#and its so much easier to adapt than write a whole new story from scratch

[reiinai]

Ta-da!

Finally finished the polished page for this iconic scene!

Comics are so satisfying to make 💜

Should I do more?? I should…do other things but…given a lil poking maybe..?

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 15

Hey guys! Thank you again for being so patient. Between school, work, and life, it has been super hard to find to just sit and write to my heart's content. Finals season is coming up soon, but after that, I have a good few months break for the holidays. Anyways -- hope you enjoy the chapter!!

Read More on AO3 or find more chapters HERE

Emily’s fingers twitched at the feeling of mist upon her skin, prickling dampness that made her hair stand on end. The air was stagnant save for that mist, still enough to make her feel as if she were encased in amber.  Her eyes felt heavy as led, fluttering open before being pulled closed against her will. It was a familiar battle. Clawing her way out of dreams was all too frequent a struggle.

When her eyes finally opened, everything around her looked hollow. Mist was mist no matter its form, she surmised. It existed and did not exist – solid as stone and as tangible as water. Such was the nature of dreams.

Above her, a cave ceiling stood, stalactites jutting from the ceiling like teeth in a gaping maw. From the roaring rapids behind her, stones jutted from the water in a similar fashion. Somehow, she knew it was River Styx. She didn’t know how she knew… it was as if the knowledge had always been there. 

The massive tunnel went on for miles left and right. Wooden beams were placed along the cave walls, reminiscent of what you would see in a mining cave. No humans were there to have constructed them – another fact that existed without reason in her mind. They simply came into existence. Emily took a moment to absorb these facts, whispers dashing past her ears like a gentle breeze.

In front of her was where the true wonder began. She had seen this place before, known it as well as she knew the back of her hand. It was ancient, predating the Greeks, the Egyptians, and even the Mesopotamians. 

A pressure that had been on her chest throughout her life lifted. Emily could finally breathe. Dreams had offered momentary relief, but this? This was freedom. She took the first step forward, adjusting to the sensation of feeling and not feeling while resisting the urge to run towards the door she knew waited for her ahead.

Grey marble jutted out of the otherwise brown and bleak rock, a staircase with intricately carved designs inlaid with silver. The first staircase was followed by a large equally-decorated platform and another short set of stairs. Beyond that sat a door all too familiar, engraved with snakes and sigils. It stood taller than any decent-sized house, making her small and insignificant in comparison. Emily found that she didn’t mind the feeling that thought evoked.

The blonde-haired figure standing before it was also familiar, making Emily halt in her steps. Michael peered at the door before him, pushing on it to no avail. His lips twisted in annoyance. The least his father could do was make this task easy.

If this were a dream, it was the most tangible one Emily had ever experienced. She followed him up the stairs, feeling the ground buzz beneath her feet. The energy of this place was rising from the floor, traveling up her legs like roots drinking water and centering itself on her heart. 

Michael was thrown off by the sudden presence beside him, more surprised when he turned to see Emily. He had stared at the door for a good five minutes before she appeared. He had pushed it, tried to use his magic, and done everything within his ability to make it move. Though the structure appeared as a door, it lacked any definition. More a tomb than an entryway. 

She did not acknowledge his presence, eyes distant but all-seeing. Slowly, she placed a hand on the stone. Eyes narrowing, she regarded the structure with scrutiny — focusing in on the bumpy and damp feeling of it under her fingers. 

“I know this place,” Emily murmured.

“I think most people know this place… it being hell and all.”

The woman either didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond. 

“I had a dream,” she said, voice distant and light as her hands fell back to her sides. The pieces were coming into place. “A man with golden hair. I called out to him… called him…”

Michael’s expression alone could have cut through the door. Emily ceased her rambling as she looked into his eyes, sensing his annoyance and quickly looking back to the door. 

“You don’t open it,” She said, placing her right hand on it once more, “You go through it.”

Why couldn’t things be to the point with these people — witches and wizards alike? It was always cryptic statements that procured more questions than answers. Michael was about to make some stabbing retort at the girl when her hand started pushing through the door, eyes closed and brows knitted together.

It felt like walking through a bubble, a cooling sensation around her arm where it met the stone. Mist danced upon her fingers which had reached through it, the world beyond nothing but a cloud of uncertainty. It had yet to form, a living organism recognizing a new presence and adapting to it. It looked like she was sinking into quicksand, body pushing through until the rock consumed her arm, and then her torso, and then her legs. 

Then… she was gone. 

Michael regarded the whole thing with calculated interest, head quirking to the side as the last of her went through. The stone looked like stone and it remained cool and hard beneath his fingers. Pulling away, he regarded his palm with interest for but a moment, brows furrowed. 

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or irritated at the girl’s ease in this realm. Either way, he had a job to complete.

Placing his own hands on the spot the brunette once stood, all he felt beneath his palms was solid stone. Slowly, he applied more force. All that accomplished was making his hands red from where the rough surface pushed into his skin. 

Closing his eyes, Michael focused on the door, pictured it transforming into mist. When he opened them, he was in a long hallway covered in mirrors, the pale-yellow light bouncing down the hall and scattering their reflections into a thousand separate pieces. Mahogany doors broke up the mirrors, making them more tolerable to deal with. Michael flinched as he caught sight of hazel eyes reflected in the glassy surface.

Emily stood in the center of the hall, patiently waiting for him, eyes fixed to the spot he emerged. Seeing that she was not bothered by the reflected eyes staring back at them, Michael did his best to hide his own anxiety. If the warlocks taught him anything, it was how to hide insecurities under a pompous mask.

Something about her eyes unnerved him. She looked the same as she had before the fire, but there was a glassy sheen to the hazel color. Emily wasn’t looking at him, she was looking past him… or into him. He didn’t know which was more unnerving.

“You have dreams?” He finally asked, straightening his jacket and turning his attention away from the walls.

“I wrote in my journal that the name I called out was Lucifer,” she said, “but the real name was Michael… it didn’t make sense so I thought I remembered it wrong.”

The Anti-Christ froze but quickly recovered his senses. Perhaps she should be lost to the underworld forever… she did seem to thrive. Cordelia knew there was a chance of death, after all. Emily’s disappearance would cause tension, but wouldn’t raise too many brows.

“Any other tricks up your sleeve?” he asked.

“That’s where the dream cut out.”

Michael hummed, looking around before speaking, “you have quite the memory.”

Emily either did not catch the sarcasm or did not care. 

“Things are easier to remember in dreams,” she said, breaking his gaze and finally turning to peer at her surroundings, “and harder to ignore.”

Before Michael could respond, she spoke again.

“So… this is hell.” 

He did his best to suppress a scoff, “Let me guess: never thought you’d come here?”

“Just expected to see more people.”

“Tortured in a pit of fire and brimstone for all eternity?”

“No…” she said, her voice fading a bit as she took a few steps forward, “this makes more sense, actually.”

Emily turned back to Michael, moving to the side of the hall. “It’s your trial. I’ll follow your lead.”

With a nod, the boy moved in front of her. She followed obediently. Michael still found himself looking back often, just enough to see her out of the side of his eye. Her presence seemed to flicker in and out. At times he’d turn and it felt as if nothingness was at his back, reminding him vaguely of the Greek story of Euridice. As with Orpheus, it wasn’t in Michael’s best interest to lose the girl. His father had to have a reason for her to be there, after all. 

The hallway went on for eternity, with no adjacent halls to turn down. Emily began to feel as if she might go mad. The thought of being trapped in such a place, with no windows and no sky, made her skin crawl. She crossed her arms to rid herself of the feeling, scratching them for good measure.

Time wasn’t linear in places such as hell, places that existed while simultaneously not existing. At times, it felt like they had been walking for days, then moments, then eons, then seconds. She wondered how much time was passing above-ground. 

How did she get there, anyway? How could things feel real one moment, then dreams the next? This was more vivid than her usual dreams… then again, all dreams felt vivid until you awoke.

Emily stopped in her tracks as the lights around them flickered, her hand reaching out for Michael’s back. She stared up at the ceiling. The orange hues of light in the hall took on a shade of muted purple. It was dark enough to be afraid but light enough for her to see the shadowy forms flickering here and there. 

Michael watched her, unsure what she was staring at with such intensity. Nothing had changed. The hallway still stretched on for eternity and the lights still blazed steadily. 

“Visions,” she said, noting his expression before looking back the way they came. He could feel a slight tremble to her hand before she let go of his blazer. “I’m remembering.”

“Remembering?”

Figures began seeping from the walls, dark masses without any discernible features. Mist-like goo rolled off them, thick globs floating towards the floor before disappearing. They were looking at her. She could feel their eyes even if she couldn’t see them.

The words left her before she could even think, “purgatory.”

Michael watched her for a moment, the way her arms curled to her chest as she looked back down the hall. Pupils dilated and eyes dashing here and there, he could feel her magic flickering in the air around them. Emily took a step back until her back brushed against him, an unconscious action she didn’t even seem to notice.

Gently, he reached out for her hand, ignoring the way she jumped against his touch. She offered a thankful smile and accepted the gesture. 

“Just keep walking,” He said, turning around and trying to ignore the way she unnerved him. The hairs rising on the back of his neck was an unfamiliar feeling. The way she spoke and acted reminded her of an oracle.

He wondered which Greek hero he was in her tale.

They walked hand in hand as they continued onwards. Michael was feeling out for Misty Day, but her energy had been diluted after being in the afterlife so long. New souls had a particular feel to them. More like Emily, burning bright with blood that still strummed through her veins. 

At some point, her visions must have stopped. Her fingers slipped from his and they continued to press onward. He had forgotten they were holding hands until the cold began to sting at his palms. Emily’s eyes on his back, Michael was unsure whether to be relieved at the presence of his companion or unnerved. 

Clenching his hands into fists, he rested them behind his back and continued walking.

*

*

*

Emily stood to the side as Michael stood before the door. How he could tell the difference between them, she would never know. The only choice she had was to trust his judgment. 

He spared her a glance before he waved a hand. The familiar click of a lock echoed down the hall before the door swung inward. Michael’s hands rested behind his back once more before he took a step inside.

Emily wondered if she should stay in the hall. While she didn’t want to interfere with the trial, the silence and never-ending monotony of the rows and rows of doors made her bones buzz in her body. Being alone in this place was more frightening than whatever horrors lied before them. If she was to be lost to hell forever, she didn’t want to be alone.

Catching the door before it slammed shut, the witch wormed her way inside. Stumbling over her own feet, she came to a stop behind boy-wonder. He spared her a glance but quickly turned his attention back towards the scene ahead.

The smell of bleach and formaldehyde were the first thing to assault her senses. Instinctively, she covered her nose, but it did nothing to ease the stink. That smell was far too familiar. Memories of dead sharks, frogs, and sheep’s brains were brought back into the forefront of her mind — back when Emily was still ahead enough to be considered “gifted” in the public elementary schools of the south.

Sobbing was the next thing she distinguished, finally looking up to see the rows of black-topped lab tables. The children were all small in comparison to the blonde-haired woman that sat at the center of the room, draped in a black rose-embroidered shawl. It wasn’t hard to realize she was staring at Misty Day.

Some of the children stared at the new pair with unblinking eyes that were detached from the scene before them. They were so small, smaller than she remembered being at eleven years old. Dressed in polo shirts and khaki shorts, she felt she was at a Mormon meet-n-greet back home in the suburbs of Georgia. 

Then, the sobbing stopped.  

“Mr. Kingery,” An obnoxious southern-twanged voice spoke, “She did it again!”

Emily watched as little tiny heads turned robotically towards Misty once more. A middle-aged man with a receding, gray hairline stormed towards the table. The frown etched in his face made her hair stand on end. 

Michael only spared the brunette woman a glance as she came to stand beside him, her shoulder slightly behind his own. Self-preservation — he could respect that.

“No, No,” Misty begged, voice wobbling with tears, “I don’t want to kill a living thing, please!” 

A loud sobbing filled the room once more, Misty howling in pain. Emily watched as the teacher forced a scalpel in her hand, the frog screaming in pain as the knife pierced its chest. All she could do was stare in horror.

Her heart lifted in her chest; body weightless as if she were falling. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came as the scene reset itself once more. 

“Mr. Kingery!” The voice came again.

Michael felt a pressure on his arm, turning to see Emily clinging to him. Her eyes were wide in horror, glossy sheen nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he had forgotten she wasn’t a figment of his mind — as if she had been but a ghost until this moment.

Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper, hands falling back to her sides, “Make it stop,”  

Michael’s movements were always calculated, she realized. Steps were taken as if he were following a dance and he held things as if they would break under his touch. Plucking a scalpel from one of the tables, he regarded it for a moment.

The blade went through the teacher like butter. Entering through the back, it stabbed through until blood began to ooze from the man’s chest. It took a moment for the teacher to realize what happened, looking down at his belly where his organs began seeping from his belly.

His hands floated above his abdomen, a squelching sound now emitting from him as his intestines slipped from the confines of his skin. Blood dripped to the floor, sounding more like a faucet leak than… well… she didn’t really know what blood sounded like. Emily’s hand reflexively rested on her churning stomach.

The teacher fell to the floor, unconscious or dead. Michael’s hands were covered in blood and all Misty could do was stare at him with wide-eyed wonder. Even the boy-wonder seemed surprised at his strength, the expression falling back into an expressionless mask. 

Misty looked upon them both with tear-filled eyes, her shoulders falling slack as she felt relief after ages of torment. She was barely able to get her voice above a whisper, “Are you here to save me?”

Emily’s mind was racing, trying desperately to comprehend the incomprehensible. How could a man be dead if he was already in hell? Was he even a man at all? If he was, was his hell paired with that of Misty Day?

Her existential crisis didn’t last for long. Movement danced in the corner of her eyes — the type you’d see all the time and turn to find nothing. Emily turned her head to see a small girl, sneaking her way towards the boy-wonder.

“Michael!” the brunette exclaimed. It wasn’t her sudden cry that made the boy-wonder flinch, but the roaring flames that erupted from the gas lines. He jumped as a line of fire came between himself and the tiny figure that had been standing behind him, locking himself and Misty away from any harm. 

Misty instinctively grabbed his arm, but let it go just as quickly. He did not like the expression she wore, looking into his soul like Emily had moments ago outside the classroom from hell.

The tiny gremlin of a girl turned her eyes on Emily, hunched back and foaming mouth reminding them all that these creatures were anything but human. The growl that left her small frame was deep and demonic. She barked at the brunette witch like a dog before charging. 

With a wave of Emily’s hand, the girl was thrown back into one of the flames. She was reduced to ash, the smell of sulfur simmering in the air.

Another shadow darted in the corner of Emily’s eyes, dragging her back to where Michael and Misty stood. The pair watched her with wide-eyes, unaware that, above them, another child stood on the countertops. He growled and gurgled like the other girl; eyes fixed on Misty.

Michael watched as Emily’s hand shot out, muscles tensing and poking out of her hand from the strain. When he looked behind himself and Misty, the demon boy was clawing at his neck. His gaze traveled back to Emily, her nostrils flaring as she pushed back against the demon. It was fighting back, her posture implied as such… but more impressive than that was that, in this fight, Emily seemed to be winning. 

Cordelia was right — the girl had untampered power in her veins. Perhaps this is what his father intended. 

Then, Emily was thrown back. He watched her slam into the nearest wall like a rag-doll in the hands of an angry toddler. Michael braced himself for an attack, turning to face the demon boy with scalpel in hand. 

But the demon boy hadn’t moved. He stared forward with his milky white eyes, arms limp at his sides. When Michael looked around the classroom, he realized all the students had the same trance-like appearance. 

Emily muttered curses as she pulled herself into a sitting position, grumbles dying in her throat as she witnessed the scene around her. A hand rested on her shoulder, her own going out to strike until she recognized Misty kneeling at her side.

“What’s goin’ on?” the blonde witch asked, eyes darting between Emily, Michael, and the students, “Is this supposed to happen?”

“… I have no idea.”

Then, in unison, the students threw back their heads. Mouths agape and stretched far wider than any mouth should, they gazed up at the sky.

“What are they—” Emily spoke, cut off by a booming voice.

“She is my gift to you,” it said, a thousand tongues in a thousand voices speaking at once, “and will be your greatest asset.”

“What does that—” Emily went to ask Misty but found the woman was no longer at her side. Her eyes dashed to where Michael had been standing. He too was absent from the room. 

“No, no,” Emily muttered, jumping to her feet and turning in circles. Her heart raced and pounded in her ears. She dashed to the door, only to find it locked. The brunette yanked at it with both her hands, only succeeding in making the door rattle in its place. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Emily gasped as the floor gave way beneath her, her heart leaping into her chest. A black void consumed her. She could not tell if she was falling or simply weightless in this nothingness. 

Heart continuing to thrum in her chest, threatening to burst from fear, Emily attempted to swing outward. She couldn’t feel her own hands, couldn’t see anything but this consuming nothingness. Desperately, she tried to reach for her face but sobbed as she felt nothing beneath her fingertips. Her head started to become fuzzy, her thoughts like water through her fingers. 

“Let me out!” She screamed, scared that her voice too would soon give way to nothing, “I can’t think! I can’t see!”

“You made a deal,” a deep voice said, smooth but crackling like a fire. In the shadows, a darker one moved, she barely made out the vision of a white skull painted upon dark skin, a pair of red eyes the only sign of light in this damned darkness. “Really, mambo, you were better off returnin’ back to the other realm.”

“Then—” Emily said. She recalled a dream — nothingness… then stars. A council asked her to make a choice. All she wanted was to go back home…

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You gave your answer none the less,” the voice said, a tut-tut hissing out from the darkness, “my master put good weight in your words.”

“It was a dream!”

The voice chuckled, “you’ve always known they were more than that.”

*

*

*

Michael awoke with a gasp, the words of his father still ringing in his ear. His heart raced and the world spun around him, his soul trying to orientate itself in his body once more. 

The observing witches and warlocks rose to their feet, coming to convene around him. Michael could still feel Emily’s hand in his own, cold and still. The red ribbon was gone, but he could still feel it tied around his wrists and up his forearm. It was as if his very veins had been connected to the witch and for a moment it felt as though his entire existence was dependent on her own.

“Well, that’s that,” Madison Montgomery spoke from above him, crossing her arms and sparing a pointed look at the warlocks that stood on the other side of Michael. She turned back to her fellow witches with an air of condescension. “C’est la vie.”

“This was not a fair test!” Ariel protested. Michael did not have to look at the grand chancellor to know his jaw was clenched and his nostrils flaring. 

Cordelia’s voice was bored as she spoke, “What happened?”

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked up to the current supreme. 

“Where’s Misty?” Cordelia pressed, not patient enough to wait for his reply to her first question. Michael wanted to snap at her to get a moment of peace, but he knew it was better to bite his tongue. He was to be the next supreme, after all.

“Isn’t it obvious, dear,” Myrtle sighed, not even bothering to look down at the boy-wonder that looked upon her with disgusted awe, “She’s right where she’s been the last--”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head and hands laying palms up, Michael conjured the last bit of energy he had to pull Misty from the realm of the dead. Ash and smoke rose from the floorboards, shifting into the shape of a woman. Flesh unfurled from the mass, draping itself over the newly formed body of Misty Day.

Cordelia gasped, hands trembling above the body as she fell to her knees. Her hands when to the other woman’s face, fingers smoothing over Misty’s cheeks as if to wake her from a blissful dream. “Misty. Misty.”

Michael stumbled to his feet, Professor Pennypacker helping him into Behold’s arms. The feeling had yet to return to Michael’s legs, forcing him to hobble to the nearest table to regain his senses. 

