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allow yourself to be a beginner

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btw I am doing it afraid

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haven't seen many people worried about rogue being trapped in some barren dimension with 5 very angry chuldur yet, but i thought i'd put my thoughts out there anyways.

rogue has absolutely convinced them all not to kill him in exchange for him creating stories and drama for them. rogue is now dungeon master for the chuldur family, and is stuck dming the longest, most chaotic dnd session ever played, while he waits for the doctor to find him.

they're very excitable and he's currently trying to convince them that the rules actually make the game more fun, and no, you can't just switch out your player character to play my dm npc instead, that ruins the stakes.

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Welcome to Mimic Ikea! Don't worry about it.

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I’m not sure there is anyone more dedicated to a bit than Jack Black

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Just shipped these Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium inspired dice off for an art trade and I’m so excited for them to get to their new home

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when you see a bullshit post but don’t want to Get Into It

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This story made me remember a moment in my photography program with my favorite professor. We were working on photos for an assignment, and she came up and I asked which one she liked better.  I asked her which one was better She said “what do you think?” Turns out the one I picked was the one she didn’t think was the better one from  a technical standpoint.  She asked me to explain why I chose the one I did. I did. Vociferously. I told her I was going to use that one even if she was going to grade me lower. 

It was the first time I ever took ownership of my art and said “no this isn’t about a grade. It’s not about doing it right in YOUR eyes. it’s about matching MY vision.”

That was the moment I became an artist. It stopped being about making other people happy, and became solely about the creation I was trying to bring forth. It was mine. And I would sink or swim with it.  I hope Ginny (my professor) is having a good day. I think about her often now that I am fully and wholly and PUBLICLY Doing Art. 

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

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Tatiana Maslany wearing a shirt that says ‘SUPPORT TRANS FUTURES’ on it to promote She-Hulk for Marvel Studios and Disney, and therefore forcing them to have that on their social medias for the world to see, including who knows how many queer kids and their guardians, is fucking awesome and I thank her for that.

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Currently running a sale in my shop if you’re in the market for dice!

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I love using this hand for my dice photos

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an underrated detail in pride and prejudice is that elizabeth bennett was home alone on the day darcy proposed because she had a headache. can you imagine. this was in the pre-painkillers era. you're at home with a headache and then this asshole walks into the room and tells you he loves you and wants to marry you even though he hates your whole family and you're beneath him. imagine having to deal with that while also having a headache. she doesn't even have ibuprofen