What Mom Taught Me About Story Telling

My sister and I still joke about it, but despite the affectionate eye-rolling, there's a secret to telling a story that not all writers are aware of.

The secret is repetition.

Wait, that's not all! Do you think I would give it away and you could call it quits, pack up and head home? You don't give away the best part just by stating the very obvious theme!

My mom would often tell the same stories, sometimes twice in a row, but what made you smile and even wait to chime in was the way she recited it as if reading it from a book. The same emphasis, the same excitement, the same words verbatim.

You want the readers or listeners to anticipate what is coming. You want to give them the clues but not saying outright. If you shout to the audience, what color is this apple?

(Red!)

They'll have a passing moment of camaraderie... But no satisfaction. Because any dumbo can state the obvious. When the audience is given clever clues that could be right or wrong, but end up arriving at the most satisfying conclusion, there is a lasting satisfaction that invests you in it, regardless of the outcome.

If the clues lead us to thinking that the protagonist is being hunted by his mother... You don't have to suddenly make those clues a red herring. It could remain that the culprit is the mother. Does the mother kill the protagonist or does the protagonist kill their mother? Or... Does the stalker actually turn out to be the werewolf that ate their mother?

There are plenty of places to land a surprising twist but the attentive audience won't forgive it if it lands too far off the plausible track. Given the mood anyway. If you ask your audience, what color is this apple?

(Harpsichord?)

You'd better hope you meant to write a nonsensical comedy. It's not unpredictability that makes a great story. It's creating a mood, a logical path, a place where they feel the gratification of chiming in. 

So what does a Game of Thrones fan say to death?

(NOT TODAY!)

Which also goes for anti-fans of Mondays.

Though I'd love to roll my eyes at one of my mom's oft repeated stories, I'll never have the privilege again. She's dead. Fortunately, she gave me a few tools, not on writing, but on making someone want to endure a story.

Say it for then people in the back... Repetition.

Maybe the gibberish after that part too.

Birthday Bash

I'm going in straight for the brag: I make delicious food. Humble check: the aesthetic leaves something to be desired. I don't have the same patience with cooking and baking that I do with most creative things. I focus on taste and texture, which is always the most important, but when it comes to presentation, I'm a prison mess hall slinger.

So since today is my dad's birthday (happy birthday, dad!) I... Damn it, I got boxed cake mix. I knew it was a mistake. There is literally nothing worse and something always goes wrong. Baked up, they looked fine, but it's the first time I've done carrot cake and I had no clue that I should've used parchment paper on the bottom of the pan. Needless to say, the first cake broke in half when it was time to get it out of the pan. Rather than give up, I melted the cream cheese icing and poured it over the top like a glaze instead. Realizing the second wouldn't fare better, I left it in the pan and iced it as is. There's irony here. My dad's eaten enough of my mistakes in life, so this one would literally be a piece of cake. If you've seen the frightening plates of mushed burritos and leftovers he eats, my unpretty cakes are hardly competition.

The birthday preparations weren't all bad. I did, after all, manage to wrap his gift without incident and I made a rather nice and sappy card for him. Little picture of a frazzled guy carrying the planet Earth on his back, along with the message "To the Dad/Pa-Pa who carries our world on his back and a bigger place in our hearts!". That's right, Hallmark; hit me up. I've got all the best words. 

So no more damn boxed cakes though. In my determination to plan ahead, I immediately perused pages of recipes until the ingredients and balance sounded like the real deal then printed it out.

Immediately after sitting it down, my cat She-Ra decided that was the only spot in the house worthy of her to lie on. Not only that, but she thoroughly licked herself while lying on it. After she got up, her sister-brother Seven decided it was her-his turn.

Did I tell that story already? Yeah, we thought Seven was possibly a boy cat. Then she went into heat. Yet we still kinda keep calling her a boy. I would say she's genderqueer, but there's never actually been behaviors typical of a male or female cat outside of mating. All cats are queer as fuck. That's why I love 'em.

So, that's about the start of my day. The little mini-dragons woke me up at 6AM because I forgot to close my door last night. Waking up to my cats attacking the shit out of a cardboard box full of plastic bags is not my favorite way to start the day, but at least I got the birthday prep done. I'll probably go back to sleep for a few hours then figure out the rest of the day. I did start the drafting lines for Totem last night, but I've a lot of reading on my plates too. Play this one by ear...

Love, peace and chicken grease...

Am Reading Or Some Shit

While I don't write much about what I'm actually reading about, it's about time I do that. 

I'm holding my breath, waiting for The Witcher to come out on Netflix this year.

