on it? Forget about it. He could be lain wide awake next to Kitty in their marital bed, her dreaming peacefully, him getting all the wrong kinds of riled up, scrolling like there’d be no tomorrow. Then after that you know he couldn’t fall back asleep for fuck all, so he’d have to digitally detox himself. For that he liked reading the show reviews on the online forum, phish dot net … get it? Now you’re thinking, what makes these reviews any better than t’others? He couldn’t tell you why. Just that he liked these ones. 

He never could bring himself to post his own, though, for the handful of shows he had attended in person. The Mick (username: llambic1900) was what you would call a Lurker in the parlance of message board culture. He would read these cryptic entries and feel somewhat apart, even though he knew all the etymology, the historiography, the symbology,— all of the -ologies, of which these forums were chalk fucking full. For better or for worse, that was a big part of being a Phish fan. Homework. Have you done the reading? Just kidding. Because life’s this big cosmic joke. But it’s an inside joke. And you get it, man. You do. 

Whereas, and pardon the generalization here, a Grateful Dead fan looked at life like this big cosmic mystery. Sure, there were laughs along the way, but this shit was serious. No fucking clever puns, cryptid clues in a Sunday show crossword puzzle. Rather, it was a magic riddle. And only in listening layeth the answer. The truth that would gain you passage to the other side.   

Anyways, that was one thing he missed not having on the old flippy phone. Reading Phish reviews in bed. Raging against the blue light as it strained his tired eyes.  Also, it was convenient, being able to look up the weather. And getting directions to places on the GPS. That’d been handy. Lately he had to go back to printing them off Hank’s computer, which now seemed burdensome beyond belief. 

Currently, on the car ride back from his do-si-do with Dandy Jim (no need for maps — didn’t matter where in the world he was, he knew the way back to the brewery by heart, like a lost dog finding his way home), the Mick was cleansing his ear pallet from that Frankenstein’s fucking monster of a mashup. Good thing he had just the sonic sorbet: Phish. 2010 Late Summer Tour. 6 August 2010, William Randolph Hearst Greek Theater, Berkeley. Help me, oh kee pah. You’re my only hope. Kitty always got a kick out of the way he would carry his CD binder and brewer’s notebook back and forth between the bar and her station wagon, like the old car stereos you would remove from the dash to prevent their being stolen. When they made a pit stop he was dillegent about hiding them beneath the passenger seat. Imagine a desperate car thief’s surprise, upon smashing out the passenger’s side window to this absolute beater, to find a decade’s-worth of beer recipes and twice that’s-worth of concert bootlegs.

Including Phish at the Greek, the subject of eleven show reviews posted to the online forum. One prolific poster, known by the username, waxbanks (criticism =/= cynicism, or so his bio reads), writes: 

Yes, Trey absolutely *butchers* the Ghost > Mike's 'transition,' pointing to a worrying trend in Phish's music, an apprehensiveness or impatience on Trey's part, far removed from the patient and generous playing throughout the rest of the show. The sudden insertion of Mike's Song into the winning Ghost jam is a clunker on par with the 2009 Hartford DWD > Wilson. Ugh. But the rest of the second set approaches perfection. And you can't get There without passing through the points between There and Here…

Fuckin' a. 

Not unlike Trey in the first part of the second set, something was definitely off with Kitty. That much the Mick could tell. There had been since everything popped off yesterday. That could explain things. She corrected him when he brought up Hank’s Funeral at the breakfast table, where her Belgian waffle was getting cold. 

It’s not a funeral because there is no Hank. And because it’s at a bar. 

So what? We got married in a bar, Mick thought. That bar, actually. But he didn’t start, and off she went to school. Hank had always said they didn’t fight enough, that fighting was a healthy part of relationships, within reason. But then again what did he know.    

Maybe it was that her new job had something to do with it. Kind of got the feeling the bloom was falling off the rose on that one. Even before accepting the offer, she was acting unsure of herself in a very uncharacteristically Kitty way, about leaving West. Of course he was supportive, but the way they talked about it, Mick got the impression that she wanted something more out of him. Like permission. Or was it the opposite? That he would forbid her from taking this great opportunity at the fancy new school with a modest increase in pay. Why she would desire either was a mystery to him.  