“My dearest Misty,” Cordelia cried, a smile flickering to her lips as Misty’s eyes slowly blinked open. Breath left the once-dead woman’s lungs in sputtering gasps, drawn in just as harshly until her body remembered the motions. There had been no need for breathing in hell. Like a dream, you simply assumed you were doing so.

Hot tears dripped down Cordelia’s cheeks as Misty stared at her in wonder, the Supreme’s arms curling around the woman and pulling her towards her. Cordelia never wanted to let go lest this moment be a fleeting dream.

Misty stared at everything in wonder. The shocked expression of Myrtle, the crying Zoe, beaming Queenie, and disinterested Madison. They were all so beautiful. Everything was so beautiful.

“Am I…?” She asked Cordelia.

“Yes!” The woman said, laughing in glee as she nodded vigorously. “You’re back! You’re safe!”

“… back from perdition,” Myrtle muttered, still unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before her.

Michael watched them with disinterest. He had done what was required, now the pieces must fall into place. Waving off his fellow warlocks, blue eyes flickered to a mass behind the pair, still sleeping.

Myrtle caught his gaze, following it to Emily’s unconscious form. Whatever warming glee she had felt from the resurrection of Misty quickly to ice in her veins.

“Delia,” She gasped, swatting at the air beside the Supreme, “Delia, she’s not waking up!”

Cordelia froze momentarily before turning back to her newest charge.

“No, no, no,” the woman cried, relief turning back to grief. She scrambled towards the girl, pulling Emily into her lap. Hands trembled over the girl’s pale face, brushing the hair from her closed eyes. Cordelia wanted to see those eyes. She needed to see those eyes. She could not lose another girl. “No, no. You have to come back! You have to wake up!”

Michael regarded the scene, equally worried. He willed her to wake up, to take one breath and then another. Why would his father give him a gift only to take it away? If Emily was a key to his ascension, losing her could jeopardize—

He watched as her fingers twitched, then her shoulder. Then, Emily shot up.

“NO!” She screamed, louder than any of them had heard her speak before. Cordelia let out a cry of relief and went to pull her closer, but Emily shoved her back with another strangled cry. Her eyes were wide with horror, darting here and there and unable to focus on a single thing. Cordelia tried to reach for her again but was swatted away. Michael could feel the same magic from hell surging in the air, but fizzling out just as quickly.  

Misty shoved herself between the two women, grasping Emily by the face and forcing her to look the revived witch in the eye.

“It’s alright. You saved me.” She whispered, “We’re back. You’re back.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Emily asked, voice hardly louder than a whisper. The adrenaline wore off and made her body shake, she clenched her hands into fists to make it stop.

“Most certainly not,” Ariel spoke before Misty could ask for clarification. His eyes burned into Cordelia. “What kind of sabotage—”

“I would not risk the life of one of my girls for some petty stab at power!” Cordelia hissed. Her anger ebbing as she turned back to her girls.

“Can you stand?” She asked the pair. Misty nodded, easing Emily to her feet. The brunette closed her eyes as the world began to tilt, but quickly righted herself. 

“I’m okay,” Misty reassured her mentor, Cordelia smiling and patting on her cheek before turning to Emily. The girl nodded.

Emily stepped back as Misty turned to her friends. Queenie rushed forward to hug her, the others following suit with tear-filled eyes. Michael watched the newest member of their coven pulled herself away back into the shadows, forgotten. Hazel eyes glanced to her hands before squeezing them shut, arms curling into her body.

Hell… Emily had just been to hell. She came back from hell. She had seen demons. Asleep, the reality of the situation had been easier to comprehend. Now, it was hard to process it as anything more than a dream.

“Cordelia!” Myrtle gasped, pulling Emily from her thoughts. Blood oozed from her headmistress’s nose; her hand covered in the substance. Misty rushed to her side; eyes wide in fear as she rested her hands upon Cordelia’s arm.

“Oh, my god,” Cordelia muttered.

“W-What’s happening?” Queenie stuttered, looking to Myrtle for answers. The red-haired woman did little to ease her concern, rushing to Cordelia’s side as the woman began to waver.

“What always happens when a new Supreme rises,” Ariel said.

Behold nodded at his Chancellor, finishing the statement for him, “The old one fades away.”

Ariel was quick to circle the wounded animal, going in for the final blow, “We demand what’s ours.”

“You are a pathetic, pompous ass!” Myrtle snarled, curled over Cordelia like a mother over its cub.

Emily regarded the scene with confusion, eyes flickering between the two sides. Michael had passed the test. What more was there to argue? What did it have to do with Cordelia’s bloody nose?

“I did everything you asked,” the boy-wonder reminded the women, his back straight and eyes unwavering. Eyes flickered towards him, his tone and posture commanding respect. “I descended into hell and I did what you couldn’t. I brought her back.

Emily watched the lips of her fellow witches twitch and twist into frowns and snarls. She did not understand their animosity. Had they expected him to fail? Had they hoped she would fail?

“I passed the seven wonders,” Michael concluded, head turning to the side as he regarded Cordelia. The woman could barely stand on her own, leaning on Myrtle and Misty whose muscles strained to hold the woman up. “…Unless you want to add another one.”

“No,” Cordelia sighed, shaking her head with knitted brows and tear-filled eyes. “No.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment, eyes locked in a battle of wills. Michael waited. He had patience.

“There can be no doubt,” Cordelia finally continued, lips curling in disgust at the words leaving her mouth. “You are the next Supreme.”

The final word left the woman with her breath, crumpling to a heap on the floor. Misty gasped as she was forced down with the woman, doing her best to break Cordelia’s fall. Emily pushed off the wall she had been leaning on, watching Misty stare at the boy wonder who could not help the smile from his face. 

Michael had won.

*

*

*

Emily had somehow found her way towards Michael, standing next to him between the two sides of witches and warlocks. Once again, the Warlocks took to one side of the fire and the witches the other. Now and again, one of the men would glance back at the younger women. They did nothing to hide their contempt and smug expressions. The witches paid the men no mind, giggling and speaking with Misty Day. They’d all reach out to touch the woman now and again if only to convince themselves that she was there.

Cordelia had been lifted onto the nearest couch, Myrtle staying behind while the rest of them lingered in the hall. They stood around a large bonfire. The students of Hawthorne had long since gone to bed, leaving the halls to be filled with the crackling fire and quiet murmurings of their little group.

Michael and herself stood in silence, staring at the roaring fire. Emily glanced at him now and again, doing her best to ignore the comfortable silence. Now of all times, she could not stand the silence.

The warlock watched her in turn, the way her brows furrowed as she stared into the fire which reflected itself in her eyes. Michael was busy in his own thoughts, contemplating his father’s plans. One battle won, but the rest of the war was still before him.

When he glanced to the girl beside him, her eyes looked distant. It was as if she was trapped in hell once more, glazed eyes peering past the physical and into the core of what surrounded her. The fire crackled, reaching higher as a log broke in half and sent embers flying. When his gaze returned to Emily, he saw a trail of red run from her nose.

She flinched as a white handkerchief was held out to her. When Emily looked at Michael, he simply gave her a pointed look before turning back to the fire. Hand instinctively going to her nose, she found it was bleeding. Face flushing with warmth, she took the handkerchief with a quiet thanks.

“That’s something I’ve never experienced before,” Emily noted awkwardly once the blood had stopped flowing. 

“Hell?”

“A nosebleed.”

A small smile curled to Michael’s lips and he let out a short airy laugh. 

“So… that was hell.”

“Not what you expected?”

“I don’t really know what I was expecting.”

Michael stared at her for a moment, searching her face. “You’re afraid.”

She chuckled, looking at him pointedly. “It’s hell.”

“Don’t worry,” Michael reassured, “They say the devil is a fallen angel. I’m sure he’ll have some mercy.”

“Don’t talk to me about the devil right now,” Emily said with a sigh, “I thought the existence of magic was going to make me insane. Contemplating religion might push me over the edge.”

Michael laughed at that, shaking his head. It was hard to remember an outsider’s view on these matters. Occultism was all too familiar to the boy-wonder — from ghosts to the devil himself.

They stared at the others for a good while, the warlocks plotting and the witches basking in their perceived success.

“Stupid question,” Emily finally spoke, dragging her eyes back to Michael, “What’s a supreme?”

Michael laughed. She shrugged as he rose a brow and his lips curled into a confuddled expression. Cordelia sent that girl to hell when she didn’t even know—

“The supreme is the most powerful magic wielder of their time, tasked with guiding and protecting their brethren throughout their life.”

“Why does Cordelia have to die?”

“We can’t all be Supremes.”

“So, it’s kind of like Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” she noted, brows furrowing as she put the puzzle pieces together, “one dies and another is born.”

“To a degree.”

“So, what will be your first business as Supreme? Preparing any radical change?”

Michael did his best to subvert the question. If Emily noted, she didn’t mention it. “The fact that I’m a man may be radical enough for now, don’t you think?”

“Oh,” Emily said, realization donning, “I forgot about that. Usually, it’s the opposite.”

She understood the hostility of the witches now. They had one section of the world where they could be the reigning force… now that was gone too. Emily would be lying if she said the concept didn’t bother her. Still… it wasn’t as if it was Michael’s fault. Fate was fate, she supposed — depressing as it was.

“But I have a few ideas,” Michael reassured, watching the emotions pass on her face. 

“Such as?”

They were interrupted by the sound of the sliding door to the salon, Myrtle’s signature red hair taking on an orange tint in the light of the fire.

“She’s awake.”

*

*

*

It felt like an eternity that they waited outside that door. Misty and Myrtle had gone in first, talking for what seemed like an eternity. All Emily could make out were the muffled lilting sounds of indiscernible words spoken back and forth. The wizards had gone away, offering them some level of privacy.

So, Emily stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot and counting the minutes passing by. The air was so thick with tension that one could cut it with a knife. Hazel eyes flickered between the faces of her sister witches, waiting for someone to say something. They were all so intent on not meeting the others’ eyes.

Finally, Madison looked down the hall, rolled her eyes, and scoffed, “I don’t understand why we have to wait here.” 

“Cordelia fell,” Zoe snapped, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the nearest wall.

“It’s not like she’s dead.”

“…yet,” Queenie said. Madison opened her mouth to retort but was silenced by the creaking of the door.

Zoe rushed to Cordelia’s side, offering an arm to lean upon, but the Supreme refused with a short gesture and a reassuring smile. Her brown eyes landed on Emily, pulling the girl towards her in a hug before she could protest. As usual, Emily was tense under her touch. Her arms did not move to return the affection, hovering in the air like they were held up by puppet strings. “Miss Cordelia—”

“I thought I lost you,” the woman admitted. Emily fought the urge to pull away as a hand came to rest on her cheek. She could not understand the woman’s fascination with the gesture but had been unable to find a polite way to tell her to stop. 

“I had to find my way back,” Emily replied. Ever since she had woken, she had prepared her questions meticulously word by word — the voice, the darkness. Her gut churned in warning and she listened to it, resigning herself to silence. “Didn’t exactly have a map.”

Cordelia giggled a bit at that, bringing her other hand to cup Emily’s cheek so the girl had no choice but to look her in the eye before finally letting her go, “I told you that you could do it.”

Misty had come to stand beside the pair, beaming smile unwavering. When one had been to hell and freed themselves from its grasp, it was impossible not to. 

“There’s not many people I can say have been to hell and back with me,” the swamp witch noted. She rested a hand on Emily’s arm for but a moment to show her appreciation, but finally let go.  

“I think you should thank Michael more than me,” Emily noted, finally pulling herself away from Cordelia’s grasp. The Supreme and the swamp witch shared a look. It was brief, but Emily could see their smiles falter ever slightly.

“Why don’t we get you girls some food,” Cordelia noted, putting a hand on Misty’s shoulder and easing her along, “You must be starving.”

“I could eat a horse,” Misty admitted.

It was easy enough to find a table. The kitchens were more than adequately supplied. Most of them weren’t hungry. Cordelia offered Emily some food, but she turned it away. Something about hell made food feel unpalatable for the time being. 

Misty insisted she sit right next to her, offering her a few fries now and again for good measure. The brunette took one just to ease the woman’s worrying. Cordelia sat on Misty’s other side, carefully attending to the woman as the others spoke around her.

For the first time, Emily was able to understand the world of the witches. Around the table they went, sharing their stories since the last Seven Wonders.  

In terms of history, Cordelia had only recently become Supreme. Her reign was short in comparison to those that came before her. They didn’t stay on that topic for very long.

Madison herself was also newly resurrected by the boy-wonder. Hell seemed to be catered towards the individual. Though, Emily would argue customer service to be anyone’s hell. Michael had brought the former starlet back around the same time Emily arrived at the Robichaux Academy. 

“If Michael already proved he could both perform and conquer Decensum, why would he have to repeat the task again?” Emily asked.

“Bureaucracy, darling,” Myrtle responded, earning a strained smile from Cordelia. That topic was also brushed over. 

Queenie had gotten herself tickets for The Price is Right on the courtesy of her Supreme. A wasted effort, she noted, as she had been killed before she could attend the showing. Ghosts were hard to tell from real people, it seemed, and had a natural defense against witchcraft. Cordelia had tried to save her, but it was ultimately Michael that pulled her back into the world of the living.

“Bet March wasn’t too happy about that,” Misty noted.

Queenie only scoffed, “After beating him at cards 56,433 times, I think he was glad to have me gone.”

“You kept count?” Madison asked, all but rolling her eyes. 

“Wasn’t much to do.” Queenie said, “I’d of much rather been stocking shelves and hunting for personal massagers.”

Emily’s train of thought wandered as the two bickered, her mind replaying the void of eternity and the voice. She made a note to meticulously go through every dream she had ever written down.

“She is my gift to you,” the voice echoed in Emily’s mind. She shook her head to rid herself of it. 

“You alright, firefly?” Misty asked as Zoe joined in the debate at hand. 

“Just tired,” Emily said.

“When did you join this gaggle?”

Cordelia spoke before she could open her mouth, smiling at the pair. “Emily is one of our most recent additions.”

“Not that she can do much,” Madison noted.

“Girl,” Queenie said, “Why do you have to be like that?”

“What? It’s true!”

“She killed one of those demons,” Misty noted, perplexed at the statements of her fellow sisters, “if they can die.”

The table went silent. Cordelia looked at Emily with a slight furrow to her brow, searching for an answer.

“Things are different in dreams,” Was all Emily could say.

A hum from Misty turned the uncomfortable conversation away from Emily, who spared the woman a thankful look. 

“I’m starving!” the swamp witch exclaimed, shoving another fry into her mouth, “They don’t serve solid food in hell.”

The clanging of the sliding doors made them all jump in their seats, gazes turning towards the sound. A woman stood there, searching the room for a moment. She smiled as she saw Misty.

“Is that…?” Emily asked, fumbling for words.

Misty leaned against Emily and squeezed her arm, grinning ear to ear, “That’s Stevie.”

[notfspurejam]

“It’s a weird, twilight zone” says Sherlock and League of Gentlemen star Mark Gatiss

The Islington actor and writer and husband Ian Hallard have “put their money where their mouth is” to back the King’s Head Theatre’s £100,000 emergency fund.

Islington couple Mark Gatiss and Ian Hallard have “put their money where their mouth is” to back the King’s Head Theatre’s emergency fund.

Sherlock co-creator and The Favourite star Gatiss shares a home with his actor husband opposite the Upper Street venue, which has been hit by the coronovirus pandemic.

Celebrating its 50th year - with a move to purpose built premises due in December - the legendary pub theatre must raise £100,000 to stay afloat until it can reopen.

“A lot of theatres need to fundraise because it’s looking very unlikely they will open again until next year,” said Hallard, who has starred in plays at both the Park and Hope theatres.

“I’ve lived in Islignton for 25 years and I’ve been going to the King’s Head all that time with many fond memories,” adds Gatiss, who was due to appear in his own adaptation of A Christmas Carol at Alexandra Palace this winter.

“It’s not just a pub theatre, it’s a genunine community space, the traffic of people to the theatre is part of the lifeblood of Upper Street. It’s that rare thing, a proper arts hub for directing, writing, stage management the whole caboodle.”

Hallard adds: “It’s pretty tragic that it’s come just at the point where they are moving into the new Islington Square development and when the Mayor’s office had given them a grant for the new building.

“It’s so frustrating that at such an exciting point it’s fighting to survive at all.”

Both praise the King’s Head’s championing of work by LGBT writers, and artistic director Adam Spreadbury-Maher’s ambitious programme.

“It’s fantastic,” says Gatiss. “Adam has taken it onto another level, the sheer number of productions sometimes seven or eight different shows a week is extraordinary. At a time when the arts are being squeezed left right and centre with a pretty tone deaf government, it’s been very telling that people are noticing that theatre exists on a precipice.

He adds: “It’s not just a question of a few actors and writers being put out of work. Theatres are a community glue across the city.”

Hallard points out that fringe venues like the King’s Head often give creatives their first job.

“There’s a bigger story as a breeding ground for people who end up writing BAFTA winning TV. Everyone needs to cut their teeth somewhere. The danger is once these venues go, they are lost forever. It’s easier to keep them on life support than lose them completely and have to start from scratch when we come out at the other end.”

Gatiss, who has indeed won a BAFTA and an Emmy for co-writing Sherlock says: “I’ve been banging on for decades that you can take every single artistic bone out of your body and still make a hard-nosed business argument for the amount the arts contributes to GDP.”

As for the couple, Hallard says they are “very lucky” to have a garden, they are not frontline workers, and can walk their dog - although Hackney is preferable to Islington where they have to have to keep it on the lead.

“There are days when the weather is nice and you don’t feel so bad, spending time together, having lunch, walking the dog, other days are a bit more existential,” says Gatiss, who admits to being in a “strange twilight zone” with his writing.

“Who knew that the muse isn’t kind during a global pandemic?” He says wryly.

“It should be a good time to lock myself away and write that great novel but I feel paralysed. It’s not to do with not knowing whether your work will be published or produced, it’s just the world we are emerging into is so unknown. What am I writing this for? It’s a weird and strange new landscape.

“But like any crisis, it brings out the best and worst of people. Simple acts of kindness are very moving and people are recalibrating what’s important in their lives.”

Hallard who had one play about to be staged and is working on another, agrees there’s “a weird void that affects your motivation,” but predicts there “won’t be much appetite” for reliving the lockdown with pandemic plays.

Gatiss adds: “There have been comparisons to the Great Depression when audiences flocked to the cinema to see Busby Berkeley movies, but also to see Frankenstein.

“The first great horror boom came in the 30s and I’m intrigued to see where it settles down. People won’t want pure escapism but something that also reflects their experience.”

Donate at www.kingsheadtheatre.com/donate

[letterboxd]

The Missing Linklater.

“Any time I’m on a set with Rick I feel very fortunate.” We talk to the writers behind Richard Linklater’s new missing-person feature film, Where’d You Go, Bernadette?

An adaptation of Maria Semple’s 2012 comedic novel about a reclusive architect who goes missing just before a family trip to Antarctica, Where’d You Go, Bernadette? stars Cate Blanchett in the title role. Bernadette’s daughter Bee (Emma Nelson) sets out on a quest to find her, with Bernadette’s husband Elgie (Billy Crudup). Laurence Fishburne, Judy Greer and Kristen Wiig also star.

Directed by American filmmaking icon (and co-founder of the Austin Film Society) Richard Linklater, the screenplay was co-written with his frequent collaborators (and married couple) Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. If their names are not familiar as scriptwriters, that’s because they usually work further behind the scenes for Linklater, and have been since 1993’s Dazed and Confused, when Holly was a production coordinator, and Vince a second second assistant director.

