Stfu, it counts as a ramble.
Boo actually belongs to a verse I actually created a while ago, but I haven't told anyone about it
colinmk2 11:51 pm
Oh yes?
Thaddeus Grey 11:51 pm
yez
Thaddeus Grey 11:52 pm
the original story centered around a girl named Shaz. She had long orange hair and was imbued with something called Chaos--which was an actual visible, physical force in her world
this made her a "medium" of Chaos, so she and those like her were called mediums
is much backstory I'd rather not get into at the moment, though maybe later if you'd like me to
anyways, I was...what's the word
wavering back and forth between how Chaos got into her world--originally I had decided people mined too deep and basically disturbed it from some sort of sleep
colinmk2 11:53 pm
Huh
Thaddeus Grey 11:54 pm
I didn't want it to be an already established force in her world because government organizations hunting people and strange creatures down are something I get off on
Thaddeus Grey 11:54 pm
anyways
I have also lately been toying with the idea that it was floating around in space and then fell to Erth like some kind of meteor, etc
however, in Boo's time, a significant amount of time has passed since a large disaster involving Chaos, and during Erth's recovery, mediums have taken a more dominant standing, as has the creations of Chaos, known as "spawn"
they prefer to be called "spun", however, as in "spun from Chaos" rather than "spawned"
colinmk2 11:55 pm
Neat
Thaddeus Grey 11:57 pm
mediums, once hunkered down in small groups or as loners, have spread out more evenly, often travelling about, cause they can, or inhabiting the recovering cities out in the open, as the government is too busy dealing with the basic necessities to bother hunting them--and, frankly, the government needs them to deal with the basic necessities
mediums have also become more diverse in types
one type of medium is an Artisan--they do not possess "familiars" like most mediums
what makes Artisans special is that Chaos will actually spin things right out of their heads
colinmk2 11:58 pm
ooo
Thaddeus Grey 11:58 pm
Boo is one such spun
see, the thing about Chaos
it's not like magic, and it's not just a force of nature
it's pretty well established Chaos has some sort of sentience. It's not male or female, it's not a god, it's not a demon, it's not good, and it's not evil.
Thaddeus Grey 11:59 pm
It exists without morality and integrity
the only thing Chaos is, indefinitely, is curious
Everything it does is based on the question "What if?"
it is by no means innocent--it would wipe out a continent of life if it thought the consequences would be interesting
It has favourites among mediums and Artisans. People it finds more interesting than others. People can not master Chaos like people in fantasy master magic. They earn its favour, gaining more power through that.
And they don't gain its power by worship or praying or some such nonsense.
They earn it by being themselves. They earn it if Chaos thinks they will do interesting things with it.
Thaddeus Grey 12:01 am
Thus, there is no gaurantee that a particularly powerful medium is good or evil or anything. Chaos does not take sides, it throws shit at the fan and watches what happens next.
Into this world is spun Boo. The irony is, he is spun completely by accident.
colinmk2 12:02 am
Mhm
Thaddeus Grey 12:02 am
At least, he is considered an accident by his creator.
His creator is a weak Artisan who was never able to spin anything prior to him, not even her own muse--actually, she doesn't even have a muse. Having a muse doesn't really make Artisans in general stronger or weaker, but it does help them focus their energy better.
Like some other Artisans, she travels frequently with caravans of people--there are not enough resources left in one place for people to be able to set down roots, for the most part
Thaddeus Grey 12:04 am
she is paid to protect them with her power as an Artisan from the various dangers on a road, and I doubt I need to go into detail. Bandits, slavers, etc
Vulturous wyverns that may get hungry enough to not bother waiting for something to die of natural cause.
On one caravan run, she meets a little girl who refuses to go to sleep. She likes the girl and her mother, and with nothing better to do, she starts telling the girl that if she doesn't sleep, the bogeyman will come and get her.
colinmk2 12:05 am
Because kids sleep so much better when frightened
Thaddeus Grey 12:06 am
(The idea is to entertain her sufficiently so that she feels the adults have earned their peace. I'll explain it more later.)
colinmk2 12:06 am
I need to draw to get this character solidified
I'm still here
Thaddeus Grey 12:06 am
The girl starts asking questions, and the Artisan starts answering. Over the next few nights, the bogeyman builds up a description of things little girls are afraid of--he has bat wings for ears, snake tails that rattle for hair, a pair of spider mandibles on his face, long, spindly fingers with long needlelike claws
It's sort of like a story time for the girl. The Artisan doesn't really want to scare her, but each night she tells the girl she'll only tell her more about the bogeyman tomorrow if she's a good little girl and goes to sleep.