Suppose then of course he could fucking well ask, suggests Hank’s ghost, getting in people’s business beyond the fucking grave.

In any event, they hadn’t made it anywhere’s near the second set. Unless you were on some kind of road trip, in the car you were lucky to finish one, maybe two songs, traffic pending. Keep in mind these are ten, fifteen, twenty-minute opuses we’re talking about here. No fucking top forty radio edit. Don’t bore us, get to the chorus? Get lost. For a fact, these aren’t even songs. Not in that way. They’re more like maps … to buried treasure. Fucking ancient scrolls. It’s no wonder then fans treat them like scholarly texts, worthy of being categorized and analysed. When Rome inevitably burns, these natural histories will be all that remains. 

Of track five, the one they were enjoying at present, username Jmart exclaims to posterity: this jam is the shit … one of my absolute favorites from Three-Point-Oh. 

The Mick wouldn’t trifle with that assessment one bit. 

Did I forget to mention, to mention Memphis

Home of Elvis and the ancient Greeks

Do I smell? I smell home cooking

It's only the river, it's only the river.

Grace slept. 

[cdevroe]

What I saw somewhat recently #98: December 15, 2022

The sleeping Atlantic

I have decided that #100 in this series of link lists will be the last "What I saw somewhat recently". Today's list is #98. I'll try to get #99 out sometime in January and #100 will be a look back through all of the previous links.

M.C. Escher - Journey to Infinity - An excellent documentary on the artist, narrated by Stephen Fry.

Roy Tang's website - I just think Roy's website is super cool.

Raw data from airplanes - Charlie Gerard shows us how to use a radio antenna to pull down raw data from airplanes overhead.

ooh.directory - If you're a blogger you've likely already seen this. A collection of blogs. Mine isn't listed yet. Fun to click around.

Ban Ban Ton Ton - "A music website / blog run out of rural Japan".

WHCC - Reportedly makes good quality photo prints.

China's Van Goghs - Hundreds of oil painters churning out souveiner masterpieces.

Gabriel Rivera - A nice profile of Gabriel by Ilford.

[pickteam]

#thepickteam #coldwellbankergloballuxury - On location sunset shoot with @rdangond of @sfvirtualtour and @liatmarom_homestyling at this magnificent residence in #westonhillscountryclub with absolutely the best primo golf and lake views in #whcc - with a stunning and spectacular modern interior to match! #golf #golflife #lakefrontliving #views #sunsetphotography #homestyling #international #marketing #realestate #realtorlife #realtor® #westonfl #westonflorida #countryclublife #golfing #breathtakingviews #betterthannew (at Weston Hills Country Club) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWo6o6TLpZG/?utm_medium=tumblr

[amandalhagen]

A sneak peek at my branding. Business cards just in. 💛 #realtor #portlandoregonrealestate #realestateagent #realestatebroker #licensedbroker #realestate #kniperealty #knipe #kniperealtynw #whcc

[georgelou]

Rhythms of Kalahari dance troupe from Botswana. I seriously fell in love with these folks while videotaping them. Their music is pure happiness. And you can see it in their faces. I would love to join them on stage one day. 

[pcornetet55-blog]

To be a kid again! They love their costumes. Superman wants to wear his “forever”! Grandkids are so much fun & we are so lucky & blessed to have these two in our lives! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ #grandkids #headshots #headshot #businesswoman #business #socialmediamarketing #pkdigitalphotography #ppa #prodpi #whcc #bethelohio #bethelhighschool #betheltatetigers #mtorabohio #vaguelyvintage #lifestylephotographer #ameliahighschool #westernbrownhighschool #shearvibrancebyliz #kingsisland2017. #cincinnatihalloween

[samanthafranklin]

Just about ready to ship for the Oh, Tulsa! Biennial show at Living Arts which opens on August 4th! I won't be there, but this print and lovely handmade frame by Robert Hazelwood will be! . . . . #whcc #whitehousecustomcolor #framedprint #handmade #woodworking #steeples #tulsa #oklahoma #photography

[woundedheartwithin]

All right, folks, my ko-fi shop is set up and ready to go!  I’m still uploading products, so if you don’t see your favorite double exposure, be sure to check back later!