Vince became Linklater’s first AD for the films Bad News Bears, Fast Food Nation, A Scanner Darkly, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Last Flag Flying and Where’d You Go, Bernadette?. Holly co-produced Linklater’s Me and Orson Welles (2008), which she also wrote with Vince.

Reviewing Where’d You Go, Bernadette? on Letterboxd, Tom suggests that after a “generic” opening, the film “slowly starts to show its true colors as the character of Bernadette is unwrapped… it’s a story that is touching and even a bit inspiring for those who aspire to be their own artist in life.” J Oled agrees: “This could’ve been a Hallmark special, but because Linklater generally loves humanity, and is always experimenting, this film is quite watchable, it’s warm, relatable, and modest, and I wasn’t asking for much else.” Melissa, who has read the novel, offers: “If you’re a fan of the book… the movie is starkly different. But if you’re a fan of Linklater… you’re going to love it. Cate Blanchett may be the best actor of the decade.”

We spoke to Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. about their collaborative writing process with Linklater, mining their own relationship for inspiration, and making films for the social-media age.

Cate Blanchett as Bernadette and Emma Nelson as Bee.

How you were brought onto the project? Holly Gent Palmo: We have worked with Rick [Linklater] for many years. We first met on Dazed and Confused, where we were on the crew, and we’ve worked on many projects with him. He’s one of our close friends. He was brought onto the project and then we read the book and loved it so he brought us on. We started from scratch, it was all based on the novel.

What did you relate to in the book that made you feel you had the right perspective to take it on? HGP: This is a movie that for me personally is very relatable because it’s about a woman who has really lost herself in motherhood and as much as she loves that journey, she’s also really looking to rediscover her passion of her past creative impulses. I think that’s something that Rick, Vince, and I all can relate to, not only as parents, but also as people trying to do something creative in this world.

Was the book’s author Maria Semple involved at all? HGP: First of all, the novel is fantastic.

Vincent Palmo Jr: Love the book, love the book.

HGP: Maria knows so much about the filmmaking process and has that history herself that she knew that she wanted to hand it off to Rick. She talked to Cate and she talked to Rick but she did not take part in the writing.

Richard Linklater seems like a great writer to collaborate with. What is it about him that makes that operate so well? HGP: With Rick, the way we work is that we talk a lot in the beginning and clearly discuss every aspect of the book. This one was particularly challenging in that it was a modern epistolary novel told in emails and transcripts. It’s not a straight narrative and it’s not told in a linear fashion, necessarily. So we had to sort out the chronology of our story and what would be included.

Screenwriters Holly Gent Palmo and Vincent Palmo Jr. / Photo: Wilson Webb/Annapurna Pictures

It’s the way he works with actors and everyone. It’s a really respectful, really collaborative process where everybody gets to bring to the table their own personal point of view in their own lives. With Rick, we dove into the parts of the novel we liked best and what threads we were going to pick up and carry through.

VP: It was a pretty deep exploration of the novel, of all the different characters and situations. We talked through all that and came to an agreement between the three of us for what we felt said the themes best.

Vincent, you’re also Linklater’s first assistant director, which is an interesting combination of multi-tasking. On set, would you pitch in on the script-side? VP: No, on set as a first AD I’m more concerned about the day’s work and really having everything in place and ready to go so Rick just has to say “action” and “cut”. I don’t talk at all about the script. At that point we’re all dialed in anyway.

When Holly’s around they have their conferences and I’ll be arranging the next set up. I’ve done a lot of things with Rick. I did all twelve years of Boyhood. There’s a shorthand there that I’m intent and focused on each day’s shoot and what’s coming up the next day.

HGP: By the time Rick gets to set, he’s totally prepared and ready. He has his rehearsal process with his actors. Our process is over, he’s very sure of what he wants.

VP: You can’t over-prepare, but we’re very prepared.

HGP: Except maybe in a rare instance in having to negotiate some small change.

VP: Yeah, like in what the weather’s brought or something new at a location, things like that.

Boyhood and Before Midnight are both classics of their decade now. What were those sets like? VP: I’m so happy for Rick [that they’re highly regarded]. Boyhood just stretched on. I remember there were times where we were like, “is somebody in Eastern Europe doing the same thing and it’s going to come out before us?!” We really didn’t know.

To pick it up each year and shoot it on film when all that kind of change [to digital] was in the midst of us shooting… Any time I’m on a set with Rick I feel very fortunate. To see them received in the way they were, it’s really thrilling.

Emma Nelson and Billy Crudup in ‘Where’d You Go, Bernadette?’.

In what ways, if any, did you adapt your style to the talents of Cate Blanchett and the other cast members? HGP: We knew that Cate was interested from the moment that we began. We were always hoping to do justice to her great talent and thinking towards that. To me, there could be no-one better in that role. Cate brings so much to it.

It’s an inspiration to think that no matter what kind of nuanced emotion we write in a scene, she can carry it and do an incredible job. It gives a freedom of inspiration thinking that there’s a possibility that Cate Blanchett can be playing the part.

The book is largely renowned for the way it captures the nuances of Seattle. What types of research did you do for the characters’ occupations and their environments? HGP: Rick did a lot of interesting, in-depth research for Elgie’s technology role and the kind of things he was developing. He talked to a lot of people involved in Microsoft developing those sorts of things, to bring that in the most detailed and up-to-date way.

For architecture, Rick arranged some meetings with some really great architects to go and talk to them about the language they use. As far as Seattle goes, there’s no greater resource for that than the novel itself. Maria really knows that world and has so many funny and interesting outsider opinions about it that I felt it was the perfect way to learn about that.

What did you feel you could bring to the element of marriage when writing as a married couple? HGP: That’s interesting.

VP: That is interesting. Well, we’ve been married for 26 years.

HGP: I do think that all three of us brought in our past relationships and our current relationships to the process. I believe it’s a realistic portrayal of the quest to keep improving your life through self-discovery. It’s a unique story that you don’t really see a lot of.

That whole idea that you can’t ever really know anyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try—Rick really loved those words, they’re the opening words of the novel. It’s this idea that the other person is always somewhat unknowable, but you keep trying to get to know each other while you change through the years.

VP: The search continues! You find new things.

HGP: Nothing is more rewarding in life than those close relationships that last decades.

Richard Linklater, Emma Nelson, Cate Blanchett and Billy Crudup at a New York screening earlier this month. / Photo: Evan Agostini/Invision/AP

Do you think it’s difficult to write contemporary films for the social-media age? HGP: It’s fascinating when you see movies and there’s this before-and-after cell phones dividing line, because so many of the great films and their plots would have been so different if everyone was carrying a phone around.

I don’t know if it’s easier, but it is a change in your way of thinking as you realize everyone has a phone in their pocket. I think both [period and contemporary] are fun. Any kind of story or plot that you’re trying to figure out is a really fun and challenging puzzle. I notice in a lot of films they try and get rid of the phone in some way.

What was the film that got you into filmmaking and made you want to be a part of this industry? VP: Oh my gosh, wow. Jeez, that’s a really tough one.

HGP: There’s so many stages to it. There’s the ones you see when you’re a little kid that just blow you over. Those are so bound with light and emotion that you don’t even understand. I remember Apocalypse Now—that was something that blew my mind.

VP: It just kind of builds. I got a degree in journalism and then I ended up working in film so it’s hard to point to just one that really flipped the switch. I don’t know why, but I saw The Sound of Music a bunch of times when I was younger. Maybe it was just easier for my mom to take me and my four siblings out to see it.

‘Where’d You Go, Bernadette?’ is in select US cinemas now.

[rosewinterborn]

11/11/11

I waited too long to do this, so now I have 44 questions to do. RIP. Tagged by @writersblockandapotoftea, @arwallace (I know you tagged @expositionpreposition but it’s easier to do it here!), @shit-she-wrote, and @atinydino

Cap:

Who was your childhood hero?

Honestly, probably JKR. Again, RIP.

If we didn’t start the fire, who did?

People like my dad who say “millennials” like it’s a derogatory word probably

What made you start your wip?

Reading too much Dresden Files and also looking at magic academia posts on Tumblr (Gutter Witch); Reading Eragon (Companion to Dragons); Wanting to make an open magic world (Witches Anthology); Reading too much Stucky fanfiction (Fractal); Listening to the Magnus Archives three times through in a month (CHAF3k); wanted to go on a magic adventure with my high school friends (Children of the Light)

Hogwarts house?

Gryffindor!

Star Trek or Star Wars

Star Wars, though I like both

What was your pre-teen bop?

Uhhh Taylor Swift’s whole second album

If you could have a fantasy creature as a pet, what would you pick?

A dragon about the size of a cat that could sit on my shoulder and talk to me

What’s your pet peeve?

Feeling like people are upset with me but won’t talk to me about it

Dracula or Frankenstien’s Monster?

Haven’t read Dracula so Frankenstein’s monster, I guess.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve said to a friend?

I mean I had a conversation with two lesbians about dildos yesterday, soooo

If you had to murder someone, who would it be?

No one. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to live with myself after.

A R Wallace

Which book(s)/series would you compare your current WIP(s) to?

The Dresden Files. Though I did have someone say it was like reading a better-written Mortal Instruments. I was tickled.

Would you be willing to adapt your WIP into a movie one     day? Why or Why not?

Yes. Please. Let me see my work come to life.

What is your ‘writing ritual’? (do you make sure     you’ve made a cup of tea, sit in a particular spot, etc.)

I don’t have any particular ritual, I usually just try and seize the energy when I have it. Right now I am trying to sit at my actual desk to work, though, and during school if I had anything that I desperately needed to get done I took my ass to a coffee shop and told myself I wasn’t allowed to leave until it was done.

How much has writeblr helped you with your writing?

It helped me find a writing community that inspired me to get back to work after the depression had taken it away from me. I’m not as active on writeblr as maybe I could be, but the writing discord I found through it has been a lifeline.

If you could be one creature (real or mythical), what would you be?

A dragon. But like, one of the ones that can shapeshift. I also like being human.

Sum up your favorite WIP in one sentence

Oh god I’m supposed to have a favorite? That’s not gonna happen…

Gutter Witch: Local teens sick and tired of prophetic bullshit

Children of the Light: Estranged assholes learn to love each other again and also stop the apocalypse

Fractal: Hell on Earth in so many ways

Companion to Dragons: Girl’s asshole father sends her and her sister on a suicide mission and thinks that’s the end of it (surprise!)

Witches Anthology: literally a whole bunch of short stories so I’m not gonna try

Which of your characters is your favorite?

Whyyyyyy idk in GW probably Hunter, he’s fun to write. Overall maybe Sterling, my enby necromancer in the anthology

Which of your characters is your least favorite?

Hunter’s mother. Like honestly, every time I write about her she gets worse.

What do you believe is the most overused trope in your WIP’s genre(s)?

Melodrama.

Favorite season?

Autumn

If you could travel anywhere in the universe, where would you go?

Several places in Europe, in no particular order.

Eva:

1.     What’s the first story you remember writing?

A story about a cat and a mouse becoming friends.

2.     How has your taste in books changed since childhood?

I’ve tended a lot less towards high fantasy. I think it’s too much of an energy investment to try and understand the worldbuilding right now, whereas you can usually just jump into urban fantasy. I’ve also gotten a lot more interested in horror.

3.     Do you see any similarities to your favorite books in your work? If yes, what are they?

If I’m being real honest, most of my wips are direct rip-offs of stuff I’ve read/watched/listened to, at least in the first draft. I usually try and direct my obsessions into creative energy at some point, with differing amounts of success.

4.     What sort of music inspires you?

Stuff with strong beats/baseline and vaguely rebellious lyrics. So like, lots of Imagine Dragons and Fall Out Boy. But also trailer music like Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell

5.     Favorite book?

These are the most evil kinds of questions you guys.

I can’t think of any published books I’d call my absolute favorite, but I do have a handful of fanfics I read on at least an annual basis: War, Children, by Nonymos; To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most of All, by perfect_plan; and Schroedinger’s Romance by lesbuchanan

6.     Favorite mythology (Greek, Norse, etc.)?

Probably Celtic? I’m really rusty on it though

7.     Dream vacation?

A long, long trip through Europe without having to worry about money

8.     Favorite writing snack?

I don’t really eat when I write because its too much of a distraction :P

9.     What tea do you drink the most while writing?

Irish Breakfast

10.  Do you have a special writing cup, that you drink tea out of specifically when writing to fill you up with inspiration?

I have a couple I’m more likely to grab, like my Night Vale Community Radio mug or my white Starbucks mug with the gold lettering

11. Write your favorite quote from your recent wip!!

Just outside the beam of light was a circle of what looked like black paint, tiny sigils scratched into it, shimmering uncannily in the dark. Wisps of that grim light drifted from the sigils to the figures at their center, dancing around Mara’s hands, clutching at Hunter’s shirt. Anywhere they touched his skin, blood seeped from a new laceration, sluggish and dark and horrible. 

“Hunter,” she breathed. 

Then she heard him. 

“Run, Cady,” he croaked. “Tell my mom...she’s a bitch.”

Ames:

1.     What’s your favorite season and why

Autumn! I love rain and also that it’s not super hot or super cold

2.     What’s your favorite food?

Bread.

3.     Who’s your favorite character in your most recent WIP?

Hunter Bishop, asshole extraordinaire

4.     Do you hide easter eggs in your writing? If so tell me a few.

Hm. If I do, I don’t consider them easter eggs, just references. Though I did have someone in my creative writing class ask if the sandwich my protagonist was eating was based on one served in one of the restaurants on campus (and he was right)

5.     Would you prefer your WIPs to be turned into a movie or tv series? (feel free to tell me about more than just 1)

Gutter Witch should just be a movie, and I’m leaning towards that for Witches as well. Fractal could go either way, though I’m leaning towards TV show. Children of the Light could go either way. CHAF3k will hopefully be a podcast at some point.

6.     If you could have a writing studio anywhere with anything in it, what would it be like and where would it be?

I like the nook I have, though I think I’d adjust the height of my desk chair and add a coffee maker and a closer bathroom so I don’t have to walk all the way across the apartment. Oh, and I’d get a massive whiteboard so I can go all conspiracy theory on my wips.

7.     What music do you listen to to get you in the zone? (the writing zone)

Trailer music! Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell. I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I try to make the words go.

8.     What’s your worldbuilding process?

Panic.

But actually, I think of the aesthetic I’m after and then try to make everything build off of that. Along the way I usually try to figure out what thing I’m consciously or unconsciously basing it off of so that I can make necessary changes.

9.     Who are your most influential authors?

JKR (sorry), Laini Taylor, Juliet Marillier, Tamora Pierce

10.  What’s your favorite kind of cookie?

French macarons

11. Give me your favorite excerpt for your recent WIP!

“I wanted to talk to Madge.”

“Madge is dead,” Hunter said, confused. 

“I’m aware,” she said. “I asked Death to take me to her, but she said she couldn’t and suggested projection instead.”

Hunter turned from the stove with the most dumbfounded expression Cady had ever seen outside of cinema. “You asked Death,” he repeated.

Cady snorted. “Yeah. I asked Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death. We’re good friends. She comes over for tea on occasion.”

Hunter stared at her, expression halfway between disbelief and suspicion. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” Cady said. “Death is the whole reason I came to this Coven. She sent me here when I was thirteen.”

Hunter sank back against the counter, looking almost faint. Whatever he’d been cooking began to sizzle alarmingly. “Death has been...in this apartment.”

Cady nodded.

Not tagging anyone else on this one. I’ve learned my lesson lmao.

[gracieoliviamaller]

weekly summaries- viscera

This unit I made notes of all my weekly summaries in a pages document as I went, as I thought it would make it easier at the end of the project to then make the refletive journal. However I did forget to actually post them on my blog. Eventually I will get the weekly summaries right, I mean I only have one unit left at uni and this time I am going to do it one way or another ...

weekly summaries and evaluation below:

Weekly Summaries and Evaluation- Collaboration ‘Viscera’

Week 1 

The first week of the project and we had briefing and decided to work together. Currently not sure what to do yet, only that we want  to do an anthology. We like the idea of having lots of tiny stories. We know we want to work in a 2D digital drawn style as that is a style we both enjoy working in and are strongest at. The aim for the week is to do some research into different styles and come back to each other next week with some more ideas to brainstorm.

We are also collaborating on a side project currently for Glyndebourne and Norwich theatre. Which is taking up a lot of our time as it is due in in two weeks time.

Week 2

This week we met up and had a brain storm to come up with more ideas to pick from, which were;

1. One word

2. Mental health

3. Reality v expectations 

4. Stuff inside stuff 

We have decided that we will be making an Anthology themed around one word, to be decided, and we will be animating in 2D drawn animation. We will be playing on the fact that Eszter’s style is all about highlighting the ugly in things and I like to be the opposite and look for perfection/beauty. So this will hopefully create a nice dynamic in the animation. We plan to make several shorts and put them together to fit the one theme. It will be a slightly abstract piece as it has been discussed that the word would be something like, wig or bath mat or spatula. As Eszter enjoys working within the weird and I liked the idea of the challenge.

I am happy that we have processed from the first week and have the starts of an idea, we need to continue the research and narrow down our idea to one specific plan.

Week 3

This week we pitched our our vague idea to Peter and Helen and they suggested we could go with ugly beauty contrast as a main idea. Due to that being our own individual strengths. 

Then we had a meeting at the playhouse and decided that expectations vs reality will be the theme of our idea. I wasn’t feeling very inspired by the theme of one random word. It felt a bit boring to me and when we were discussing our idea in lesson Peter pointed out that our styles are very opposite. Eszter loves to show the ugliness in things whereas I look for perfection and aesthetics. So the new plan is expectations vs reality. So we would have my style as expectations and Eszter’s as reality. Which would hopefully create a comical narrative for our anthology. We will use several different scenarios all connected by expectations vs reality.

I looked at Spongebob and when they do the really gross detailed close ups as an expectations vs reality inspo. Research is still the main objective to continue.

We also submitted our Glyndebourne project this week so I am now under less obligations and have more time to spend on the project.

Week 4

Starting from scratch and forming a new idea, when we met we admitted neither of us really liked the idea that much of expectations vs reality. We agreed that it was an idea that could work but it just didn’t excite us that much. So we have come up with a new idea based on a drawing we came up with of a fat man who had a universe inside him. The zoom idea. We will zoom out of things to show different creatures and worlds that exist in other creatures and worlds. With a different scenario/activity in each world. 

I have also discovered the work of Sonia Lazo on Behance. Their work is so colourful and the characters are very wacky too which is something Eszter and I are aiming for. The work really inspired me and I would love to create something with the use of all that colour and make it a very bright and bold piece. I usually work in pastel or limited colours but I love the idea of an overly vibrant world.

Aims are to keep researching for this new idea now that we have scrapped the last one. Feeling much more excited and inspired for the project now.

Week 5

This week we had title ideas such as ‘more than meets the eye’ and ‘viscera’. I think that Viscera is the favourite for now as it is an odd sounding word and means internal which is very fitting to our project.

We began creating the schedule for the project and also the script. 

Some online inspirations were Ozzy and Drix, a show I used to watch as a kid about a world that existed inside a person and all the things inside the body lived in a city and fought crime. Also the music video for Exxus by Glass Animals was inspiring, the clay world of strange creatures we really liked. We want to show a bunch of abstract worlds and creatures is this is very fitting.

