Writing WIP

So intros and conclusions are the hardest aspects of writing for me. Here’s the first bit of a story I’m working on, about a graphic novelists mental decay. It’s called Mirror^2 for the time being. I hope the uncomfortably sexual aspects of this carried through, as that’s going to be a major theme in it. Let me know what you think! If you read just this first bit, would you continue reading? I’m also trying to communicate a particular aspect of Ken’s lifestyle without it being TOO obvious at first. So, with that said, please let me know what time of day you think this scene is taking place in. Be as harsh as you like!

I guess I should also mention that there’s nothing pornographic here. Just innuendos/allusions/whatEVER but no sex. So, uh, no worries there.

Read More

>goes back and reads porn that I wrote late one night
>wow this is kinda hot for something I wrote
>wait is that a grammar error
>I made a grammatical error in my writing
>oh
>oh god
>oh please god no
>how
>why
>cry softly, boner instantly gone 
>contemplate cutting off hands so I can never write again 

Mmff story time I guess

I took a graphic design class during spring semester. It’s required for my major, but it was pretty fun. The last assignment was to design a pictograph, kind of like the “no smoking” sign you see everywhere. 

Here’s mine, based on an inside-joke with the family: 

But that’s besides the point. We were looking through the designs, making sure they could be interpreted correctly. One girl made one with an image of the “no” sign covering a woman in a ponytail running. She had hand-drawn it and colored it in black (like I did with mine), but she wasn’t the best artist—so it was kind of hard to figure out what the girl in the picture was doing.

We were trying to figure out just what her pictograph meant, when some dumbass girl blurts, “No trannies!” The teacher asks what she said, she gets all “cute ‘n’ innocent” and and says, “Nothing.” Then she giggles.

Even though that specific word doesn’t technically apply to me as a trans guy, it was still like a slap in the face. What gave her the need to say “tranny”? There was absolutely nothing in the pictograph telling us that the stick-figure was transgender. The character was colored in with black—we didn’t even know her race, what type of clothing she was wearing, nothing.

Besides that, it told me that here is yet another person in the world that would disrespect me, make me into a joke, most likely hate me, or maybe even harm me in some way for simply existing. It reminded me that there are people like her in the world, which is something I sometimes forget due to not interacting with people who are anything BUT left-wing or radical. 

I really wish I had called her out. Asked her, “Would you say ‘nigger’ like that? No? Then don’t say that word. It’s a vile slur and it’s horribly bigoted.” Not calling her out is probably something I’m going to regret for a while, to be honest. 

I guess I’ve been around people who don’t use oppressive language for too long. I really shouldn’t be shocked that people like that girl exist, who would say it without a second thought. More importantly, I need to get the courage to call people out on their shit. Some days I hate being a shy introvert—this was one of those days.

Aight here’s something I wrote last night tell me what you think.

It isn’t complete or anything by any means and I just did it for the sake of doing it (plus I really wanted to include the line “you’d look like the bearded lady” or whatever).

This is a quick story about Hal/Harold, one of my OCs that I don’t give a lot of attention to.