But then the description starts getting more into the depth of the character of the bogeyman, and gettings scary
Thaddeus Grey 12:08 am
one night when the Artisan is feeling especially morbid, she tells the little girl that the bogeyman was the soul of a child that died of fright, with its face split open from screaming, and now the bogeyman has stitches on his face to hold it together
she only later realizes that was a really fucking stupid thing to do.
So then she starts softening the description--the bogeyman isn't really mean. He steals children because he's lonely and wants friends. He can't make friends because he thinks he's so ugly/scary looking he never can talk to people.
Even that doesn't help, so she tries a he's-more-scared-of-you-than-you-are-of-him
she tells the girl the bogeyman does want friends, but he's terrified of people in the daylight--he only approaches them at night, when they're sleeping
Thaddeus Grey 12:10 am
the bogeyman can't sleep unless he takes people's dreams and sews them into blankets for himself with his needle-claws
he really is a nice, sweet person deep down, he's just afraid of everything, even his own reflection/shadow
so as the bogeyman builds and builds, Chaos, present inside the Artisan, thinks this is actually pretty interesting, and starts wondering
colinmk2 12:11 am
heh
Thaddeus Grey 12:13 am
What would happen if this bogeyman were a real person? What it would be like for him, struggling to survive this reality? What if he met his creator? Would he be angry at her for giving him such a fucked up psyche? Would he beg her to fix him? Would he see her as his only hope for friendship and love and cling to her like a little puppy?
These are enough questions for Chaos to spin the bogeyman--Boo, the name given him off-handedly one night by his Artisan--out of a lake of Chaos sitting around a few miles away.
most spun are created in the presence of their Artisan, but Chaos is curious about what will happen if Boo meets up with another caravan who's path crosses between him and his Artisan's before he meets her
Thaddeus Grey 12:15 am
So, Boo is created, and the only past he really has is the vague notion his Artisan spouted off one night about being the soul of a child that died in terror.
which Chaos also finds interesting.
Thaddeus Grey 12:17 am
so, things happen. he does meet up with that other caravan, though by then he's seen his reflection and is terrified of himself. He also has access to his "common knowledge"--not memories per se, but a store of simple knowing that many spun are born with. It's not really information about his past as an individual, but a very distinct set of instincts that tell him how the world and the people in it see him, how he is expected to behave or what he needs to do to survive--things like whether or not he is of a "kind", say, and that he needs to hide himself, things like that.
So, for instance, Boo knows he is a bogeyman. He knows people are afraid of him. He knows he can live among them if he's careful. So he's careful. He passes through some ruins, ganks some rags, covers his more conspicuous traits.
Even though Boo is terrified of people, he manages to get taken in by them. Though he mostly lives by absorbing dream energy--which he also knows--he does need to eat and hydrate.
Also, all Boo really wants is to be friends. With everyone. Anyone.
Thaddeus Grey 12:20 am
He tries to make friends in the caravan, and he does--but then shit happens. They're attacked by bandits, and Boo uses his claws to protect a friend. He's stripped of his rags, and they see him.
Boo is also vaguely aware--though he has yet to consciously acknowledge--that he is a creation of Chaos. That he is not a common occurrence. That people will not know what in fuck he is.
They end up thinking he's dangerous, even though when they come at him with ropes and point guns at him he dissolves into a puddle of whimpering tears--a lot of terror, a lot of betrayal. All he wanted was to protect his friends. He didn't want to scare anybody.
colinmk2 12:22 am
Aww
I drew a thing
Thaddeus Grey 12:22 am
I wanna see
They keep him wrapped up in the back of a covered truck. When they pull through a rest stop, coinciding with Boo's Artisan's caravan, the little girl is running around, exploring, and comes running, telling the Artisan they caught a bogeyman just like she told her about.