Week 6

This week we have started character sketches and designing the possible characters for this world. I have so far come up with some colourful knitted worms that i like so far. I am yet to come up with anything else I really like. We have discussed doing maybe 3 or 4 different creatures each so I have one of mine and need to think of some others. I have fallen into a hole on Behance and am just constantly scrolling through and finding new artists and animations that inspire me. I have posted quite a few on my blog that have helped me feel inspired.

Week 7

We have refined character sketches and are thinking more on our idea getting closer to finalising the story. We are going to create a grandma who is the home to all these weird and wonderful worlds and creatures. We thought it would be funny to show all these different zooms and unflattering angles on the old woman to get to showing the unusual micro worlds inside. For example my knitted worms will be a zoom in on her jumper. I have another idea for zooming in on her finger tips or her ear wax too.

The plan for next week is to have concept art sketches done to show each other so we can properly combine our ideas into a story.

Week 8 

This week the goal was to set a plan for over Christmas break to get work done and do the story board and any final sketches. We have decided that we will each draw our thumbnails for our ideas for the story board and Eszter will put them all together into one story board as she is writing up the script from all the notes and story boards we have shared together. There is also a new idea that we have a grandson character that we discover after a saliva tsunami kiss on the cheek from his grandma as they wait for their picture to be taken.

The goals for over Christmas break:

Eszter- finished story board and script 

Me- design board and pre production document

Christmas break:

Week 9, Week 10, Week 11, Week 12

I have made a schedule to organise my final few weeks before submission as I have a lot of work to do on my essay and personal showcase projects. The collaborative project I have put in the final week before submission as it is pre production so the work load isn’t as heavy and I have done all the research part of it, its just the final drawings and type up of stuff left to do, and ideally would need to see people I am working with who are currently home in different countries busy seeing friends and family, so most likely to see them in that week to go over things in person and put stuff together properly. 

Next week I will discuss with Eszter where we are in the project and what is left to do before submissions. 

I will also have finished colour concept art work finished with my tasks of the design board and pre production document

I became very sick during week 11 and 12 and have lost a fair bit of time to sleeping off a flu/virus type thing with intense migraines. I have been working on designs when I can.

Submissions week:

Week13

This week has been all go and I have completed all the work with some time to spare. I got all my final concepts finished, the design board and pre production document and we even came up with a title image made from our characters spelling ‘viscera’ to put in the pre production document. It was something that came about by chance as Eszter and I were chatting over messenger about our plans and where we were up to with things. I am happy with the progress made this week and with what I am handing in tomorrow.

Evaluation

My evaluation of the project would be that overall it has been very successful. We worked together equally and completed set goals and tasks on time. The idea process did start slowly with us not being too sure what to make and we were also both working on a project for Glyndebourne and the Norwich theatre, which went very well we felt. But this did slow us down in the start of the collaborations project as we had so many things to try and do. Having said that I do think that we finished the project just as well as we would’ve without the Glyndebourne distractions and I am very happy with the idea and work we have done to go forward into production next term. I am excited to continue developing the project and to animate our ideas and watch them come to life. 

I have known and been friends with Eszter for the whole of my university experience so I knew I wanted to collaborate with her as we are very like minded people and have worked together in other projects so I know that by working with her we both share the same ambitions and standards of submitting good quality work. I am confident that next term we will be able to achieve the goals and ideas we have started to create this unit and I look forward to seeing where the project adapts to next.

[mdwatchestv]

Westworld 2x04- Death: What Is It Even?

Hiiiii sorry this is so late, I have been clobbered at work to the point where I considered skipping this week all together. But NO I rose early, looked at all the Royal Wedding fashion, and am now sitting down to bring you full Westworld coverage. “Why exert such an effort?” you may justifiably ponder to yourself. Well, because Westworld actually turned out a pretty succinct, thematically coherent episode of television last week.  I have had many conversations about whether or not Westworld is actually a “good” show. Sure, it’s entertaining to watch the result of millions of dollars plastered on screen, every frame looks incredible, and it boasts blockbuster level production value and some of the best working actors. And maybe that’s enough to qualify as “good”, because do we not keep coming back week after week? Are we not entertained? However I have always felt that Westworld could, and probably should, be more than the sum of its expensive parts. Emotional connectivity to characters is low, and while complicated themes are introduced, we barely scratch their surface. What is Westworld really about? Often it seems to merely be about trying to trick the audience with buzz-worthy tricks and twists, about who can deliver the most enigmatic monologue, or put together the flashiest scene of Old West violence. I bring all this up because this episode felt more in tune with what I always wanted this show to be: a solid sci-fi story that had more to offer than just expensive window-dressing. This episode had a strong thematic through-line, and told a compelling vignette story that would have been worthy of its own Black Mirror episode. Instead of a series of seemingly unrelated events for us to try and make sense of, this episode had a natural inter-connectivity that will make it much easier to write about. So thanks for that at least!

We begin with seeing Peter Mullan (what a great episode for him, I bet this is how they pitched him the role) in a futuristic studio space, where he goes about his. Eventually visited by Jimmi Simpson, and they have an affable conversation. It’s unclear at first if Mullan is a prisoner, a patient, or something else entirely, however we soon find out that Peter Mullan is not Peter Mullan at all. Now we understand that Jimmi Simpson’s grand plan, and perhaps Delos’ endgame, is to create a way to let human beings live forever - as hosts. Mullan’s failing health was foreshadowed in previous episodes, and it’s revealed his contingency plan was to abandon his dying body for a new and improved host life. As Jimmi and Mullan converse, everything seems fine, until Mullan begins ‘glitching’ out. The hybrid human/host mind failing to adapt to reality, and turning in on itself.

At the end of the conversation, we see Jimmi exit the room, which is really a glass observation tank in the middle of a lab, and order a redo of the experiment. This is an experiment that has been run many times before, with many different Mullan hosts, but always ending in failure. Apparently a redo involves burning everything down, including host Peter Mullan AND HIS PET FISH! I just don’t understand why the fish had to be burned to death every time. It seems needlessly cruel. Anyway we return to this scene, this conversation between Mullan and his son-in-law again, and again through the episode. As time passes, Jimmi delivers bleaker and bleaker reports from the outside world. First that Mullan’s wife had died, and then later his children as well (RIP Ben Barnes). Although the technology to keep Mullan’s consciousness in tact continues to develop, his connections to the outside world, to his “real” life, continue to fall away.

In the final series of scenes, Mullan is visited by the Man in Black, the man Jimmi Simpson has eventually become. The Man in Black has become introspective about Mullan’s quest for immortality. It seems to him to now to be pointless, why go on living just to live? Mullan’s family is gone, his company forever out his control, what is left for him in the waking world? The Man in Black also tells Mullan that people prefer the memory of the man, to the man himself, and maybe it’s better that way. The Man in Black has lost faith that this project, the melding of humans with hosts, is a good idea. That perhaps human life is better left finite, living forever only brings pain and loss, which the Man in Black knows personally from his wife’s suicide.  The Man in Black abandons the host Mullan to his cell, and instead of terminating the project he simply leaves the Mullan host to its own devices. Allowing it to occupy a purgatory space between man and machine. 

The Man in Black’s storyline in the present day complements his past interactions with Mullan in an interesting way. The Man in Black and Clifton Collins, Jr find themselves in CC Jr’s character’s hometown, where his storyline is complete with a wife and young child. However the homecoming is cut short when MiB and CCJ are ambushed by Jonathan Tucker and his surviving Confederados. Tucker’s crew is after the guns and nitro hidden in the town, which MiB mercilessly gives up in exchange for showing Tucker’s men the way to the mythical ‘Glory’. Thankfully Tucker gets to grandstand a little bit in these scenes, but still feel like this whole enterprise was a waste of Jonathan Tucker. Interestingly CCJ mentions MiB’s deceased daughter to him, a conversation the two of them had had in a storyline that should have been wiped from CCJ’s memory. Curious.

MiB is at first apathetic to Tucker’s torture and killing of the town’s residents. He has seen worse things happen to the denizens of Westworld, and these are just hosts after all. However as Tucker goes after CCJ, having his own wife bring him a shot of nitro, MiB has a change of heart, seemingly related to a flashback about his own life. MiB slaughters Tucker and his men, and saves CCJ’s life, at great personal risk to himself. This is a surprising about face from MiB, who ever since his youthful experience with Dolores, has regarded the hosts as little more than objects. Could he be feeling affection for his companion, or for the host population at large? Perhaps feeling regrets about a past life he failed to save. MiB’s relationship with CCJ has been one of the most consistent of his life, journeying miles and undertaking countless adventures with his host sidekick. After saving the day, MiB is confronted by CCJ’s daughter who speaks to him with Ford’s words. She tells him that one good deed doesn’t erase his past, to which MiB retorts “who said anything about a good deed?” His wry rejoinder suggests he only saved the town because he believed it’s what Ford would have wanted him to do as part of the game.  However I am not so sure this is the truth. The little girl replies that he shouldn’t look toward the future, suggesting the key to this game lies somewhere in MiB’s past. There could be a number of answers to that riddle including Dolores, and a family he all but abandoned in the real world. Although what stock Ford has in that remains to be seen.  

Elsewhere in the park, we follow up with Katja Herbers who has been taken prisoner by the Ghost Nation tribe. One of her fellow prisoners is Luke Hemsworth, answering the question of what happened to him when he was ambushed by the same warriors at the end of season one. Katja is surprisingly resourceful, she speaks the language of the Ghost Nation, and she tells Luke she has no desire to leave the park. They are brought before the Ghost Nation leader, Zahn McClarnon who we previously saw wining and dining Ben Barnes in flashback. Zahn whispers to Luke that “You live only as long as the last person who remembers you,” before he and his fellows mysteriously disappear. This behavior, coupled with the fact the tribe was killing captured hosts while sparing guests, suggests that something is definitely up with this faction. Zahn’s words though also tie into the larger themes of the episode. What is true immortality? Is it the imitation of life, or what we pass down to those after us. How will  MiB be remembered? How does he want to be remembered? What is he passing down?  The answer to at least some of that shortly.

Finally in the episode’s last major storyline Bernard is dragged by Clementine to the outside of a cave. Within the cave he finds Shannon Woodward, who he didn’t kill at the end of last season but rather imprisoned, as well as the entrance to a mysterious lab. I was at first happy to have Shannon Woodward back, but she soon began acting like the worst video game sidekick in the world. “What is that? What’s wrong with you? Where does that go? What’s happening?” Shannon, you KNOW what’s wrong with him! Jeez o pete. Anyway the lab is a place that Bernard seems to remember, and within it they find another scene of slaughter and bloodshed - both of scary blank hosts and human engineers alike. 

Eventually the two of them uncover the purpose of the lab, which is, you guessed it, to fuse humans and hosts and is consequently the home of host Peter Mullan. Mullan is now a horrific figure, vaulting between personalities as well as the terms of his own reality. After a tense fight, Shannon and Bernard decide to put him out his misery, terminating the project once and for all in a fiery burst which makes the dying Mullan appear to be the devil in Hell itself. And was he in Hell? Tormented in a state of consciousness that wasn’t quite life? Is there something worse than being dead? Was he even alive to begin with?

During this sequence Bernard has flashbacks to his previous experiences in the lab. We also come to learn that Bernard is seeing memories out of order. Even the discovery of the lab with Shannon is a memory he is having from a future, present date, meaning everything we are seeing has already happened in the Westworld timeline. More importantly he remembers coming to the lab to create a red ball that holds the human “code” to create another host/human hybrid (ala the doomed Peter Mullan). After taking the red ball he then orders the blank hosts to kill the human engineers, before topping themselves, putting an end to the lab’s operations. Presumably he was acting under Ford’s orders, which raises a very important question - WHO is the human/host the red ball was made to create? Who would Ford (if it is Ford) choose to bring back? I have thoughts.

In the episode’s final scene we see MiB’s party meet up with Katja Herbers who turns out to be...HIS DAUGHTER. Like her father, she too is well-versed in the parks, and approaches them with his same domineering attitude. However she is also currently my best candidate for the secret human/host, here is why. During MiB’s crisis of conscious that ends in his coming to CCJ’s rescue, we see flashbacks to a scene of suicide. We know that MiB’s wife (Peter Mullan’s daughter) killed herself, but were always told that she overdosed (with contention over whether or not it was accidental). However the flashbacks we saw were of blood in an overflowing bathtub, suggesting a much more violent death. Now it’s possible that his wife’s suicide was much different than reported, but I think this is not the death of his wife, but rather that of his daughter. If Ford is pulling the strings of this game, and it was he that ordered Bernard to create the human/host, it would make sense to bring back the daughter MiB failed as part of looking to the past. But again, what’s it to Ford to get such extravagant vengeance on MiB?  

All these storylines wove together to ask and play with the same thematic questions, what is death? What is a life worth living? And finally the question asked by the title of the episode “The Riddle of the Sphinx”: what is man? Westworld this week was coherent, engaging, and thoughtful. And it still got to have all the expensive violence it so dearly loves. Even though Jonathan Tucker didn’t stick around long, at least he got to explode. And that’s the kind of shit actors love. 

Lastly I would like to point out the dialogue exchange of “I’m not in California anymore am I?” “No, you’re not.” Just another little exchange referencing the general location of the park, which I still believe will be a major reveal of the season! This is the hill I am ready to die on. 

Peter Mullan forever,

Martha

[ongnable]

spring rain

a/n: This is basically the whole words flow series repackaged in ‘standard structure’. It’s all paragraphed without all my normal non-standard grammar (wow, it sounds kinda oxymoronic). 

Some of the writing is different - plot is the same, but writing is different! 

Between bullet-fics and paragraphed layouts... which would you guys want to see more of?

You slammed your laptop shut. Nothing was coming to mind. 

No. You want to laugh at how good you’ve become at lying to yourself. Many things came to mind. Problem was that nothing was good. Barely decent.

12 titles. 6 blockbuster movies. 3 on-screen adaptations. That’s everything under your name. Writing has always been your passion. Until - it stopped. And suddenly - it’s not. 

At least it’s not anymore.

When did it begin? Since when has your writing become nothing more than numbers and figures on lined paper? How long has it been since you’ve scratched ideas on coffee shop napkins with the busy chatter of students surrounding you, instead of sitting in front of your lighted screen on Saturday nights with takeaway?

It’s never been talent unlike what people said (unlike what your publisher wants the public to think). You wrote what you felt. What you experienced. Or what you wanted to explore.

But how were you supposed to do that when you’ve cut yourself off from the rest of the world?

Instead of a commercial hit; a shallow reflection of what people expected from you– you wanted something that felt like you. Maybe a romance… so real silent tears would slide onto the cold concrete jungle of Seoul. Or a tragedy… so honest it’d knock you off your feet and sweep you up to the clouds.

You wanted less pennies and more petals.

Your last editor - Bae Jinyoung, had quit when you told him of your intentions to publish your next title under a pseudonym. To begin anew with a fresh start. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t supportive of your idea since you two were friends first and business colleagues second; but it was rather because of the fact that the two of you were friends, that he thought he couldn’t do the right job for you.

“Justice for your work,” he'd said, as if Jinyoung thought he couldn’t do his job well enough, even though you knew he just lacked the confidence - being one of the youngest in the industry. 

Hence why you were currently staring at blank walls; waiting for the new editor that Jinyoung had promised you to arrive. The door clicks open a few seconds before the clock hits noon and he arrives exactly on the hour.

Hwang Minhyun.

Long fingers wrapped around the door knob, and feline features peeked through. The ethereal aura around him unchanged.

“Minhyun… oppa?” You weren’t sure whether he’d mind the familiar form of address, though you were high school acquaintances - you wouldn’t say you were particularly close.

He was the image of serenity personified; there was always something almost inhuman about Hwang Minhyun. Something that made him hard to approach. Everything from his existence to the words that flowed from him.

You still remember that nagging envy in your chest the first time you’d proofread for Minhyun during writing classes.

“Have you ever thought of publishing your work?” you’d asked, awed by his writing style - the way his words poured out like waterfalls over a cliff; and sentences streamed into each other as if his work was the delta to an ocean of emotions.

Reading his writing was like feeling a wave crash over you. Cleansing. And yet, it was as dynamic and turbulent and violent as could be despite the gentle currents he swirled his words in. Minhyun was the one that should be sitting on your chair.

What he said had caught you off guard - it had somehow resonated though out the years. 

“I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”

It had been a shock when you heard that he thought that way when the only aim you had was to make it big. To survive through your dreams. Looking back, maybe he intended those words for you too. A warning to treasure your work.

“Y/N? I didn’t know that I’d be editing for you when Jinyoung told me that a new writer was looking for help.”

Ah. Right. Not many people could put a face to your name. But Minhyun obviously could. Jinyoung probably didn’t expect Minhyun to recognise you and marketed you under a fake name. Panic unintentionally rose within - 

“Um. If it’s not convenient for you-“

“I don’t mean that I don’t want to, Y/N.”

That’s Hwang Minhyun. Honey sweet voice. All the right words. But despite their firmness - he never came off strong.

“I was just surprised. You’re very successful, Y/N. Jinyoung usually refers me to the young struggling ones that have just started out - but I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble since I’m working with such a talented writer.”

Reassuring words meant to rid you of worry. You’ve received them numerous times this year from numerous editors that have never read your drafts before. Attracted to nothing but your name. 

But for some reason. Minhyun sounds sincere, and you find yourself falling for his words.

Because Minhyun says it as if he believes what he’s saying.

“I think I know your problem.” Flipping through your newly printed draft - still warm from ink - Minhyun has a frown marring his handsome face. Regal features twisted in the unfitting position of a court jester.

"I always tell writers who are just starting out to stop trying to write a whole story all at once. In one sitting. To write small chunks whenever inspiration hits because they come in contact with so much each day. So they should just write down everything and come back to those snippets at another time… but you’re different,Y/N. You’re not a new writer. And you’re not lacking experience”

You read into everything he’s saying without much trouble. Minhyun says it so bluntly because he knows you’ll understand without harsher words.

You’ve been writing for too long. Started too young. You have too much experience. Your style is too recognisable.

“Tell me what to do then.” Despite your tone. Minhyun seems to know that what you say isn’t a challenge. It’s desperation.

A cry for help.

“For now. You need to stop writing completely. You’re not writing because you want to. This - work. It’s just that. It’s work. It’s not a piece I’d want to read.”

He hands it back. Places it on the desk as he slides it away from himself, back in front of you. Where it lays untouched. You don’t pay any attention to it.

“And I can tell it’s not something you want to read either.”

It wasn’t.

No other person has tried to understand your writing this way before. They’d simply read it as a consumer - never as another person trying to decipher your feelings. All of them had told you it wasn’t good.

But never why. Why wasn’t it good? Why they didn’t connect. Why it wasn’t enough. Because none of them could understand the reason those perfectly organised lines of words didn’t read right. Why they’d felt empty emotions despite the touching storyline and eloquent vocabulary.

"I want… I want pretentious words that cut deeper than spilled ink on paper.”

You wanted beautifully arranged words that were still relatable. Untouchable but close at the same time. To create a planetarium of sorts. Achievable and reachable. But seemingly out of the atmosphere.

"Does that make sense?”

“It does,” and he knows. He understands.

Minhyun takes your hand in his as if its the most normal thing to do, running his thumb down your knuckles until it reaches the disappearing dent on your pinky. A writer’s callous. 

How long has it been since you last held a pen instead of clutching your laptop?

Walking out as if his job was done, your eyes widened at the words he left you with.

"You want less pennies and more petals"

You don’t see Minhyun until three days later. Having taken his advice, you’ve been bingeing the drama series you never finished, re-reading the comics of your childhood, buying the new editions released for their 20th anniversary.