For those who don't know anything, this was originally a book series written by Andrzej Sapkowski, a Polish author in the early 90s. Despite this author's disdain for video games, it's the Witcher games that skyrocketed his recognition at all. I've mentioned in the past that he took a lump sum agreement rather than contract any royalties. So he made a whole lot less in selling permission than he could have if he had any foresight of how amazing the games would be. Honestly, serves him right, but nonetheless, I'm enjoying currently reading the translations of his books.

I didn't know shit about Witcher until I bought the third game for PS4. GOTY (game of the year) edition too, all beefy with the expansions (which are even better than the core game, but I've already written that review so I won't rehash it). It's dark, it's emotional, it's everything that made me burn to write fantasy myself. It takes old themes and breathes new life into them. Mythical monsters, the gritty realities of human life, the tortured main character who feels like an impostor of humanity meanwhile displaying it more often than most, through his grey veil of morality. He lives by a code, which he claims is the code of all witchers but is more a personal set of rules that we see both the wisdom and folly in.

But the stars that shine brightest in this loner's path are the women who pass through his life. Not the endless stream of prostitutes he patronizes (though these are never insignificant women either) but the little girl he is destined to protect and the terrifying sorceresses who reveal his heart. How efficiently they puncture and expose it yet never make that heart seem weak or unguarded. I am drawn most to this series because it appeals to what I aim for; an unbiased and unforced look at what moves living being and the world around them. It is not just sentient beings that shape a world. From the sudden burst of kingdoms at war to the last twitch of a dying insect, each detail is not insignificant or wasted. This isn't idle, self-congratulating prose. It's an organism in and of itself.

What captivated me most about the games is that you were given moral choices. There are hard consequences for making an essentially good or bad decision... And consequences for walking away. In one of my favorite storylines, you are given the choice to release a demon who tugs at your heartstrings with its take of being trapped inside a tree pulsing with pain for centuries. The reward seems satisfying... But if you choose this, the demon possesses a horse, which sets off a startling chain of events that leads to a prominent man losing his wife to their dead demonic stillborn child and hanging himself. Meanwhile, if you coldly destroy the demon, this man lives, as does his wife. His living child, him and his wife all surviving means a chain of far more rewarding events. You start to learn that Geralt's apparent coldness, playing him more as the code-bound monster from the books, actually exhibits his wisdom and greater good far more in the long run. While it doesn't endear him to most people, you start to see that the few who do trust his judgement tend to live longer and be more beneficial.

Like the Mary Shelley Frankenstein book, the lines between monster and man cannot be assumed. No one sees Geralt as more of a monster than himself, a fact which annoys those who know him. While his plans and actions aren't without flaw, they do not trust him lightly. Despite his refusal to see himself as more than a mutant, he doesn't distrust or reject his inner circle in any other way. He instantly passes off the reins to someone better suited to solve a problem, ready to step in when it is time.

What appeals most is how much he reminds me of one of my own characters. Oddly, a white haired assassin that looks younger than his years. He is unafraid of death, even seems keenly aware of it snapping at his heels. He doesn't stare death in the face or turn to catch a glimpse because he knows the hesitation means he meets death. There is simply a resignation and acceptance that death will walk with him one day. He will hasten it nor avoid it. He is no stranger to fear, but death, next to all of the evils in life, is just a last breath in the wind.

It's not exactly original. It's something many of us ponder and it's a resolution that many fantasy writers come to. Yet, well done, it has quite the impact on our most visceral fears and hopes.

If you've made it this far, then I hope I've inspired you to look more closely at this series too.

The details I know so far is that the Netflix series is coming sometime this year. It launches eight episodes for the first season and will see more if it's as popular as it's projected to be. I hope to all hell it is that and more. I was pretty psyched to hear Henry Cavill is playing Geralt. I've seen him act in many things and he's certainly got the unwavering eyes and strong masculine features Geralt is always accused of. The series is very adult and sexually charged and Cavill isn't afraid to get naked. I hope that we can see more series that steer away the prudish taboos that oddly plague fantasy purists. Deep and sexy aren't mutually exclusive.

So I'm more than ready to see it in live action. The books are entertaining, the games are absolutely stunning (the facial animation in Witcher 3 is some of the most expressive and engaging) but I can't wait to see where The Witcher show will meet between the books and games.

And fuck, Andrzej; hopefully, you bargained more wisely this time around. That writer's ego will take the piss out of you if you get too cocksure.

FINISH IT

Admit it; you can't see that in caps and not mentally hear Shang Tsung growling that... Unless you're too young, too lame, or too oblivious.

Double-posting to say things happened. I both wrapped up my business card design and managed to stop poking at the pink princess. She's not exactly *done*; didn't do any deep shadowing or highlighting or pull in atmospheric light onto her from the background, but I got it to where I was satisfied enough to move on. She's warmed up quite a few stubborn tasks in the past two weeks, but I feel like she's done her job. 