You can also tip me if you like my writing, my virtual photography, or just wanna help me out in general!  I’m thinking about opening commissions on my double exposures and virtual photography only, but we’ll see how the shop does first.  If that’s something you’d like to see in the future, please don’t hesitate to drop me a message.  In the meantime, if there’s any particular game you’d like to see, or any specific images from my virtual photography tag you’d be interested in purchasing a print of, feel free to let me know!

I’ll post a breakdown of why I price the way that I do under the cut, if that’s something you’re interested in seeing.  I know a lot of folks want to see exactly what they’re paying for!

So why $20?  I price all of my prints this way so that shipping is always free!  I use WHCC to fulfill all of my print orders because they can do a much better job of printing and packaging a perfect product for you than I ever could.  This ensures that the process is as efficient and cost effective as possible, and you get a beautiful, professional quality print delivered straight to your door in packaging that will keep it safe and protected.  This also ensures the lowest possible cost of shipping internationally.  They’re also just wonderful folks in general, and their customer service is second to none, not to mention the print quality is absolutely stunning, so I trust them completely with handling your orders!  Of course, if there is an issue, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me, and I will take care of it for you.

Drop shipping through WHCC has a flat rate of $7.95 in the U.S., and $7.95 international shipping plus additional possible fees depending on the country, though none of the countries I entered into the USPS shipping calculator had any additional fees.  USPS international shipping is actually very reasonable, and because you will be getting a flat envelope, standard postage rates typically apply.  I’ve also been using USPS international shipping for years with my goat halter business, and have never seen any exorbitant rates come through on any of my orders.  

Additionally, the cost of printing your 8x10 luster print (semi-gloss) is $2.75, bringing the total overhead cost to $10.70.  Given that most of my double exposures take a minimum of three hours to complete, not including time spent in game capturing the images used in each edit, that brings my hourly compensation to $3.10, give or take, for a total profit of $9.30.  I don’t include time spent in game because, well, I’m playing a video game!  I enter photomode as the spirit moves me, often with no real idea in mind for a potential double exposure.  Usually I just stop and say something like, “Oh wow, that’s neat,” and then spend half an hour taking pictures.  It’s fun for me, and I enjoy it immensely, and that’s payment enough for that part of the process.

By and large, I consider each of my double exposures a labor of love, and I do them because I enjoy them and I want them to exist.  But, to be perfectly frank, I could use the extra income for my medical bills, so I decided maybe a print shop wouldn’t be such a bad idea, since so many folks were interested in them on Twitter.  Admittedly, I haven’t had much luck with selling my prints with my other shop, so even though I will be making less in terms of profit with ko-fi, it does seem to be a more user friendly option.  The other shop is still open if you’d prefer to purchase from there, though the shipping is not free (which I think might be some folks’ issue with it).  

Either way, thanks so much for reading and for supporting me!

[nisiverum]

Groom man had #moves #allnightlong. #dancedancedance . . #dreamy #romantic #classic #wedding #weddingphotography #weddingphotographer #losangeles #losangelesphotographer #losangelesweddingphotographer #woodlandhills #woodlandhillscountryclub #whcc #weddingvenue #losangelesweddingvenue #socalphotographer #laughs and #giggles (at Woodland Hills Country Club)

[cawefee]

my tumblrs being dumb & wont let me respond to ur post. but for stickers, ive heard gud things abt sticker giant, stickerapp & sticker mule. for prints, maybe try cafepress, whcc, catprints. u could try society6, redbubble, zazzle, darkroom, but they also take a % of commission in return for printing & handling orders themselves

Oh my goodness, thank you so much for your reply!! I really appreciate it. That’s so informative.🥺😭🧡

[westhcc]

Come Join us for International Day!

[farmofthefuture]

Introduction to Plant Science (CRPSCI-1) got off to a great start on Saturday! Students planted broccoli and did some work in ArcGIS! Be sure to check your student email and Canvas every day to keep up with your classes!

[pickteam]

#welivewhereyouvacation #Whcc #westonfl #usa #southflorida #palmtrees (at Weston, Florida)