None of them give you the inspiration to write; but appreciation comes much easier. It’s a lighthearted way of enjoying stories - plots, the artistry; and to not think of it as inspiration for your own work. Something you haven’t done in a while.

On Monday morning; Minhyun shows up like the genie’s collected pixie dust and sprinkled it into your eyes. Out of the blue and looking beautiful, the long winter coat he’s wearing flattering on his tall figure.

“Come on.” He presses the space bar to pause your show abruptly. “I’m taking you out for coffee. Take a jacket with you.” In the years that you’ve known Minhyun as a student, he’s never struck you - as well ... demanding.

But the way he almost manhandles you into your thickest coat and insists that the two of you walk in the face of cold wind instead of taking the bus is a welcome surprise. Especially when he expertly fixes your hair when it gets attacked by the breeze, or the way he slips your hands into his pocket when you complain of them going numb,

In the years that you’ve been apart, he’s somehow transformed from the shy good looking class president into a self assured man who knows exactly what he wants to do with his life. 

And how to make your heart skip to a rhythm akin to the raindrops against the slanted windows of your attic.

Did he know that everything he does is heart fluttering?

The two of you finally reach a small cafe; delicate handwriting on black chalkboard menus, small round tables paired with hard chair, and glinting gold fixtures dangling dim lights. It’s by no means minimalist in it’s old world love affair, missing the contemporary modern flair of most coffee shops you frequent for their convenience instead of taste. You love it, but how did Minhyun even find this place?

I don’t remember him ever drinking coffee…

“Have you had coffee here before? My friend - Seongwoo - runs it.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice as Minhyun says it, and you’re happy that he’s found such great friends to share joy with. Found kind people to surround himself with. “He says that he makes the best in town.” 

“He says?” A smile creeps its way onto your face. Maybe Minhyun hasn’t changed that much.

“I don’t like coffee.” A giggle escapes you, and you’re not sure whether it’s the grimace on his face as he mentions the bitter drink that brings you laughter, or if it’s the fact that some thing never really do change.

“Then why’d you bring me to a cafe?”

“Because I know that you like coffee.”

The rush of warmth you feel has nothing to do with the steam rising from the hot coffee that arrives at the table.

A set of perfect not-so strangers face each other, and the curtains to your abandoned show have raised again.

Minhyun takes you out to eat more frequently from then on, popping into the your office randomly. It starts on Monday, then Wednesday and Friday, growing into every other day of the week. It doesn’t take long before he’s in your office at least one meal a day; making sure you’re actually having three meals a day and you fall into a comfortable type of companionship, whereby he frequently spoils you by bringing you to new places

‘In search of inspiration’ is what he says, but they feel a little too much like dates for you to not worry about thinking any deeper. You needed to know where you stand, and whether you need to put your guard up. To know if you should stop lucid dreaming in broad daylight.

“Are you dating anyone right now?”

Is there any jealous girlfriend I should watch out for in my sleep?

“No.” Minhyun laughs, fennec fox-like crinkle of eyes. “There’s no jealous girlfriend you need to be careful of.”

“But why?” You’re not shy of asking. especially when the man across you is Hwang Minhyun. You’re sure he was aware of just how popular he was at school, he wasn’t a child. People knew these things. There’s no way he isn’t more popular now.

“There’s someone I’ve chosen, and I don’t want anyone else.”

Which sounds a lot like something you’ve heard before - “I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”

The way he says it, looking into your eyes as if they were an ocean he was trying to measure the depth of makes you grip onto the edge of your sweater to control the slight tremble in your hands. 

Opening. Closing. 

Trying to hold something that wasn’t there. You grip a little tighter onto soft jersey. 

Trying to stop the urge to write.

“Y/N?” Minhyun rasps on the other side of the line, voice husky, and a nagging feeling develops in you when you realize he must’ve caught a cold. “I don’t think I can make it today.”

The line goes a little dead as you pull yourself together, working out the right words to say. It’s almost like you’ve put your ear to a seashell and you’re in a saltwater room fishing thoughts out of the water. Underwater caves sparingly empty of the nouns you’re looking for, and the verbs you want to use.

Somehow, you’ve gotten so used to having Minhyun by your side that the sudden loss of companionship will mean a strangely lonely week.

But why should you feel that way? It’s only a day or two.

“It’s fine; just focus on getting better.” You begin playing with miscellaneous objects scattered on your work area, twirling pens around your fingers, peeling off post it notes and sticking them back on top of the stack. Little things that normally bothered Minhyun. But what difference would it make today?

“Thanks. This is so embarrassing, I’m always telling you to take care of yourself and I’m the only one that falls ill.”

“Really, what am I going to do?” You joke, trying to lighten up the mood you’ve dampened. You mean it as in ‘what am I going to do with you?’ and Minhyun knows it too, but it doesn’t stop him from saying the words on his mind anyway.

“You can promise me to wearing warmer clothes, going out to eat instead of ordering takeaway, and don’t get sick as well.”

“I won’t.” You lie swiftly, answering perhaps - a little too quickly - for it not to be suspicious as you rustle through the newspapers and envelopes you kept by the door. Treasure hunting for a Chinese restaurant arranged into numerals.

“I really am sorry…” Minhyun trails off again and you cut him off to tell him to rest when you hear how much his voice is cracking.

“Honestly, just sleep. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

You’re lying down with your hand-rest as a makeshift pillow - and surely there’s going to be a imprint on your cheeks - when a sharp knock wakes you from a carb-triggered nap. 

Three curt consecutive knocks that you’ve become way too accustomed to.

“Minhyun-oppa? Is that you?”

I thought he wasn’t coming over today?

“Yeah…” A sniff responds from the other side of the door, the slight cold he’s attending to revealed in his nasally tone. “I’m coming in.”

“Sure, it’s not locked.” In your own disoriented drowsiness, sleep still in your eyes, even someone as handsome as Minhyun is being registered as a blur.

It’s no surprise that you completely forget about the state of your room.

“You promised to take care of yourself.” His nose crinkles at the familiar scent of jjajangmyeon, immediately recognisable as soon as he entered your office, before his gaze falls to scan what you’re wearing (or rather - what you haven’t hung behind your chair).

“I didn’t go out.” 

So I didn’t need to wear a coat.

“You probably didn’t even wear it when you went down to pick it up food earlier.”

Bingo. Minhyun knew your lazy habits too well.

“It’s no big deal. Look, I’ve let you in my office. You’re probably already spreading germs and I’m gonna end up ill tomorrow. So you should give me a long looong extension for when I need to hand you my first draft and just stay and take care of me since I’ll be sick because of you and - why are you looking at me like that?”

Pulling out the chair across you (what you now instinctively refer to as his chair); Minhyun sat, leaning his face on his palm as he tilts his head in that 45 angled way of his.

He has to know that he looks good like that. No one could ever hide anything from him if he interrogated them when looks at them this way.

“You called me oppa.” Furrowing your brows. you thought back to when you answered the door in your sleepy state. Caught unawares.

“Yeah, I did… do you… do you not like it?”

“No. It’s just you haven’t called me that since the first time we met.”

You pause. Deciphering the steady gaze he holds, un-betraying of how he feels towards the new form of address. “I can just call you Minhyun if you prefer that.”

“You can call me anything you chose, Y/N.”

minhyun oppa minhyun oppa minhyun oppa

You wanted to hide somewhere. Duck below the cold wood of your desk, lock yourself in Seongwoo’s stupidly coffee themed toilet, or even just trap yourself in that tiny fridge in the office. 

You didn’t expect to feel this way about Minhyun when he came back into your life. Rushing in as a plum rain flood.

Just saying his name sounds like a confession to your ears. You must’ve already known that you’d fallen in love with Hwang Minhyun. But to hear your own confirmation was crazy.

Addictive. Strange. And utterly crazy.

You’d always loved words. Characters. The way they rolled off the voice in your mind as you internally read them out. But those three syllables.... How could someone’s name have this effect on you? How did this happen?

You’ve somehow been seduced by his showering of easy affection, and the words he said in that sweeter-than-honeyed-tea voice. To wear warm clothes, eat healthy foods, and don’t get sick. Words that gave you strength and showed you love.

Minhyun looks at you curiously, his gaze soft and focused as you get lost in driftwood thoughts down the flowing stream of having your heart stolen from right across you. Just as always, there’s never judgement in his eyes. Never any assumptions.

He remained a strong cliff of support against the crashing waves of the expecting world.

You didn’t only fix my writing. You fixed me. I am okay because of you. 

you feel drowned by love as shy hands run down the waved line of your back; pushing your body flush against his and -

you love him you love him you love him

“You’re writing...” Minhyun looked up from the stack of papers - it’s the third? Fourth? Time you’ve handed him something - but the first time he’s said something instead of simply annotating. “You’ve got some of your old flair back lately. It’s incredibly stylized, but we can make it work.”

It’s a definite departure from your normal work - but since you’re releasing this as mobile novel under a pseudonym, the two of you thought trying out something new would be fun.

And you missed fun.

“Found inspiration again?” He always says that as if it’s some inside joke. But you supposed it was when ‘searching for inspiration’ somehow translated to going on a date these days. You just weren’t sure if he thought the same way.

“I guess you could say that.”

There’s a dumb smile on your face, and you’re entirely aware of how stupid you look because Minhyun is giving you a wide smile back and his eyes sparkle and you can see your own dorky face reflected in them - and god, you love that  - before he looks back down at your work.

Red pen in hand, Minhyun writes small notes over your thousand-paged love song for him.

“Can I tell you something?”

He looks up from the draft, curiosity unbidden. warm and welcoming, still blissfully unaware of your love.

Is he? You wonder. Can he not tell from your writing?

“Anything.”

“I think I know why my writing is better these days.”

He urges you to continue, by putting down the draft to look at you, “hm?” 

And there’s a look in his eyes that says that he knows too. And you hope he knows that it’s him. That he hasn’t misunderstood your stupid love for him as something else even more unexpected in a way that only Hwang Minhyun would misunderstand.

“I write best when I’m in love, and I used to be in love with writing. But these days I’ve found something I love even more.”

“That’s great.” The pen in his hand is dropped and he’s reaching closer to your own. Holding it as he runs his thumb along your knuckles like he always does without knowing what it does to your heart. Sending it into overdrive. "What do you love more? What have you found, y/n?”

“I found a muse for my writing. A siren to pair to my song.” 

Pulling your hand out of Minhyun's, you prop yourself up.

“Hwang Minhyun, I’m in love with you”

And you push yourself to reach him - to kiss him from across the table. Too scared to wait for his response to your confession.

Only when you feel him sigh against your lips and angle his head to move eagerly against you does the tension seem to leave your body. For what feels like eternity, you let your hands run through his hair, to trail down strong shoulders and grip on his arms while Minhyun holds you firmly against him. Supporting your face with long fingers and tracing the contours of your jawline. 

It’s all careful close lipped touches until you feel him pull you up onto the table and you’re about to open your mouth for more; because it’s been so long - and you crave this connection - this affectionate touch - and because it’s Minhyun - when he drops you on his lap and pulls away.

Scribbling onto your draft in fervent hurry.

“Wha-“

“You’re a liar.” A playful smile teases on his lips, feline features embracing their fox-like nature as his eyes transform into half-crescents.

“Huh?” You weren’t lying. You loved him!

“It didn’t feel like I was being drowned by love when we kiss at all.”

Blushing, heat flushing from your chest up. You finally realise what he’s on about.

Oh. The story. 

“You were rain in a drought."

So he did know it was about him!

The bright expression on his face wasn’t enough to make you forget this embarrassment so quickly. 

Why would he pretend to not know? 

You take it back. You take it all back! He wasn’t the siren to your song - some tragic hero that needed a pair - he was a nine-tailed fox that used winsome words to seduce lost souls. A predator who’s prey was too unaware and willing, and you were just a lamb in wolf’s clothing!

“Y/N. Can you say that you love me again?”

You looked up from his chest only to see him hiding his face behind the paper- held up to leave only his eyes uncovered. The tips of his ears burning red. “Why should I?” You’re still a little mad from before.

“So I can say I love you back. I was caught off guard the first time so I could’t say it back properly.”

Oh right. You’d cut him off with a kiss before letting him reply.

He’s lucky that you forgave easily.

“Minhyun-oppa.” You used the stupid form of address you used to loathe. The one that you let Minhyun tease you about. 

Your very first confession to him.

“I love you.”

“Y/N,” Minhyun reminisces back to his days of texting you to ask about assignments and staying up to wait on your replies. How he had first fallen for fancy words on draft paper against hard wood desks and chalkboard-dust rooms. Tiny letters a river of stars, dancing on milky way lines.

Fallen for a girl who realised her dreams with a lover’s mindset.

The one he let go of too early - didn’t know how to chase - only for fate to kick in at exactly the right time; and he gives you a soft smile.

The type that melted snow caps and formed streams in spring. The ones you write about to sell daydreams to young girls. 

Because happily-ever-afters apparently do exist.

"I love you more.”

Loved you since a long long time ago.

masterlist.

[charterhunter529]

Family Sketch

Helen Schatvet Ullmann, CG, FASG [adapted from the author’s article in New England Ancestors 8:3 (Summer 2007):41–42, 45]

Do you have a thick file or a notebook full of information you’d like to write up for your family? Or even boxes and boxes of it? Maybe your data is in Family Tree Maker or some other program. Or maybe you’re just in the beginning stages of your research. In any case, whether you just want to write about your grandparents or compile a whole book, the basic building block is the family sketch, treating a couple and their children in an organized and interesting way. Word processing, extremely flexible, is a wonderful tool for genealogists. Remember the old days when we had to cut and paste and retype, perhaps introducing new errors as we went along? About twenty years ago, NEHGS sponsored a seminar held at the Museum of Science here in Boston. My only memory of the whole day is Alicia Crane Williams saying, “As soon as you get a little information, put it in Register style. This is part of the research process.” So I went home and on my quaint little Apple IIe began transcribing old family group sheets crammed with information. My descendants might just take them to the dump! What is a family sketch? It’s just a story with a beginning, middle, and end. The beginning is the first paragraph that contains the vital information about the parents — all of it. So, if the reader later wants to check back to see just when your great-grandmother married her second husband, it’s easy to find. The middle is whatever you want, usually a biography in chronological order. It could include funny stories or a serious analysis distinguishing between your grandfather and another fellow who bore the same name. At the end is a list of children with their vital data. You may have mentioned each child as he or she joined the family, married, or died, in the biography above, but it’s still important to have a straightforward list of children at the end. Children for whom there is a lot of information may be continued in their own sketches. You can begin with just shreds of information. I started one sketch with my mother’s memories, her grandparents’ names and the recollection that she would sit on her grandfather’s lap and braid his side whiskers — plus the fact that he was a Congregational minister. Then I listed her mother, her aunt, and her uncles, using “Conversation with . . . ” and her name and relationship in footnotes. On the other hand, I have many folders of notes gleaned in the ’70s and ’80s, b.c. (before computers). It’s fun to open one, outline the family structure, and start adding information almost at random as I go through the file. As I work, I can see where I need to bolster a statement with pertinent analysis or where I could undertake more research. Before starting to write, you might read some sections in Genealogical Writing in the 21st Century,[1] especially the pages that diagram the different elements of the parents’ and children’s paragraphs. There isn’t space here to discuss all the fine points, including numbering systems.[2] Many other matters, such as whether to use abbreviations, are really your own personal preference. Generally the fewer the abbreviations, the smoother the reading. Complete sentences, rather than lots of semicolons, also make reading easier. Now you can just start writing. But here’s a suggestion: if you are going to start from scratch (as opposed to creating a “report” from your genealogy database), go to AmericanAncestors.org. Click on the Publication tab, then on theRegister, and then under Side Links, on “Download a Register Style Template for Microsoft Word.” Then “Download the Template!” If you have Microsoft Word on your computer, a document that can function as a template will open. I won’t repeat all that the template says, but it will help you format your sketch, especially those pesky children who appear in hanging paragraphs. This template contains all the “styles” that we use in the Register, everything from title to footnotes. The word “style” here does not refer to Register “style.” It is a word-processing term that refers to the format of each paragraph. When you open Word, you will be in “normal” style, but this paragraph is being written in “body text indent.” The only difference is that the first line is indented. Hanging paragraphs for children are more complicated. These paragraphs line up roman numerals on a “right tab.” There are even styles for quotations and grandchildren. If you’ve already arranged some material and want to use that template, simply copy your work into the blank template. First select your whole document and make sure it’s in normal style. Go to “Format,” then “Style,” and select “normal.” Delete all tabs and spaces you added to format the children. After pasting your work into the new document, save it under the name you want to use. Then review the text and select the “style” for each paragraph by placing your cursor in the paragraph and choosing the style from the Format menu. There should be a little window on your toolbar that lists the styles and offers a quicker route. You can select many paragraphs at once. (A technical detail: if you want to edit the style in any way, say choosing a different font or left-justified text, go to the Format menu, choose “Style,” and click on “Modify.”) In the Register we generally use “normal” style for the first paragraph where the parents’ vital data appear. Then we switch to “body text indent” for the biography. We introduce the children with a “kid’s intro” style and then choose “kids.” When you use that style, hit tab, then the first Roman numeral and a period, then hit tab again. Both tabs will then appear, and you can start typing the child’s name. Small caps are very elegant here. Notice that we include the surname for each child. Then there’s no doubt about the surname and indexing is easier. If you want to list grandchildren, you’ll find the “grandkids” style works a little differently. No tabs needed. Just type the arabic numeral and a period. Then two hard spaces help the names line up nicely [use Control-Shift-Space]. In the Register we use italics for grandchildren’s names. Even the footnotes and footnote references have their own styles. We encourage you to cite your sources for everything. Footnotes are much handier if your readers will really use them, but endnotes may seem less intimidating. The basics of citation format are not difficult. Look at issues of the Register for examples. A current guide is Evidence!,[3] good to have at hand, but the Register often uses simpler formats. The Chicago Manual of Style is also helpful.[4] It saves time to enter the notes correctly the first time. (By the way, the footnote reference number goes after the punctuation.) A further hint about writing style: try reading your work out loud. Are you using empty phrases you would never use when talking? Can you say something more concisely? Are your sentences really sentences? Passive voice — “The ball was hit by the boy,” rather than “The boy hit the ball” — deadens the tone. And proofread, proofread, proofread. You’ll improve your sketch every time.

All the best Family Sketch Images 38+ collected on this page. Feel free to explore, study and enjoy paintings with PaintingValley.com. As I look toward shifting to a different family line in my own research, I think I’m going to take the time to write a bio sketch for the main ancestor I’ve been researching, George Washington Adams (1845-1938) before I say goodby to him for a little while. I think it should be a fun exercise. 93,432 family sketch stock photos, vectors, and illustrations are available royalty-free. See family sketch stock video clips. Family future plan group of sketch family people walking in the garden building a family sketches of future family design interior family sketch color family and money family with money thinking wall.

Finally, for the “icing on the cake,” dress up your sketch with illustrations! Insert photos, autographs, pictures of houses and gravestones, the ship on which your ancestors crossed the ocean, maps — whatever you can find. Your final product should be elegant and attractive, not just to your children but to their grandchildren and beyond.

Sidebar:

A few little tips

Commas and periods go inside a closing quote; semicolons outside.

Footnote reference numbers come after the punctuation.

Titles of published books should be italicized.

Titles of articles and unpublished materials need quotation marks.

Titles of sources such as land, probate, and vital records do not need italics or quotes unless they are published.

Proofread on another day.

Try reading your prose out loud!