Read More

hootaloo: the HELL. STORY TIME because this picture reminded me of something from the halcyon days of high school.  SO I was the head techie for the school’s drama club. I did the lights, the sounds (which were eventually handed over to one of my buddies), and helped with that kind of stuff. It was very fun because I basically got to sit in a little room, push buttons and etc. and play Pokemon while cracking inappropriate jokes with other techies.  Our group was competing with our one-act production (a one-act is basically a 30-minute play), and at one of the competitions, one of my friends brought up how she’d like to die. This sparked a whole competition based on hilarious and awesome ways to die, which was quite morbid but hilarious.  My other friend (let’s call him Reagan, after an inside joke of ours), who watched Teen Girl Squad online, said that he’d like to die by a wave of babies. I recognized the joke, but the other kids (let’s call ‘em Abby and Beth) in our little group didn’t. So it became an “inside joke” with us, and we’d periodically, at random moments, sing “waaave of babieeeess” and make a “wave” motion with our hands. (It was really funny just trust me.) So eventually the semester ended, and finals week came up. At my high school, finals were EXTREMELY lax. They counted for about 4% of your grade at most so they didn’t matter that much, plus teachers typically made finals ridiculously easy anyway (no child left behind and all that wunnerful stuff). Plus, it was open-campus, and you could run around like a shithead if you wanted to. In other words, finals week was the best week for acting like an idiot. So that morning, Abbey and Beth were messing around in the senior locker hall. Specifically, they were messing around Reagan’s locker. Naturally, I asked ‘em what was up. They grinned and said to open his locker, which had no lock on it (nobody had locks on their lockers).  I opened it up and immediately cracked up laughing. They had taken rope, masking tape, and paper, and had made a literal wave of babies. The babies were these cheap plastic dolls (like the one in the picture), and they were tied by the neck and limbs to the rope. When you opened the locker, it would pull all these babies out.  Then I had to run off and take my final. After I finished, I found a baby hanging on the hook in my locker, pointing at me and saying, “you’re next” on a note. I left it there and went downstairs, and ran into Reagan, Beth, and Abbey. They were taping a baby to the stairwell in such a way that you’d see it if you were walking downstairs.  The rest of the day was spent taking plastic babies to various locations in the school, and leaving them to die. One of them was placed inside of a massive, hollow icicle outside of the school after being stabbed with a crayon, one was dragged around on a noose for a while, another’s arms were ripped off and glued to its butt and head, and the last one was colored with black, orange, and blue markers and made into our bouncer for the little fort we’d set up in the senior hallway.  By the end of the day, one of the janitors had found the baby taped to the stairwell. She took it off, and put it into the teacher’s lounge with a note saying, “The child that got left behind.” As for the baby in my locker, I made it into the travelling baby, and put it in one of my classmate’s lockers for them to find after winter break.  The fate of the travelling baby? It was found by the craziest pothead in the entire school, who colored satanic symbols onto its face, clothing, and body. Its arm was ripped off and replaced with a plastic spoon as well.
Pop-upView Separately

hootaloo:

the HELL.

STORY TIME because this picture reminded me of something from the halcyon days of high school. 

SO I was the head techie for the school’s drama club. I did the lights, the sounds (which were eventually handed over to one of my buddies), and helped with that kind of stuff. It was very fun because I basically got to sit in a little room, push buttons and etc. and play Pokemon while cracking inappropriate jokes with other techies. 

Our group was competing with our one-act production (a one-act is basically a 30-minute play), and at one of the competitions, one of my friends brought up how she’d like to die. This sparked a whole competition based on hilarious and awesome ways to die, which was quite morbid but hilarious. 

My other friend (let’s call him Reagan, after an inside joke of ours), who watched Teen Girl Squad online, said that he’d like to die by a wave of babies. I recognized the joke, but the other kids (let’s call ‘em Abby and Beth) in our little group didn’t. So it became an “inside joke” with us, and we’d periodically, at random moments, sing “waaave of babieeeess” and make a “wave” motion with our hands. (It was really funny just trust me.)

So eventually the semester ended, and finals week came up. At my high school, finals were EXTREMELY lax. They counted for about 4% of your grade at most so they didn’t matter that much, plus teachers typically made finals ridiculously easy anyway (no child left behind and all that wunnerful stuff). Plus, it was open-campus, and you could run around like a shithead if you wanted to. In other words, finals week was the best week for acting like an idiot.

So that morning, Abbey and Beth were messing around in the senior locker hall. Specifically, they were messing around Reagan’s locker. Naturally, I asked ‘em what was up. They grinned and said to open his locker, which had no lock on it (nobody had locks on their lockers). 