Oh, here...

I promised to share, after all!

I might come back to her in the future, but I feel like an 'imperfect picture' is one that assures there is always something I could do. I could see more sparkle, more jewels and jewelry, more texture if I come back too. Part of what I love about plainer pictures is their ability to stoke my imagination. To see what else could come of it.

But I'm also jumping on inspiration trains. I'd love to depart from the sci-fi warrior and this trembling princess to a leather and fur clad battlemage. Who knows? Maybe I'll gender-swap those three and do the 'masculine'. Keeping in mind that masculine and feminine have never had exact boundaries for me, but it sounds better than 'the penis-having version'.

Don't be obsessed with finishing everything, thinking it's not worthwhile if it can't impress everyone. Doing your best doesn't mean tucking away anything short of perfect. It can be miserable, hiding away everything for fear of how others respond. I want people to have a taste of my inner world, even if I can't give them the full picture. I'd love to, but the effort to realize it all myself would leave precious little shared, precious little room to ever live the sort of life to keep inspiring those efforts.

Share, share, and don't be a growly shit. Finish it as far as you mean it to go and keep on your crazy path.

Rainy Day Insanity

I'd like to say I've worked on digital drawing.

I'd like to say I've written something worthwhile.

I woke up at 8:30, adhering to my new resolution that sleeping in bites ass and I need a schedule of some sort. Despite noon still being early in the day, waking up at noon usually means my brain saying 'aw, fuck it. Day's half over so let's do nothing.' 

Instead, I made coffee and baked cookies. My grandma's recipe for M&M cookies. I looked on the big package of M&Ms I bought and there was also an M&M cookie recipe. I compared the very similar ingredients and scoffed at the different amounts. 3/4 cup of brown sugar? Pfft, amateurs. Nothing short of a cup! 

My cats are shit helpers in the kitchen. After tripping over them a few times, starting to count how many times I tripped over cats then losing count altogether, I took to scooting across the floor and wading through the sea of cats. Two. I have two but I also have two feet and each was clearly assigned to one of them at all times. After making most of the cookies, I end up with not enough dough to fill one last tray so I turned down the heat, made one massive cookie of the rest and decided my nephews could make breakfast out of it.

Made my way upstairs where I went back to punching out borders for my business cards. Fucking sparkle paper everywhere, but I got through the whole stack. I looked at my floor, horrified by the disparity between my ugly ass brown carpet and the pixie-esque paper freckles and dove for the vacuum cleaner.

Once I was sure I was rid of them, I browsed through my Amazon wish list and added some glue dots and roll-on adhesive to the cart. I'll need those to affix these damned borders to the cards, along with the trinket bags. Might have to order printed bookmarks though. Although I like the tassel selection, I rue both the cost of ink and the size selection. 2 1\2" across which just seems about an inch broader than I'd like. Looking to go about 1.5 by 5.5 or 6 on those. The smaller books people buy are about 6 inches in height so exceeding that is inconvenient. Besides, I'd like them coated after printing, both to preserve the print and make them stand up to accidental water or coffee damage.

I've had some people wonder about the borders. I'm not hording the idea like some trade secret so I'll disclose what that's about. I ordered some fairly cheap small origami paper, about 7cm square (though the 7x14 sheets were also good--these are going on the short edge of the card so I don't need a lot of excess). You can pick up a 50 sheet pack for $1 if you're thrifty.  I also ordered a border punch from Walmart, this one a rather simple flower or crown sort of vibe. That went for about $13-14. I have to line up and punch twice to get across the 7cm, so I'd say the actual border punch length is about an inch and a half, give or take a few millimeters. (Don't hate; I use standard and metric like a bastard queen.) On a 7x7 piece I can get about four rows. I stack about two or three of the sheets together at a time. The border punch is pretty sturdy but it doesn't go through heavy cardstock and anything more than three thin sheets is both hell on your hand and risking breaking it. Once the cards are printed, I'll run roll-on glue along the bottom of the border and attach it to the back of the card.

Again, I'll get pictures of that once put together. Feel free to steal my lovely ideas. I doubt I'm the only one to come up with them, but I embrace being extra (and don't really think many people would care to put in the extra work anyway).

I'll keep regular business cards out on my table, but reserve the extras for people who buy something or just talk to me for a bit. I'm not looking to bark at people and make them endure my enthusiasm. Like in real life, I tend to draw people in by my easy-going nature and reserve the enthusiasm for those who engage my interests. At a convention, there are hundreds of other vendors and hawkers wearing people down. I'd rather be people's respite and meet them where they're comfortable.