Sidebar 2:

Polishing that database reports

In word processing you can discuss all sorts of nuances of dates, places, and identities wherever they seem to fit. Such additions are not so easy when working with a genealogy database. There are quite a few differences between what we consider Register style and the quasi-Register-style report generated by most genealogy programs. If you are using one of these programs, here are some things to consider.

Once you have generated a report, it will carry its own set of word-processing “styles.” You can just accept them, or eliminate all of them by selecting the whole document and putting it in “normal” style as described above, then copying it into a blank Register template. If you do so, eliminate any sex designations for the children first. (You can easily comment on any unusual name in the text or a footnote.)

Family Sketch Clipart Black And White

You should make some other changes as well. First, consider the order of the information. Do the wife’s name and vital data appear after the husband’s notes, with notes on her following? Move information on the wife into the husband’s paragraph and integrate her notes with his. Next, did you document those notes with citations in parentheses? All citations need to be moved into footnotes (or endnotes if you prefer). Multiple footnotes for the same piece of data should be combined into one note, with semicolons between the different sources. You must also consider the format of names, dates, and places. Small caps are good for names, but your report will probably have a mixture of lower and upper case. Capitalizing names of the parents of husband and wife would be distracting. Place names don’t require a county or state after first use in each sketch, but it’s helpful to the reader to add “County” where appropriate. Postal codes are also distracting. In the Register we spell out the names of months and states in the main text and abbreviate them (except those with five letters or less), with periods, in the children’s paragraph

Family Sketch Picture

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1Michael J. Leclerc and Henry B. Hoff, ed., Genealogical Writing in the 21st Century, 2nd ed. (Boston: NEHGS, 2006). 2See Joan Ferris Curran, Madilyn Coen Crane, and John H. Wray, Numbering Your Genealogy: Basic Systems, Complex Families, and International Kin, National Genealogical Society Special Publication No. 64 (Arlington, Va.: National Genealogical Society, 1999). 3Elizabeth Shown Mills, Evidence! Citation & Analysis for the Family Historian (Baltimore: Genealogical Publishing Co., 1997). The introductory sections of this book are especially valuable. 4The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th ed. (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2003).

Cartoon Drawing Of A Family

This book publishes, for the first time in full, the two most revealing of Mark Twain’s private writings. Here he turns his mind to the daily life he shared with his wife Livy, their three daughters, a great many servants, and an imposing array of pets. These first-hand accounts display this gifted and loving family in the period of its flourishing. Mark Twain began to write “A Family Sketch” in response to the early death of his eldest daughter, Susy, but the manuscript grew under his hands to become an exuberant account of the entire household. His record of the childrens’ sayings—“Small Foolishnesses”—is next, followed by the related manuscript “At the Farm.” Also included are selections from Livy’s 1885 diary and an authoritative edition of Susy’s biography of her father, written when she was a teenager. Newly edited from the original manuscripts, this anthology is a unique record of a fascinating family.

[erika-de-claire]

☾ cute character questions ☽

THE BASICS.

NAME : Erika Florence De Claire Pace (usually going by one of the surnames)


AGE : 16, mentally and physically. 


ZODIAC SIGN : Gemini.


ONE GOOD TRAIT : Gentle.


ONE BAD TRAIT : Anxious.

HABITS.

ONE BAD HABIT : Erika has a bad habit of shying away from most social situations. Only occasionally growing the courage to go to parties and such in which, even then, she still needs Giggles or a close friend by her side so she isn't left with a bunch of people she doesn't know. She struggles to make conversation.


ONE GOOD HABIT : Erika has a good habit of simply remaining polite. She's noticed that many people- especially towards somebody who isn't like them- jump too quickly to singling a person out and being rude. She often causes herself to go overboard with it, however. 


ONE HABIT THEY CAN’T BREAK : Erika can't seem to break her habit of being overly concerned for people. Even in the slightest issue, she will be the one panicking more than the person who is hurt. While she can easily help people when medical care is needed. She worries greatly and this can lead her to becoming a little bit overprotective and doing everything she can to ensure a person's safety.


ONE THEY’VE BROKEN : One habit that Erika has managed to break was a scratching habit. Being a ghost one wouldn't expect her to get hurt. But when her anxiety or PTSD would act up, scratching was a nervous habit and often did cause some ectoplasm. She was lucky enough to break this while dealing with her anxieties, having Giggles become a proper support animal also helped.


WHAT THEY’RE AFRAID OF : The one thing that frightens Erika the most is that the person she once loved, who took advantage of it and hurt her. Will return someday, she fears that he may find her friends and hurt them or try to come back into her life. She knows he is still out there and the things he can do.

FAMILY.

THEIR PARENTS NAMES : Randall Pace and Emily De Claire.


THEIR SIBLINGS NAMES : None


FAVORITE CHILDHOOD MEMORY : Erika has many wonderful childhood memories but one of the best was when she went to her first party in the mansion. She was around four or so and at that time, very confident. She still remembers watching the ghosts in the ballroom dance and watching in awe as the organist played his music. She could've sat and watched the entire time, and she almost did! It's possible this was one of the things that got her so into music.


FAVORITE CHILDHOOD TOY : Erika was very spoilt by the other ghosts, though her favourite toy had to be a plush rabbit that was made for her at birth. As a young ghost she would be carrying it in her arms everywhere, when she grew out of her first ballet shoes, she would put the old ones on the rabbit. She still has it kept in a safe place in the mansion. The rabbit was called 'Snowbell'. Possibly because of its white colour.


EMBARRASSING STORY : To Erika, slipping up ever so slightly in front of people can be considered humiliating. Though, she will never get over the time that she slipped up very badly at one of the parties in the mansion. The entire night just wasn't for her, first she showed up and had forgotten to do her hair- it was stuck in the scruffiest ponytail- then she kept getting mixed up in conversations, to a point that she gave just a bit too much away. Other ghosts even wondered if she was drunk! Thankfully, she wasn't, she just was just feeling under the weather.

FAVOURITE FAMILY MEMBER : Erika loves every member of her ghost family unconditionally but nobody can even try to compare to both of her parents.


A STORY ABOUT THAT FAMILY MEMBER : The amount of wonderful stories Erika has with her parents throughout her unlife could make a whole saga of their own. Though, she really does appreciate hearing the story of how her mother and father reunited in the afterlife and got to love eachother freely.

WHAT THEY PREFER.

COFFEE OR TEA ? Tea, her favourite type is Camomile or English Breakfast, the sweeter the better.


SHOWERING IN THE DAY OR NIGHT ? Day, specifically in the morning. Especially in Auradon, it is just a good way to get started and freshened up without seeming completely dead all day.


TAKING BATHS OR TAKING SHOWERS ? Baths, she finds them incredibly relaxing and loves settling down in a nice warm bath with a good book and warm drink. Especially in winter.


TV OR MOVIES ? WRITING OR READING ? Movies, she loves being able to have movie nights with her friends and especially going to the cinema to see new releases, which she had been doing since she started in Auradon. She loves both writing and reading, being an extreme bookworm as well as having a love for all kinds of literature, Erika won't deny having read many classic forms of the art and even written a few poems and songs.


PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC LOVE ? Both, Erika has a deep love for her friends that can never be broken and will always remain loyal to them, and while her experience romantically turned out awful for her, she still has hope in a better romantic future.


ICED TEA OR LEMONADE ? Lemonade, she has tried Iced Tea and it doesn't sit with her right- she prefers hot tea- lemonade also just works for those summer days.


ICE CREAM OR SMOOTHIES ? Ice Cream, Erika is very fond of Ice Cream on a warm day, her favourite flavor often changing.


CUPCAKES OR CAKE ? Cupcakes, Erika can't eat much regular cake as she only eats small portions- always being told 'you eat like a sparrow!' - so cupcakes are much easier to finish.


BEACH OR MOUNTAINS ? Beach, Erika has never been to the mountains but aside from the salt water- she did enjoy a trip to the beach one summer with her friends.

FAVOURITES.

SONG : Erika doesn't have just ONE favourite song, but she does find enjoyment in many modern songs- especially those with a more alternative style or even musical soundtracks. Her favourite song changes often but at the moment it's 'This is Me' by Keala Settle. She even learned the dance.


BAND : Erika hasn't listened to many bands lately and is still figuring out her favourite.


OUTFIT : This is a tie, Erika wears many flowy and frilly dresses that all make her feel beautiful- especially to dance in. One of which being a pale indigo dress that she actually altered herself. Very simple but it works for most occasions. Another is a simple white shirt and long blue skirt- she wears stuff like these on days where her mental state is at its lowest and she can't bring herself out of her room. It's something comfy and light, though it may look frumpy, she doesn't care.


PLACE : Erika has a fondness of many spots in the mansion, though the attic is the one she holds the most dear.


MEMORY : Erika has too many memories that make her smile and fill with glee. Asking her would even send her into an indecisive frenzy.


PERSON : She just doesn't have one! There is so many people that mean a lot to her.


MOVIE : For Erika her favourite is actually a tie between 'The Greatest Showman', 'Murder on the Orient Express' and the 'Sherlock Holmes' movies. The first being a musical that she fell in love with- especially considering she was considered an 'oddity' amongst Auradon students. While 'Murder on the Orient Express' and the 'Sherlock Holmes' movies are adaptations of some of her favourite books by Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle- though these could just be biased due to her love of the books.


SHOW : Erika usually watches whatever is on at the time and doesn't have one favourite- she's more of a movie person.

TV!

TAGGED BY : @theheadlessgroom


TAGGING : anyone else who would like to do it!

[academiablogs]

Lessons About the Novel, From Finishing My First Novel

This week, I got my first rejection on a full manuscript. Three months and a handful of days into querying, I received a kind but stern “no” on my first novel. And I won’t lie- it stung. It doesn’t matter how many novels we’ve written since, nor how distant I claim myself from this book: rejections hurt. But after nursing my wounds on poetry and wine, I final;y understood one of those universal truths: your first novel is the hardest to sell.

And that can feel a bit unfair to the novice author. First novels, statistically, take the longest to write and revise. We toil over them with ink, and sweat, and tears, striving so much just to finish, polish, and share with the whole wide world. The greats got their first novels published, after all; surely you can too? There’s a six-figure deal in the wings, just waiting for you. Surely Warner Bros. will call you any day now for a seven-movie adaptation, pleasing your wondrous fanbase?

The reality of the first novel is much less glamorous, and more about becoming a novelist. To learn, after all, we must first try. We must fail, climb, change, and grow. This is true of life, and it’s true of writing. And I can think of no better example than the story of my first novel, and what I learned from writing it.

 If you dug through my old, old, old notes, I mark Chimehour's start point in 2012, which is half true. That summer, I scratched out concepts for a bunch of stories that I will probably never write. Almost 20, and not yet in college at this point. A good friend and I sat down one slow afternoon to kill time. The following conversation unravels:

           “There should be a story about a seer therapist who deals with troubled monsters and fae. Like, he solves problems that way rather than having weapons and powers, like in Natsume’s Book of Friends.”

This is not Chimehour yet. But it plants a thought in my head.

My good friend and I started clashing. We were fighting; then we stopped the fighting, because we stopped talking. Unrelated issues unfold when I’m caught in a head-on collision with a drunk driver, leaving permanent damage to my leg. Your life does flash before your eyes in incidents like that, and you realize you still have a lot to do at 20.

In the following September, I sat down and wrote a prologue. The same prologue that begins Chimehour, sans some changes and edits.

I also begin the new year by losing that prologue to computer failure. I save what I can and start again. I begin camping out at my nearest Starbucks, and tell a couple of people that I’m writing a “steampunk zombie story.” I begin filling binders with notes, pictures, maps, dialect quirks, mythology. socioeconomics, and any related thing I can get my hands on. I spend the next year drafting this book and its sequel, from January to November.

And how much of that draft still exists, you might ask? One scene- maybe two. There’s a fight in the middle of the book where my protagonist first faces off this manic Druid. It was written at 4am to the tune of a lot of caffeine; it was the best writing session I’ve ever had to date, and the scene still reads perfectly. Everything else? Edited, revised, or thrown out. Because first drafts are always going to be pretty bad. Finishing them is the first step. Don’t fear the re-writes.

Revision was much larger task than I expected. I suspect this puts new authors off from editing a lot, because you return to a first draft a month later, only to find your precious novel is imperfect. Dare I say-  messy. I treated this as a crisis for a bit, but eventually buckled down and began taking Chimehour apart. Re-reading, rewriting, and editing with two early readers for almost six months. A break, then I did it again: read, revise, rewrite, each pass making the story a little clearer. Working with different, trusted early readers and beta readers also helped clarify something- that authors do not always have the clearest perspective about their work.

In fact, they probably have the least clear perspective, muddled by closeness and the high of a first draft. My earliest readers picked out weakness and oddness in my writing that I might otherwise miss, allowing me an easier path with editing. Yes, I had to kill some darlings along the way, but editing isn’t a defamation of the author’s vision. Rather, it’s refinement; it’s the polish that makes the project sparkle.

I revised for almost three years, writing a few new projects along the way. A lot happened in that span of time (so much, it could easily fill a whole other blog), and slowly, I felt myself returning to Chimehour with less to say. When I finished a round of revisions early this past spring, I realized that there wasn’t any more I could do it. It wasn’t perfect yet, but… I was finished. This was hard to stomach, the idea that you will stop pulling returns from a project, and it can still be flawed. But then, I’ve heard plenty of stories about books that have been edited to death. NYT bestseller, Shannon Sanders, talks about how her first novel was deemed unpublishable due to over-editing. There comes a day where you recognize that your book- your baby, has grown up and entered the University of Queries and Publishing. You, the author, must now step aside and let the work speak for itself. It is no longer your work, but the world’s to read.

It’s hard. It’s heartbreaking, and there’s still so much rejection to be found. You look back at the years of writing, revision, and work, wondering if that journey was really worth it?

And the short answer is yes. Because novels aren’t just about finishing and publishing and fame. This is why it’s silly to compare yourself to other authors, because novels are the product of learning, and becoming a better novelist than the one you were yesterday. It’s also about learning to be a better you, in some ways. I know the person I was when I started Chimehour is not the person I am today, and I have my book to thank for that.

I started a new novel this year, unknowing of the roads it will open. But it’s that beautiful? When we start a novel- our first or our fifty-fourth, our work with it is more about a journey than a destination. It is about the lessons we learn, the projects we finish, and the person we become through creating something new.

[thedeadfairy]

I started writing this as a response to @smolchoruschild​ asking about advice creating a fan-musical from scratch but it was answered before I finished typing it, so I’m putting it on my own blog - under a because it got super super long...

CASTING

Smallest possible cast. The last thing you want for a low-budget original amateur production is to be herding thirty people around.

Having people play multiple roles is a good workaround, but only if you can swing it.

Reliable, calm, consistent people who aren’t as strong will be better for writing a new work than flightly, dramatic powerhouse divas. When you’re devising new work, you really need to be able to work well with your cast.

Go into auditions with a clear idea of what you want for each character, but be completely prepared to throw that out the window when someone walks in and shows you what you didn’t realise you needed.

If someone comes in with a cool weird skill, find a way to let them use it!

SCRIPT

The general rule of thumb is one minute per page, but I have basically never found that to be true, especially with musicals.

Consider whether you want or need an intermission, or whether one is even possible. Nothing wrong with a one-act. Lots of things wrong with a three-hour one-act.

Err on the side of cutting too much and making it too short. Unless you’re Stephen Sondheim or Lin Manuel Miranda, you’re not going to be able to cram thousands of pages of story into a manageable running time.

Go narrow but deep. It’s better to pick a few meaningful moments and to them really well than to do a shallow skim of five hundred things.

Homestuck is huge and confusing and you’ll need to focus on making something enjoyable whether or not it actually makes sense. American Idiot and 35mm don’t really bother with the pretense of a coherent plot, but they work as musicals. A cabaret kind of vbe can allow you to jump around a bit more without worrying about connecting all the dots.

Show, don’t tell. I know this is the most trite writing advice ever, but it’s so true for script. This is actually something that can be annoying in a lot of manga to anime adaptations. Information doesn’t need to be conveyed verbally if it can be conveyed through sound or movement. You can almost think of words as a last resort.

SONGS

Before anything else, decide what ratio of speech to song you want, and whether you want songs to be distinct from spoken conversation or whether you want them to flow into each other. This will affect how your writers work, and whether, if your lyricist and script writer are separate, they need to match their writing styles.

Since you’re the ones writing the music, write it to suit your actors’ ranges and timbres. It’s okay to have close harmonies instead of full SATB arrangement. It’s okay to have songs with a modest range that sits right in the actor’s sweet spot.

Consider whether you want prerecorded tracks or a live band. Tracks give you more options for different orchestrations, and they’re logistically easier. A live band gives you the freedom to add in vamps, fermatas, and other on-the-fly adjustments. If you know a few people with decent keyboards who will play for free - well, they’re unicorns. But live accompaniment is always my preference if it’s at all an option.

If you want to use riffs from canon songs, ask. The worst that can happen is being told no.

Know how you’re getting the music to your cast. Sheet music and MIDI rehearsal tracks are what I would use. Sibelius can export both of those, but it’s pricey. Noteflight has free accounts and the benefit of shareability, but the free account can only hold ten files at a time. You can back them up to your hard drive and delete them to make more room.

COSTUMES/PROPS/SET

It only needs to look good from where the audience is sitting. Five feet? Yeah, they’ll see everything. Twenty? Nobody will see the hot glue strings, but you’ll want to go for higher contrast and more simple colour blocking.

If you cannot move it yourself, it’s not happening.

I’m coming at this as someone very fond of blackbox theatre, but with sets and props? Go minimalist. If you’re not Wicked or Phantom, the audience is not there to see a gondola or a moving clock tower. They’ll fill in the details if you give them the opportunity.

That said, if you somehow have the ability to back-project, do it. Not all spaces are set up for this, but if it’s available it’s a relatively simple thing that punches way above its weight in visual impact.

Consider the limitations of your space, then get creative. The last thing I did had basically no budget, and zero crew other than the actors, and it was performed in a rehearsal studio, so no backstage/wings/catwalk available. Our lighting instruments included camera flashes, flameless candles, keychain flashlights, phone screens, two LED spots in actors’ laps, a desk lamp and a floor lamp from someone’s apartment, a light-up kettle, and christmas lights. Our only real sound equipment was a wireless speaker jammed in someone’s pocket and a laptop left open on a chair in the audience. Would any of it have passed muster on Broadway? Oh hell no. Did it work for what it needed to be? Yes.

Crowdsource. But do so with the understanding that props get damaged sometimes.

Check if there are any special regulations you need to follow with your prop weapons, if they bear even a passing resemblance to the real thing.

MISCELLANEOUS

Pick a few areas to be harebrained and wildly ambitious, then make everything else a hundred times smaller and simpler than what you think you can handle. They will not stay small or simple.

If (when) your team comes to disagreements, have a neutral party designated to act as a mediator. Be willing to compromise. You can choose to die on this hill, but only if you understand that everyone has their own hill on which to die.

Know your venue as far in advance as possible. The more time you can get in the space, the better. If not, you can tape out your dimensons and design and rehearse the whole thing with your actual performance space in mind.

Check in with everyone and make sure information is being received and understood. You don’t want to choreograph a whole fight only to hear that the one actor’s costume absolutely will break if they do that fall, or spend a week rehearsing three verses that have been totally rewritten. Just make sure you’re all on the same page and never assume that everyone knows everything without actually checking.

Chill. Seriously, chill. Nothing needs to be perfect. This is not a life or death situation. Work hard and commit, but don’t make yourself sick or blow up your social life or put yourself in unsafe situations. That doesn’t help anyone. You’re doing this because you love it and it’s fun and you get to play around with cool people. If it totally bombs, you can shrug it off and do better next time.