I opened it up and immediately cracked up laughing. They had taken rope, masking tape, and paper, and had made a literal wave of babies. The babies were these cheap plastic dolls (like the one in the picture), and they were tied by the neck and limbs to the rope. When you opened the locker, it would pull all these babies out. 

Then I had to run off and take my final. After I finished, I found a baby hanging on the hook in my locker, pointing at me and saying, “you’re next” on a note. I left it there and went downstairs, and ran into Reagan, Beth, and Abbey. They were taping a baby to the stairwell in such a way that you’d see it if you were walking downstairs. 

The rest of the day was spent taking plastic babies to various locations in the school, and leaving them to die. One of them was placed inside of a massive, hollow icicle outside of the school after being stabbed with a crayon, one was dragged around on a noose for a while, another’s arms were ripped off and glued to its butt and head, and the last one was colored with black, orange, and blue markers and made into our bouncer for the little fort we’d set up in the senior hallway. 

By the end of the day, one of the janitors had found the baby taped to the stairwell. She took it off, and put it into the teacher’s lounge with a note saying, “The child that got left behind.” As for the baby in my locker, I made it into the travelling baby, and put it in one of my classmate’s lockers for them to find after winter break. 

The fate of the travelling baby? It was found by the craziest pothead in the entire school, who colored satanic symbols onto its face, clothing, and body. Its arm was ripped off and replaced with a plastic spoon as well.

(via hankpeters)

Source: graviolies

SO ALLOW ME TO SHARE WITH YOU THE STORY OF

the first time I ordered something online, ever.

So it all began when I turned 13 or 14. My great-uncle, bless ‘im, gave me a gift card to Walmart. Naturally, I was pretty excited—I could buy whatever I wanted from the superstore and mom and dad would not be able to prevent me from doing so. 

Later that week, we went to Walmart, and I had my shiny new gift card in my pocket. Yup, I was ready and rarin’ to be a good consumer in a capitalist system. The problem was that the gift card had about $15 on it, and anything I could afford, I didn’t want. It was a major problem.

So we returned home later that night, and I decided to save my gift card for later. Who knew when Walmart would finally stock something decent. The gift card sat, unused, for a couple months. 

Then I discovered that, hey, Walmart had an online store! I eagerly got onto our family computer and browsed for something to buy.

Now, it’s important to know that 1) I was entering puberty and thus horny, and 2) I had discovered yaoi and was interested in buying some real, härdcöre pornography.  (I had been begging my dad [!!!] to buy me some Naruto yaoi on eBay for a while. Yes, I was shameless.)

So naturally, I typed “yaoi” into Walmart’s search bar. I didn’t actually expect anything to pop up, but LO AND BEHOLD, they had yaoi.

They had anime gay porn for sale at Walmart.com.

And I had $15—that was enough to cover both the cost and shipping.

So here’s what I ordered:

"Absolutely NOT for children!"

Good god, sweet jesus, and holy (spirit) shit. I ordered my first yaoi porn.

Now, that night, I had a fucking heart attack. Why? Because my parents had literally drilled the idea that everyone on the internet will rape me, kill me, and rape me again into my head. I was fucking terrified of everyone on the internet, because they could be anyone.

So of course I was terrified of even ordering from a reputable company like Walmart. I thought that some guy down in shipping would see my address, find me, and kidnap me forever. I had anxiety for days, until the book itself finally came.

And let me tell you, it was some of the WORST yaoi I’d ever seen in my entire life. The art was laughably bad, so bad that it was impossible to get anything “exciting” out of it. This was also the first time I was introduced to tentacle monsters and twincest (in the same fucking chapter, no less).

But holy shit, I truly felt awesome and independent when I ordered this book online. Unfortunately, my mom found it and I’ve never seen it since. Apparently, my sister knows where it is, but she isn’t telling me for some reason.

Alright third time now. My rough draft is done.