It's nearly 1:30 as I write this and, as you can tell from the shift to active insanity to informational babbling, my brain is threatening to declare this time 'noon' and squandering the rest of my perfectly productive rainy day. I might not be able to seal my windows just yet, but I might scoot my lazy ass over to my computer and work on my sad pink princess picture for a bit.  If I hadn't worked yesterday I might have done more then. Not that she's going anywhere or serving any purpose. Just a vanity project, which is what I call anything that isn't boosting some specific goal. Everything is portfolio worthy, to be sure, but she's just my excuse to play on the new displays, get used to them and such.

So! Off to attempt to disabuse myself of bad summer habits and try to make something more of the day. Working tomorrow and Dad's birthday is Friday so those will eat up the better part of the next two days, if only because I'm making my dad his favorite kind of cake, carrot cake with cream cheese icing. I'd like to do it by scratch. The store bought icing isn't bad, but I think it's a little too sugary and not enough cream cheese. A rich cream cheese flavor really makes carrot cake amazing.

Business and Pleasure

While deciding what I want to do about business cards, I remembered the time I ordered sticker sheets to print out my logo for the crochet pieces I sold--under a name I still sometimes use: KitaCraft. So before I go ordering any fancy cards from a printer, I thought I'd give home printing a try for this and order some perforated sheets that work with a template. I know that business cards tend to get gobbled up at conventions so I'm crossing my fingers that it works out.

I've been working on little extras. Bought nice paper to punch borders into to glue to the edges, little bags the size of the business card to put miniatures into: little books, swords, fantasy themed goodies. I'm extra so I like to upgrade a basic idea. It appeals to my craft side. The business cards will say author, illustrator, crafter so I'd like to show as much of that as possible.

The writing part is slightly neglected at the moment, but I've been playing with the new tablets here and there. Using them never gets less enjoyable. They really make digital drawing less of a chore. They come with their own challenges but nothing I wasn't prepared for. Pressure sensitivity and calibration can be a bit less intuitive than traditional but digital brushes can do a lot that traditional can't as well.

Really, I'm spoiled by summer sleeping. I'm tempted to set an alarm in the morning because it's been making me too lazy and my hours less productive as a result. Being without a schedule was great in my teens and twenties. It's just frustrating in my 30s. I actually have come to craving discipline. It's a holiday weekend though, so it makes the most sense to start tomorrow. I have windows to seal, rooms to clean, laundry to do, plans to start fulfilling. Getting the nitty gritty squared away by noon is ideal...

As usual, I'll post my impressions of the home printing experiment, as well as my finished digital drawing projects as they happen. I'm also still working on rounding up pictures for a website. I feel like I'm slacking off but, truly, my so-called organized folders are badly labeled and not as complete as I thought. Really have to do a digital clean-up, get everything making sense again!

My Hiatus From Writing

Although I technically write daily, after a few weeks of none of that being drafting, there's a point where I've honestly accepted that I'm not really working towards those goals at the moment. The admission is scary for some, but it can be a motivational tool; if not, then it's certainly a mark of accountability.

There are reasons, of course. Good ones, even. Still, I consider the reprieve as a yellow area, a warning that will start to darken and haunt me the longer I disregard it. I can certainly be satisfied that the ideas are growing, the scenes find better ways to unravel, but the more I consigned them to notes, the less they'll bloom fresh in the pages of a draft. I already know; it is possible to overplan as much as under.

Even drawing and crocheting has felt segmented from direct purposes. While this isn't the same as burning out--insofar, I've been enjoying these things in small doses still--I can't be too careful. When I love something, or even obsess on it, it is just as shaky as an addiction. We never feel the point where the fun and control plummets into dependence and desperation. It's not creativity that I dip into at all, or the addiction comparatively. Creativity is not the place that is difficult to go; it's the place I'm from. In a way, it's reality that is closer to the addiction. It's the reality of life that makes me breathe shallower and holds me under at times. It gums the gates to home and makes the air itself thick with obstacles, stretching my skin like a canvas along the way.

But I've given myself a yellow flag. The reminder that I've spent too much time anchored away from myself, that the pining that grows cannot be allowed to continue. I have to cut ties, find what is holding me back, be willing to stomach the strange faces that wonder why I'm retreating when nothing seems amiss. Because going home means a place where I don't check messages, I mumble to myself, I don't ever know what day or time it is and I'll screw up my face as I pause to answer questions even about myself. At home, I'm not all here. You'll think I'm upset but it's the exact opposite. My energy just goes to home. It's not this side of me that anyone should worry about. It's the one where I'm smiling too hard, too worried about making sure I'm not worrying you, stressing over the same trivial things that are supposed to be normal.

I'll get through today in a blur. Tomorrow, I'm starting the day doing laundry and baking cookies. The rest of the day, I'm looking for the bread crumbs back home and making a mental note to better mark my way back. I've been away too long.