[adamhhutchins]

Twitch for Android: From Meme to Dream

Meet PogDroid, our beloved Android app, to watch the latest memes unfold live while on the go. PogDroid started with very humble beginnings, and has seen incredible growth in the past couple of years. We quadrupled the team, redesigned the entire app, and rewrote most of it in only a few months using the latest and greatest Android has to offer.

Buckle up: this is PogDroid’s epic adventure.

Level 1: Meme app with big dreams

Back in March 2017, PogDroid was maintained by a very small team of engineers, and covered the most basic functionality of Twitch: browse and watch a stream with Chat.

Old PogDroid, before the big makeover

Mobile, and Android in particular, was getting more and more users, and the company decided it was time for a serious investment in PogDroid. The plan was to give the app a fresh new look, and build up some important features that were missing. The team grew only a little bit, but were tasked to take on this big project.

As with most apps maintained by a very small team, the code structure was a mess. It became clear that such a big redesign compounded with adding new features could not be built cleanly on top of the current foundation. There was no common pattern to build screens, not a single unit test, and a lot of core classes were more than 3,000 lines of code long, with very complex state management, handling everything from network requests to UI rendering.

We all agreed that in order to make PogDroid what we were dreaming of, we first needed to rethink its foundations.

Step 1: Agree on a common architecture pattern

The first thing we did is come up with a common design pattern to build features and screens. We wanted this design pattern to be:

easy to understand

hard to get wrong

flexible enough to be applied to any feature or screen

easy to unit test

We quickly settled on a straightforward MVP pattern that looks like this:

With these layers in mind, it became easy to categorize the type of classes we needed for every feature:

Typical classes living in the Data Layer:

API

Repository

Models

Typical classes living in the Presentation Layer:

Presenter

Tracker

Typical classes living in the View layer:

AdapterBinder (wrapper that manages our RecyclerView adapter)

ViewDelegate (wrapper that inflates and holds our actual Android views)

With this design pattern and injected dependencies (manually, with static create methods for now), writing unit tests for the data and presentation layer became extremely easy, removing any excuse for not testing your code.

The team quickly adopted the pattern and started rewriting all our main screens in this fashion, adding unit tests in the process! It was also easy to onboard new team members to write consistent code with the rest of codebase.

Having a common pattern that everybody agreed on really accelerated the pace of development of new features and screens, and the team got really good at it. In only three months, we had completed the redesign of the app along with big new features, with around 70 percent of our main screens rewritten from scratch, and about 15 percent unit test code coverage. By this point, the team had tripled, but was still quite small.

New PogDroid, after the big makeover

Level 2: Stronger, but can do better

With PogDroid’s foundations much stronger and consistent and the big redesign project shipped, we could start focusing on modernizing the codebase.

Twitch + Kotlin

The first big change that we introduced was adopting Kotlin. The day after it got officially supported by Google in June 2017, we committed our first Kotlin class, and we’ve never looked back since then. The whole team adopted Kotlin in a flash, and today, our whole Android repository is more than 70 percent Kotlin code.

Github repo code distribution

We learned a lot along the way, coming up with our own style guide, some useful extension functions, and of course, getting a few Java interop Null Pointer Exceptions in production. The whole team loves Kotlin and agrees that we all write cleaner, more concise code than we did with Java.

Twitch + RxJava

The next big shift in our codebase was the introduction to RxJava. Adoption of RxJava took a bit longer compared to Kotlin, as it requires a slight change of mindset. But with internal team presentations, code examples, helper classes, Kotlin extensions, and a healthy amount of mentoring, we got everyone on the team comfortable with leveraging RxJava.

Handy async() extension function

But just like with Kotlin, the team has now fully adopted it and would never look back. We use it for everything from networking to state management to UI events. Callback hells are a thing of the past and so are memory leaks, thanks to convenient automatic disposing using Kotlin extensions. Unit testing state changes involving background tasks also became easier.

Another useful extension function to subscribe asynchronously and dispose automatically

Twitch + Dagger2

Quickly following the Kotlin introduction to the codebase, one of our team members started to push for dependency injection. We chose Dagger2 as our DI framework of choice, and started working on a separate branch to integrate it. Once we had a clean working example and basic dependencies setup, we had a formal presentation on the library benefits, adoption strategy, and demo. After hearing the benefits, the team voted for a broad adoption of it and we distributed tasks among every team member to “daggerize” their features and screens, and prioritized them by having a full “Dagger Day,” where everybody paused their feature work to get familiar with Dagger and integrate it in parts of the app they were familiar with. This process was very successful, and we now have most of our dependencies managed by Dagger which further accelerated our pace of development.

Twitch + GraphQL

While we were pretty happy with Retrofit handling our network stack, Twitch services were rapidly migrating to GraphQL in an effort to consolidate all our APIs. At the time, the only available GraphQL library for Android was Apollo, which back then was in a pre-alpha state. We had to make the choice of either writing our own GraphQL client, or take the risk of adopting a very early-stage library for something as critical as our network stack.

After consideration, we chose Apollo despite being so early stage, because it’s open source and the team behind it was easily accessible and responsive through Slack. A few experiments and bug reports later, we went all in on GraphQL and successfully migrated about 90 percent of our API calls. We love how flexible we can be with our queries without needing support from our backend teams to expose mobile-specific APIs.

Twitch + Espresso

Another area we wanted to improve on is our automated testing. We have a manual QA team, and they were getting more and more overwhelmed with the amount of new features to test, as well as the usual regression testing. We wanted to make their life easier by automating as much regression testing as possible and incorporate it closer to our development process.

In order to effectively write those integration tests, we leveraged Espresso and Kotlin, writing our own components so that they can be used with a simple and readable DSL.

A simple, readable UI test

This greatly helped the team to write their own integration tests for their features, and similarly to the “Dagger Day,” we did a few “UI Test days,” where everybody took the day to focus just on writing UI tests. It was a great opportunity to ramp up those who didn’t have much experience and get the ball rolling on writing more UI tests. We now cover most of the regression test cases with a nightly job that helps us catch issues much earlier than before.

Level 3: We made it here, now what?

Fast forward to 2019, PogDroid is in a good place. We know how to write features cleanly in a consistent way, our tech stack is modern and pleasant to work with, and we have enough tests in place that we feel confident taking on big refactors and code changes. But we’re not stopping there. We still have much to do!

Here’s some of the platform projects we’re currently working on:

App Bundles: we just changed our build scripts and release process to deploy App Bundles to Google Play instead of APKs, reducing our final APK size by 44 percent!

Modularization: as we grow the team even more, we want the code boundaries to be clearer than they are now. That means breaking down our app into core and feature modules. This will also help our build times and prepare us to adopt new trends like Dynamic Delivery and Instant Apps.

A more reactive MVP pattern: now that the team is familiar with RxJava and MVP, we’re taking our pattern one step further by using a state/event propagation approach using Rx. This makes unit testing more resilient to code changes and further reduces the coupling between view delegate and presenter.

We also have some other big mobile platform projects in the pipeline:

Video and Chat performance monitoring tools and reports

Automated analytics framework

Revamped experimentation framework

Server-driven UI framework

And more! Stay tuned for more blog posts from the mobile team about those topics.

Interested in helping shape the future of PogDroid? We’re hiring in San Francisco and Seattle!

Twitch for Android: From Meme to Dream was originally published in Twitch Blog on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

[vileart]

The Red Chair of Dramaturgy: Sarah Cameron on tour

Clod Ensemble

The Red Chair – Scotland 2017 

Written and performed by Sarah Cameron

Produced in association with Fuel

Directed by Suzy Willson 

 Music by Paul Clark

Touring Scotland for the first time, Sarah Cameron’s towering solo performance is a delicious feast for the imagination performed in luscious Scots dialect and served with tasty morsels 

A contemporary take on folk and fairytale storytelling traditions, The Red Chair is a surreal ballad populated with larger than life characters which draws the audience into the extraordinary world of a troubled family, living together but each trapped in their own lonely worlds. Told in a saucy Scots dialect, The Red Chair tells the darkly humorous story of a father who eats and eats until he turns into the chair he is sitting upon, the wife doomed to cook his meals and their 'inveesible' daughter.

The epic and lyrical narrative takes audiences on a journey through a landscape of twisted reason, extreme compulsion and eye watering complacency, where domestic drudgery happens on an operatic scale and a father’s dereliction of duty reaches epic proportions. At three points in the show, audiences are invited to try tasty nibbles sourced from local suppliers and a dram of whisky to oil the way.

Created in collaboration with Dundee-born Sarah Cameron and based on her original book, The Red Chair is performed with the physical vitality that has become a trademark of Clod Ensemble’s work, rooted in the training that both Sarah and director Suzy Willson received at the Jacques Lecoq school in Paris. Woven into the production is an original sound score created by Clod Ensemble co-artistic director Paul Clark.

Director Suzy Willson said “Clod Ensemble usually works with music and is movement based work rather than being centered around text. We had worked with Sarah Cameron as a performer for many years but had no idea she could write too, so when she showed us the book she had been working on called The Red Chair, we were blown away by the quality of the language. Sarah is a virtuosic physical performer as well as a sculptor -the story felt to us like a kind of sculpture of words and we immediately wanted to hear and see her telling it.”

Writer and performer Sarah Cameron said: “A Scottish tour is a thrilling prospect as it is an opportunity to bring the work back to its natural home. The language and the dialect of conjurer’s up the wild beauty of the Scottish landscape. The text speaks of family and ancestry and in many ways is a romantic remembrance of Scotland, which is ingrained within my being and my heart.”

 I'd better be careful: I might be out of my depth talking about storytelling. But reading the synopsis for The Red Chair, I am struck by the way it could go two (out of many) ways. On the one hand, it reads like a fantastic fairy tale for younger audiences; on the other, it is pretty dark and might have some mature content. Can you help me out on that?

Every piece of theatre and every film is a bit of storytelling - but I know what you mean! We tend of think of something very specific when we think of storytelling. 

When I began writing the story, my idea was that it was for children. In the very best tradition of fairy tales and myth, it was always going to be dark. When you deconstruct Ashputtel (Cinderella) or Hansel & Gretel for example, the predicament of the child is pretty grim. When I got my teeth into “The Inveesible Child” a much more troubling story began to emerge. Her voice, the lemon juice cutting through the fat of the narrator’s, is very different. 

Whereas the narrator is poised, barbed, flamboyant, Queanie (written in a more dynamic and guttural dialect) is mercurial, raw, visceral, elemental - the howl of a wolf. The Red Chair begins like a fairy tale - the baroque and cartoon structure of the story creates a safe space, I suppose, from which we can explore the darker aspects of the human condition.  

As the story goes on the voice of narrator and the voice of Queanie merge - it becomes less like a fairy tale, and more like a poem, perhaps. The form of the story begins to unravel as the transformations occur. My children (aged 6 &10) saw it - but yes, I would say that older children (from age 12 onwards?) would get something from it - but it’s a story for all ages and all people, in the way fairy tales are intended.

I'm really interested in how you'd approach storytelling from a dramaturgical perspective. That is, you start with a book and transform it into performance. Where there any strategies that made this process easier?

Well, it was much easier because it was adapted from a story that I’d written and consequently I knew it inside out. Also, there was no rush - Clod Ensemble’s co-artistic director Suzy Willson & I took our time to adapt it from the original - over a period of about 3 years. It was vital to have Suzy’s impartial and fresh, outside eye. We had writing & editing sessions, as well as performing sessions. 

Along with Paul Clark (the other artistic director of Clod) we showed scratch performances to invited guests about 5 or 6 times during those 3 years. That gave us an idea of what worked and what didn’t. It was a great privilege actually, to be able to take that amount of time and it was brilliant that Suzy & Paul chose to work this way.  

In the early 90’s I was a resident company member of the Young Vic under the directorship of Tim Supple. The first show we made was the Christmas Show, an adaptation of Grimm’s Tales. Up until that period (1993/4) there wasn't very much good children’s theatre around but Grimm’s Tales turned out to be a seminal show and set the bar for a new kind of children’s theatre. During rehearsals we’d used the original tales - in their narrative form, as scripts. We improvised with them, edited and dramatised as we went along, on our feet. 

Through this process we discovered what needed to stay as text, what we could do in action and when we could use both. Carol Ann Duffy poetised our dramatised version of the tales. I learned how to tell a story with simplicity & clarity. 

So when it came to adapting The Red Chair I had some knowledge in my bones. It became clear to me too that verse was going to really help the telling of the tale, especially because of the language and dialect. 

Suzy was brilliant in cutting out the fat and we jiggled and re-jiggled bits of text around, until it came together. It was also edited after during the run of first few shows and it really found its feet (half an hour shorter than the first ever show) at the Brighton Festival in 2014, where we won an award. It’s the putting of it on its feet that’s an essential part of the adapting process.

Because I have spent all afternoon reading about the Enlightenment (and not watching YouTube videos, not at all), I am currently obsessed with the idea that the world has become 'disenchanted': it's not really full of sprites and angels anymore, just mathematical equations and people trying to sell me stuff. But The Red Chair seems to inhabit a timeless world, where magic is still present and transformation is always possible. Do you feel a connection with a more mystical vision of the world and is that expressed through the story?

Gosh. And yes. Good question. Glad you’re not watching YouTube ;) I do think the world has become ‘disenchanted’, at least parts of it. I do find physics (not that I understand much of it) and the exploration of space extremely enchanting - so science has its own magic and wonder. 

But (& I’ve become a little obsessed with this too recently) there’s something about masses of technology, closing down of pubs and gathering spaces, mass urbanisation, the speeding up of lives, the blurring of day and night, our heads in screens, living in a secular society (I’m not religious, but biblical & other religious stories are full of enchantment & strange things) and so on that’s created this age of ‘disenchantment’ perhaps? 

I feel that we're losing our sense of spirit/soul, how each of us is connected to the next, and the other, and ultimately to our world, our universe. In the story, there's no technology at all and so the young hero, Queanie, has no other choice but to rely upon her imagination, and her books. It was important to create a sense of no time or all time - I feel that the story has mythical resonance. Queanie survives because of her imagination. 

She’s a product of her environment certainly, in more ways than one. Queanie is an embodiment of the land about her, she’s the moor and the mist and the blizzard and the lightning strike - the fox, the wolf, the snawy owl.  There’s something in that for me - our attachment to the land, our spiritual connectedness to the trees, the earth, the animals, the stars, the universe - our ancestors too. At the moment, and I don’t know why, I feel very strongly that I walk in their ancient footsteps. 

I don’t know if you’ve seen images of the stencilled hands (9,000 years old) on the Cuevade Las Manos in Patagonia? I’m very inspired by this image, fixated by it somewhat - a sea of waving hands, made up of many individuals over time - open, joyful, ancient - and yet symbolising a whole community. I feel a primal rage against what’s happening/happened in our society, where so many people are isolated and alone. 

George Monbiot has coined our era ‘The Age of Loneliness.’ We’re pack animals and we need each other to thrive. Perhaps as you suggest, re-discovering ‘enchantment’ can bring us together? Stories certainly can.

I do feel a mystical connection to our planet, and beyond. But you know I come from a great line of storytellers - don’t all Scots? My Gran and Dad told endless eerie stories and of course we visited haunted castles and misty moors as children. The melancholy hues of the Scottish landscape and the dark, forbidding architecture of the land is fertile breeding ground for such spooky tales, and I tramped through the Glens, the moors, the Highlands often throughout my eighteen years in Scotland. 

There was never any doubt that ghosts do exist. I was told as a child that Ghosts were about us, all the time. And of course, as you get older you could choose to understand that in a different way. I do think that it’s in the Scottish DNA to believe in spirits, ghosts and such-like. 

The magical transformations in the story are also metaphors for emotional and/or physical states. They can be interpreted and understood in that way too. There are transformations happening around us all the time and in their own small ways, they are miraculous. Perhaps we’ve forgotten how to acknowledge them?

So, the other thing that might make it look like I have done some reading, the use of Scots strikes me as another counterblast to the Enlightenment: this is very much locating the performance in a particular location (and I think I read something in Adorno about how capitalism aims at the universal, like how Disney flatten everything into a generic animation style to sell it more easily). What made you decide on using a language that isn't easily marketable outside of its own area (although that might be an assumption on my part - but I am hoping that there's something about the tradition of the language in there…)?

I didn’t really decide. First of all, a few smatterings of Scots arrived, imperceptibly really. A friend suggested I build on that. So I started searching for Scot’s words and I was beguiled - I felt like I’d found a box of golden treasure. The language was just so beautiful, colourful, rich, resonant, witty, chewable, sculptural. I was transported to my young years in Scotland and the liveliness of the language that had been all around me - which actually, had been forbidden to me at the time - of course that made it all the more delectable and exciting. 

My mum was English and when my dad and she returned to Scotland after they'd met, he began speaking in the local dialect again much to my mum’s displeasure. So, she sent us all to elocution lessons to make sure we didn’t pick up the local lingo too. And of course living down South for so many years, I’d lost my connection to the language, I’d also suppressed it. But as I wrote The Red Chair (I read aloud as I write) I felt like I was discovering my real and true voice - and it was very Scottish! So in the process of writing The Red Chair, which is all about transformation, I myself was being transformed, in more ways than one. I do think there was some enchantment going on!  

There is great liberation in performing and owning these words. And I feel very strongly that these words must survive - I think there’s a bit of a movement in Scotland now isn’t there - a reclaiming of the Scot’s?

Although the story is clearly set in Scotland, I don’t say it specifically. I say, ‘someplace in the glum north o’ the warld..’ I feel that the Scot’s dialect in the Red Chair is a poetic voice. The words have been formed over hundreds of years and are as ancient as the hills. In the same way that the story is timeless and has something of the ancient myth about it, so the dialect, for me (perhaps because I’m an outsider) is timeless; for me it’s a universal voice, in the very best sense; an ancestral, ancient, mythical voice; a potent voice full of knowledge and wit. 

So yes, it might be challenging for some but no more so than going to see a Shakespeare play. After 10 minutes your ear attunes to the difference and it’s no longer an issue (I hope!). We’ve done lots of shows in England and people have often commented on the Scots and how much they love it. Whilst it’s idiosyncratic and distinctive, it’s also mercurial - it’s not academic, it’s not specific. 

There’s some made up stuff and there are words from different parts of the country (the world too) - it’s by no means purist. I agree with what you say above re. Disney etc. I feel stubborn about this wonderful language (and heritage) and it can and must be heard outside of Scotland - it’s too brilliant not to be shared. There’s a strong desire to combat the machine that says we all must be alike, homogenised.   

Of course there were also huge influences from Rabbie Burns, Hugh MacDiarmid, Lewis Grassic Gibbon, Billy Connolly, William Topaz McGonagall, Robert Louis Stevenson et al from when I was wee. The sculptural dynamic of the language, its toothsomeness, the way the mouth and body has to move to accommodate the words, is inspiring to me too. They resonate with my training as a sculptor, and a Lecoqian. 

Lecoq is all the rage in my house. Are there any aspects of the performance that you would ascribe to the school's teaching?

All of it. And I write that with a big smile on my face.