So I finally finished it and I would love some critique on it! I’m not too satisfied with the ending, but it’s due tomorrow, so I might have been a little more lenient with the writing aspect. Anyway, the concept I was trying to get across was this: That human beings created the gods. I tried to be rather subtle about it so it wouldn’t come across as ham fisted, but I’m not sure if I achieved that. Any critique would be good—whether it’s on dialogue, descriptions, characterization, etc. 

So here it is: The Court (You’ll have to read it off of tumblr because for some reason it wouldn’t let me include a break when I posted, and it’s really too long for other peoples’ dashboards.)

(If you have other title suggestions, that would be great as well. I’m absolutely awful at titling things.)

Something I used to do while writing.

I used to forget where I was going with the plot sometimes while working on multiple stories. So, I made up a solution:

Have one of the characters ask a question.

Presumably, the answer to the question would be much more complicated than a simple “yes” or “no.” I’d also know what the answer to this question was. It was also important to the plot in some way, so it wasn’t just a cop-out way for me to mark my place. 

The problem is, by the time I actually needed to do this with some stories, I was already feeling burnt-out by them. 

So I would stop working on these stories for a long-ass time because I had no inspiration other than the answer to the question.

And eventually, I’d forget what the answer to said question was.

So now, if I ever go back and read some of my old stories, I come across dozens of unanswered questions.

Just sitting there.

Waiting.

OK here’s what I’ve got so far.

I even incorporated some REAL SCIENCE that I’m actually pretty excited about for some reason. Anyway, this is an assignment for a class, so it WILL be finished.

-

            The gilded dome shone with a dull yellow hue against the velvet cover of the night. Millions of stars watched over the golden city, and one rested atop the spire of the center dome. This star was a color unlike any hue in the visible light spectrum—its color could only be described as omniscient. To a human it would appear pink, but any god would laugh uproariously at that idea, and smite the human for his stupidity. This star was far too important to be labeled with a color. It was the star at the very center of the universe.

            Underneath the ever-watchful star, Azathoth’s Court was in full swing. The “Other” gods danced in their marvelous ways, and played a haunting tune on their flutes. At Azathoth’s left was his co-ruler, Yog-Sothoth, and at his right was Nyarlathotep. Nyarlathotep was perhaps the only lower deity not disturbed by Azathoth’s and Yog-Sothoth’s grotesque appearances. Though, he was quite disturbing as well—all Lovecraftian gods were.

            But the monstrous Lovecraftian gods weren’t the only deities at the Court. There were gods from all cultures and races in the universe. They mingled, making small-talk about wanting to be worshiped again, or complained about their followers misinterpreting their teachings. Jesus and Zeus were engaged in a loud, obnoxious conversation with the insect-like god of the Hrramfk race, from planet Amfk. Hera looked on contemptuously and shook her head. She ambled over to Sekhmet and Bastet, the Egyptian goddesses of war and motherhood, respectively. Sekhmet noticed her walking over and sneered and rolled her eyes.

Read More

Naming Aliens and shit

I hate coming up with names for deities or races of whatever. So you know what I did? I banged my fingers on the keyboard a few times and got my names. There’s the Hrramfk people of planet Amfk, and their god is Grrkhaghl. This is by far the best method of coming up with names for alien races.

Also, I’m probably writing the most sacrilegious characterization of Jesus out there. He’s a young, impressionable god who’s being taught about ~*naughty*~ things by Zeus, who’s more of a father-figure than his own dad. It’s so much fun to impose personalities on religious figures. 

I was also considering making Sekhmet and Bastet into lesbian lovers but apparently they’re sisters so that probably won’t fly with my professor. 

GOSH DARN IT

georgshadow:

Every time I sit down to write a story I envision it being some poignant, beautiful, heartfelt and dramatic piece, but it always ends up being like this:

fanfiction is serious business

See, I have the opposite problem. I tried writing some porn for Silent Hill (I REALLY had to get my jollies on that day), and now it’s turning into something far too serious for a porn fanfiction. And when I actually GET to the porn part, I can’t write it. GOD DAMN IT.