Running Time: 1 hr 40 mins | Suitable for ages 14+

Directed by Suzy Willson           Written and performed by Sarah Cameron

Music by Paul Clark                  Lighting Design by Hansjorg Schmidt

Design by Sarah Blenkinsop      Produced in association with Fuel

Listings information

3 & 4 Mar

Tron Theatre, Glasgow

63 Trongate, Glasgow G1 5HB

8pm | £10 / £7.50

www.tron.co.uk | 0141 552 4267

6 Mar

Eden Court, Inverness

Bishops Road, Inverness IV3 5SA

7:30pm | £11

www.eden-court.co.uk | 01463 239841

17 & 18 Mar

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

10 Cambridge Street, Edinburgh EH1 2ED

8pm | £16.50 / £13.50 / £8.50

www.traverse.co.uk | 0131 228 1404

20 Mar

Theatre Royal, Dumfries

66-68 Shakespeare Street, Dumfries DG1 2JH

7:30pm | £10

http://ift.tt/1J9Kis5 | 01387 254209

31 Mar

Dundee Rep Theatre, Dundee

Tay Square, Dundee DD1 1PB

7:30pm | £14 / £12 / £11

www.dundeerep.co.uk | 01382 223530

About Clod Ensemble

Clod Ensemble is one of the UK’s most prominent interdisciplinary performance companies. Music and movement is deeply embedded in all of the works in the company’s repertoire. For over 20 years the company has created an extraordinary body of work lead by Artistic Directors Suzy Willson and Paul Clark. Their work is presented across the UK and internationally, including Sadler’s Wells, Tate Modern, Public Theater New York and Serralves Museum Poto. Clod Ensemble has a repertoire of critically acclaimed work, each production with its own distinctive musical and visual identity. Recently the Company has embarked in a new music collaboration with OENM in Salzburg.

   Suzy Willson graduated from Manchester University before studying with Jacques Lecoq in Paris. On her return she co-founded Clod Ensemble and has directed all of their productions to date. She teaches drama and movement to students, actors, musicians and leads the company's Performing Medicine project. She has worked as a movement director on productions at the Gate, Soho Theatre, BAC, with film director Arnaud Desplechin, performance poet Malaika B, and Jessica Ogden for London Fashion week.

Paul Clark is a leading composer on the British performance scene. His music has reached a range of international audiences and venues such as Lincoln Centre NewYork, Vienna Burgtheater, Berlin Schaubuhne and Amsterdam Stadsschouwburg, through collaborations with Gare St Lazare Irelend and Director Katie Mitchell.

About Sarah Cameron

Sarah Cameron is an artist, performer and writer. Born in Dundee, she studied sculpture at the Chelsea School of Art and theatre at Ecole International de Theatre Jacques Lecoq. She has worked with the Royal Shakespeare Company, West Yorkshire Playhouse and the Young Vic, where she was a member of the resident company that created the legendary production of Grimm Tales. She first worked with Clod Ensemble in 1999, touring their production of Greed internationally in 2003, performing in Zero at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, and most recently in a production of An Anatomie in Four Quarters at The Lowry. 

About Fuel

The Red Chair is produced in association with Fuel. Founded in 2004, and led by Louise Blackwell and Kate McGrath, Fuel is a producing organisation working in partnership with some of the most exciting artists in the UK to develop, create and present new work for all. Fuel is currently working with artists including: Will Adamsdale, Clod Ensemble, Inua Ellams, Fevered Sleep, David Rosenberg, Sound&Fury, Uninvited Guestsand Melanie Wilson. 

from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2jVztTL

[aurelliocheek]

A Year of Rain: Writing Strategies

How to build a new world for an RTS Game.

So, you wanna write this? A question I’ve been waiting for. When Nick, the captain of our daring endeavor, approached me, A Year Of Rain was supposed to become a Fantasy RTS based on a well-known IP; and to be honest, I was more than fine with that. See, I like that IP, I am very familiar with it and just from a cerebral logistics standpoint, I’ve always been comfortable settling in an established system and give it my own spin. All I’d have to do was looking for one of the more ­obscure places and events of that world, work with that foundation, and tell an interesting tale.

Which I did. Vigorously.

Then we had to discard that approach. The world for our game would not be an established one. We needed to build it from scratch, every nook and cranny. And here’s how we did that, or rather, my first-time experiences with RTS narrative design and maybe some survival tips on how to navigate that minefield.

Super rough worldbuilding draft.

A new IP. Well… We took that turn of events in stride. After all, even if existing worldbuilding provides you with nomenclature, systems, a fan base and many more convenient tools in your box, it’s all double-edged: you can’t slip on lore, the systems restrain you, while gameplay and game design boundaries are sneaking up from behind. You also owe the fans maximum accuracy anyway to avoid alienation. Put like this, building your own world from scratch sounds a lot more appealing, doesn’t it? It’s a gorgeous blooming field of nearly endless possibilities and free of any veto you wouldn’t give yourself.

Right…?

The whole world in your hands I’ve done this for plenty tabletops and homebrew Pen & Paper systems. It’s important to have an interesting world for an interesting tale you want to tell. Doing this for a very specifically tagged game is a different beast altogether. To keep the field analogy going, when first thinking about a world for a Fantasy RTS game, I felt like I arrived a week after the harvest.

Staring into the abyss of fantasy intertextuality made me uncomfortable right from the start, when I was asking myself: ‘What kind of world is this going to be?’

Creating a new, compelling world for an RTS game is a challenge.

Standard globe, massive Midlandia continent where all the people hang out and fight each other or whatever? It’s been done – ad nauseam and to death.

A shattered world, with drifting pieces and… Shit, this has been done. Pocket dimension? Done. Flat, you could say, a disc-like world? Yeah, good luck.

Okay, but what if it has layers like an onion… Septerra Core? Who even remembers that?! I do, it was a very charming game, actually. Anyway, a world needs people. People are easy! Species, races, cultures, there are so many cool fantasy folks… which… have all been utilized to exhaustion.

Even as I am writing this, a game cropped up that is so eerily similar to the core ideas I eventually developed for my world and story that it snaps the credibility of parallel evolution and makes me reconsider my general stance on psychic spies. I came to terms with the notion long before that announcement, but it confirmed my take on worldbuilding I had to adapt if I wanted to keep my sanity: There are many, many worlds out there and chances are high you won’t reinvent the wheel. Take solace in the fact that you can craft a very efficient, aesthetically pleasing wheel!

For here comes the twist: Intertextuality is a good thing. Since I’m throwing that word around like I think I know what it means, here’s what it is… “The relationship between texts, especially literary ones.”

It’s the reason why references work. For example, why Pride & Prejudice & Zombies exists, and you still get what that title implies. It’s why Banner Saga doesn’t need to explain the language, cultural setting, or apparel of the world they created because we have read about or seen media featuring Vikings. Darkest Dungeon draws a lot of its appeal from weird fiction, gothic and cosmic horror and you understand that connection. It’s why many people love it when fictional characters or worlds reference the real world, or pop culture or even quote from other ­movies and works of literature. ­Because we get what that means. Because it’s a nod to what we, and probably the creator of that fiction, love (the latter being strictly speaking an allusion, but it fits under the same umbrella, bear with me here). In broad strokes, it means that people understand connections and baselines without your explanation, because someone, at some point, did a very similar thing and established a widely known convention with it.

Yes, we’ve made a papercraft map.

It seems like the bane of innovation You may feel like everything has been done already, or even get conflicted because a line you wrote is similar or identical to something that already exists. However, just like tropes, archetypes, and cliché, it’s a boon for your world’s foundation if you swing it with precision. Best case, whatever you decide: On a very basic level, your audience will have a fond connotation to many of the things you do. There’s a catch, of course. You’ll need a lot of lipstick for your intertextual pig. The real work for me started after laying the foundation when I decided what type of world I wanted and who populated it. Both choices, at a glance, weren’t too special, admittedly.

What I hoped made them special was thoroughly fleshing out every race, species, and culture, applying some twists here and there… I tried generating credible systems and all the bones and beams that not only support the worldbuilding but also telegraph and highlight what made this world compelling, comfortably familiar, yet also refreshing.

You can do a lot if you stick to some fantasy guns and bolster them with nuances. In A Year Of Rain, for example, dwarves are the most competent spellcasters and considering how this world is designed, it even makes sense, though it’s not something you see very often. And it escalated pretty easily from there: What are the consequences for other species? What is their strategy? And how would that other adjacent fantasy race act or evolve and so on? I did that for, I think, 16 species concepts and there was a point when there were more connections and ideas than I actually wanted.

After fleshing out all the cultural dynamics, historical angles, rules of magic, justifying dwarven rune-powered railguns, establishing how many terabytes of memories a sentient fungus could store compared to divine lichen and what kind of weed lizardfolk prefer to smoke, I was finally ready to apply all this to the game itself.

Or not.

Strategic Writing Turns out, an RTS has comparatively limited narrative space. I would go as far as to call it claustrophobic. Design and format of an RTS tend to isolate the parts of the world you build. You have one single map at a time to establish whatever you want to transport narratively. And you only get one shot, because there usually is, by design, no backtracking.

It’s fair to assume that’s one reason why this genre often struggles with thorough worldbuilding and story in its campaign and multiplayer. Everything you can show, tell and narrate has to fit in roughly 15-30 minutes of tiny people murdering each other in real time. Then, you move on to the next area where, you guessed it, you train tiny people and have them murder each other for 15-30 minutes.

There is little room to breathe, or significantly manipulate the game flow, or show the inhabitants of your world doing anything other than fighting and killing to do more fighting and killing. That’s where the majority of anything you’ll write will be focused on. The units you command have no narrative agenda, almost no space to reflect on what they’re doing or want to do; they fight and die and obey the great cursor.

“But Blizzard!” you say?

Campaign is a different horse. It’s easier there. You can, to a certain degree, pace what happens, insert cutscenes and design a fantasy, a goal, and establish what drives this narrative… And at least your characters get to talk and express opinions, motivation, broader personality and all that, so: Yes, Blizzard cracked the code in most of their campaigns and will probably remain on that throne till the flippin’ sun burns out. But looking at virtually all other RTS games, there’s a trend to keep the world simple, the greater worldbuilding or story potential unexplored (Warlords RTS, Grey Goo) or exaggerate other aspects enough that they tilt from ludicrous to awesome and thus make for a satisfying campy story (looking at you, Command & Conquer). There’s a reason why even master craftsmen like the folks at Blizzard preach the mantra: Gameplay first in RTS.

All that doesn’t mean you can’t tell a compelling story, it doesn’t mean you can’t build a fantastic world, but it means that it may feel awkward at first. It’s a much greater challenge than in an RPG, an adventure or something similar where you can weave both things easier into a nice colorful ­tapestry. For our game, there is no after-mission hub to talk to characters, no codex to look up things like history and lore, no audio logs, books or scrolls, no close-up first- or third-person perspective to do advanced intrinsic storytelling. RTS has a fast, relentless pace. Your opponent, be it a human or AI, won’t wait for you to absorb subjects declared second priority like a narrative or worldbuilding details. So, whatever you tell is ideally right there when you play.

Some rules and tools you know still apply accordingly. For example, each of our units has 17 standard response lines. You better believe I tried to cram as much character as I could in there, tried my best to give them personality you can relate to in a few clicks and with allusions to the world around them.

Daedalic’s development team is building the A Year Of Rain world.

Then there are our phenomenal art, design, sound and SFX people Worldbuilding is, of course, not only writing. How characters look, what gear they carry, how their magic or tools of trade manifest and interact, their body language, animation, and voice work… all that blasts open a welcome breach into the walls you run into with an RTS, just like with any other game. Though the world is delivered in chunks in this genre, you can still do plenty of environmental storytelling, be it through biomes, architecture, weather, or ambient sounds and how the whole palette interconnects through the game. The tools are there; they just need lots of attention. The more you have prepared, the better. Whatever you came up with, whatever your vision is, don’t use a crowbar. Listen to the other departments and let them work their magic, even, or especially when that means letting go of your brainchild because they came up with a cooler solution. I’m a writer. What the hell do I know about shapes and the right visual impact, or the finer points of ability synergies and level design? Try to trust people as they trust you.

This is a good time to point out that 50% of all my conceptual resources won’t make it directly into the game. Some things are just too intricate/niche and have no business being there considering the very tight space that’s rightfully conceded to the gameplay. Adjust that percentage further north, actually, since some visual ideas don’t make good silhouettes for in-game models, because they’d be too small, too noisy or just a pain to animate you could never justify. It’s fine, though. Compare it to an actor who’s told to come up with a backstory for a bunch of tiny props on their costume. They’ll never get any big reference in the movie, but they help the actor getting into the role.

As I’ve mentioned, the characters’ role is basically to fight and die, above all else. It creates a dissonance, intuitively. Telling war stories is no hard sell, but it adds a new layer to the worldbuilding itself. Is this a new conflict? Where will you locate it? Is it a flashpoint or a global affair, and how much sense does that make? How do you plan for the future, i.e., at the end of your campaign, is your world fixed or broken, and where does it go from there? Or is it even beyond fixing and stays in a constant, vicious cycle of warfare?

The one luxury I had here was that I got to have my cake and eat it too: I made a world that’s broken, and I elected to focus on one conflict on a very specific piece of land. It leaves enough breathing room to tease a much bigger playground around the elaborate nice sandbox we’ll ship with this game.

Narrative Design for an RTS is a wild ride. And despite the pinch of salt in the lines above I definitely enjoy the chance I’ve been given with this. This article is honestly a slapdash work of professional opinion, advise, and direct dirty development experience. It’s a rough field guide for those treading these grounds for the first time, informative entertainment, or a good foundation for discussion.

See you in that world we’ve built, if you’re so inclined!

Ben Kuhn

Ben Kuhn is a writer and narrative designer at Daedalic Entertainment. Seven years sailing for Daedalic, mostly as a translator, dialogue writer, and voice director, packing a Master of Arts in English literature and creative writing acquired at the University of Bremen and Maynooth. Signed up due to his love of the medium and good stories and continues to be happy about that choice.

The post A Year of Rain: Writing Strategies appeared first on Making Games.

A Year of Rain: Writing Strategies published first on https://leolarsonblog.tumblr.com/

[the-cosmic-traveler]

March 17th – New Moon

Lately, I’ve been feeling a strong change of vibrations, as if something big approaches or is about to happen. Am I the only one feeling this? or am I just going insane now?

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been going through a process of shredding skin, of going inward, of destroying what no long serves me. A process of re-discovery and understanding, realising the whole drama that we’re all playing, as characters in this board game we call Earth. Because of this, smack in the face realisation, a strong sense of alienation arises. People drift away, and I drift away from them. During this time everyone feels numb, with their eyes wide shut (No reference to Kubrick’s “erotic drama” intended… Or is it?). A so called ‘Dark Night Of The Soul” kind of vibe. Interesting story, for a whole other blog.

I keep hearing about this “event”, that’s supposed to happen during these dates, but no-one seems to know exactly when its going to happen. They say it’s like a wave of energy passing through earth, cleansing it from all negative or used energy, in order for us to evolve into a new dimension. I appreciate the fact that there are no coincidences in life, and I keep feeling like something big is about to happen, also, why all of the sudden I keep seen all of these videos about this “event”? And who are these people anyway?

March 24th – First Quarter

Ok… What? Only a week has past and I feel I’ve lived for about 3 years. Time has no meaning now. I’ve always known time is just a concept, living just this moment is all there is. But now I feel it. I have a better understanding about the event now.

I found out I wasn’t the only one feeling “it”. Turns out, there are many of us going through the exact same process, and yes, I understand we all are, at our own rate, but I mean, we are all feeling this huge wave of energy forming or passing through us all. Solar storms are also playing a roll in this whole mixture of sensations. Earth is rising her vibration and we are rising with her. We are creating a new planet, built upon a higher dimension, the 5th dimension.. They call it “New Gaia”.

I thought to myself:

“Well, I know this because they know this, but, if I’m honest, I would really like to get this information straight from Source, my higher self, “the universe”, “the force”, God, or whatever you want to call it. In that way I’ll know the truth, not from another person but from my own experience.”

And then I went to play with my cat.

After a few scratches and having forgotten all about my intention of knowing “the truth”, I sat down. With my legs crossed and my hands to the floor I began to feel the Earth, really feel it’s vibration, it’s huge amazing energy. It overwhelmed me for a second, but then I understood. This, is my chance.

Breath.

Breath again.

Long Inhalations and exhalations.

Just observe.

Let go.

It’s all dark, but I see movement. Not with my eyes though. I see the ground underneath me. The Earth and its enormous pull to its core. Show me.

I feel the wind. No, not the wind, it feels like a storm. I feel it even with my body, as if massive hurricane like winds are hitting my face. This is fairly unusual. It’s like a wave of the ocean pulling. I see it now. I’m going in.

I’m completely blown away by its force, is the most powerful sensation I’ve ever felt. But its pure positive energy, loving and cleansing. I’m not afraid, I want to understand it and go deeper. I feel I’m not the only one here. I feel I’m being guided, like someone is showing me around their house. But I feel, I’m a key part of this as well.

“This is it. Welcome. Would you like to join us?” they said. “Yes! I’m willing.” I replied.

I’m now being dragged down to the ground, to the inner layers of the planet at unmeasurable speed. I see Earth’s crust, we’re going through her. I can almost have time to think about how crazy this is. I see everything so clearly. We’re approaching the core. There’s fire, orange, red… but then, a geometrical form? Just lines, then a circle, then a dot, then nothingness.

“This is where we come from” I heard.

I’m now being pulled back up at an even higher speed than before. Now there’s no time to think, now there’s just experiencing. I now see my house, my neighbourhood, clouds, the sky, Earth from above. The stars. More stars. A dot. Nothingness.

“This is where we’re heading”.

Suddenly, I open my eyes and I’m back in my house with my cat staring at me funny as my mind melts through my eyes.

And no. I’m not on drugs. (Not tonight at least)

March 31st – Full Moon

I now understand The Event is not one single event happening for us all at the same time. Rather, it is a individualised succession causing collective consciousness. Our bodies have been adapting all along the way to be able to sustain such amounts of energy. To be able to use all of our true powers, physical and non-physical. I now realise, there’s a mass awakening happening within us.

I also understand that we’re paving the road for generations ahead. Generations that will be experiencing life from a much broader perspective. We are transcending past conditionings, we are seeing the play as it is, and our immediate purpose is to understand it and realise within ourselves in order to help others ascend into our full potential, as the magnificent creators we all are. For there is a higher purpose to all this.

Somehow I sense that rendezvous with other light beings are going to be a casual thing from now on. Tonight I confirm this.

She appeared in my life in a whole other way I’d never seen before. It was as if I was being guided to her by some invisible (but perceptible) string. I knew we were going to meet and explode into the full realisation of who we are together. Cleansing our surroundings and activating our light bodies, in order to continue co-creating in this new multi-dimensional environment.

Yes, we’ve always been multi-dimensional; however, given this massive event, our psychic, telepathic and other abilities, are being enhanced and will be ‘easier’ to access and master in this new Earth.

Ultimately, while I was going through some pretty rough, heavy spiritual process, that no-one seemed to understand, it helped me a lot to realise that I wasn’t the only one going through this. And helped me to break through, it made me understand there’s a higher purpose, and that my higher self already knows the truth. All I have to do is allow it in my life, let myself be guided through the path of least resistance.

This is why I do this. If you’re going through a similar, crazy, process, know that you’re supported and protected always. No matter what happens, things are always working out for you. Don’t rush it, enjoy it. Don’t hope it would be easier, endure, you can take it. Let go of perceptions, the concept of time, and the concept of good an evil. There’s no good nor bad, there’s only growth, evolution. Our own evolution as a collective depends on your evolution as an individual.

We are all one.

We are all creators.

Explore your limits, and then, realise you don’t have any.

Namaste!

A few moons ago, "The event" was taking place. #blogpost #writing #conciousnes March 17th - New Moon Lately, I've been feeling a strong change of vibrations, as if something big approaches or is about to happen.