colinmk2 12:22 am
I don't know if you'll be able to see all of it
Thaddeus Grey 12:22 am
why not :/
colinmk2 12:23 am
Because the smoke is very faint and the light is all the way over there
Thaddeus Grey 12:23 am
Hrmf/
So, long story short, Boo's Artisan takes him off the caravan's hands. Chaos has never spun anything for her before, so she tries to be positive about it, be excited--but really, she's disappointed
colinmk2 12:24 am
Sent
Thaddeus Grey 12:24 am
She feels she had lots of other great ideas in her head--hell, she probably did. Chaos doen't make its decisions based on originality or creativity or how good an idea is, sadly
it makes decisions based on how interesting the outcome will be--or, if it really likes you, it will do it just because you want it, and it likes you being happy
sweet
is this Sor?
colinmk2 12:25 am
Nope, new char
I can blather about her when you're done, if you want
Thaddeus Grey 12:25 am
absolutely
almost done, I think
colinmk2 12:25 am
Alrightie
It's all very innerestin so far
Thaddeus Grey 12:25 am
wrappin up I think
Honestly, Boo is happy because she's his creator, which is just like having a mom, and moms are supposed to love you, right?
Thaddeus Grey 12:26 am
So he follows her around like a sappy little puppy.
colinmk2 12:26 am
hehe
Thaddeus Grey 12:26 am
But gradually as time passes Boo gets over being an oblivious little twit, and even though he sort of grows on her
he comes to realize she really is disappointed he wasn't one of her better ideas that she liked more
colinmk2 12:27 am
Aww
Thaddeus Grey 12:27 am
ideas that she's always drawing or talking about, when she never really acknowledges him as anything more than just another average joe
instead of an amazing miracle of nature/whatever Chaos is that got plucked out of her mind and made real.
Thaddeus Grey 12:29 am
Boo worships her, he can't help himself--that's just who he is. But it's always a deeply emotional blow to him whenever she's talking about him to someone else and mentions he was never supposed to be spun, yes, she knows he's not the most original idea, but she didn't pick him
Thaddeus Grey 12:32 am
"And why did I have to be some kind of--some kind of nightmare freak?" he asked, his lip trembling. His Artisan threw her hands into the air in frustration.
"I don't know!" she exclaimed. "You weren't supposed to happen!"
He looked crushed when she said that. She hurriedly tried to backpedal.
"That's not what I--look, it's just, I didn't mean for you to happen. And I'm sorry you did. Believe me, I would have rather you were one of my truly original ideas, not some ancient folk tale..." She wanted to smack herself. She was just making things worse.
He looked like he was about to cry.
"I...I'm not even an original idea?" he whispered.
"...No," she said quietly. "Bogeymen--the idea--it's been around for decades. Maybe even centuries."
"But lots of Artisans do that," he said, offering a wavering smile. "Lots of Artisans just rework an old concept, right? Make it creative?"
"...Well, yeah, but you weren't even that," she said, faltering. Well, she wasn't going to lie to him. "You...you were just a mishmash of cliches. You know, what little girls are afraid of. The bat wings, the spider legs, the snake tails--that sort of thing."
Boo looked like he really was going to cry.
That image has been sticking with me for a couple days now.
colinmk2 12:33 am
Aww!
Thaddeus Grey 12:33 am
I really like his story and I'm hoping to work it into the 'verse with some success.
colinmk2 12:34 am
It sounds pretty dang nifty
Thaddeus Grey 12:34 am
Gall I am such a dick to my characters
colinmk2 12:34 am
Who isn't
Thaddeus Grey 12:34 am
But I think what I like about him so much is that he represents everything I want to do with that world eventually
colinmk2 12:35 am
"Harry, come over here, I want to throw a speeding eighteen wheeler at you."
Thaddeus Grey 12:35 am
XD
colinmk2 12:35 am
"When it crashes I want the cars it was toting to fall on your head."
"Ready, set... GO!"
Thaddeus Grey 12:35 am
I will have to read that in context someday.
colinmk2 12:35 am
heh
Thaddeus Grey 12:35 am
So, I mean, eventually
colinmk2 12:35 am
It's what I just wrote today
Thaddeus Grey 12:36 am
I want this place, Erth, to have humans having to coexist with a population of spun as many as they are
Thaddeus Grey 12:36 am
and Artisans having to deal with their characters popping into reality at random--and then their characters' issues become real, with whatever powers/strange things about them etc they have in their heads
but once in reality, it becomes vastly disenchanted
Boo, classified as "being afraid of his own reflection, even his own shadow"
has to deal with paranoia, tons of ridiculous phobias, and a sharply contradicting personality trait that demands he loves people, even though they hate/fear him
Thaddeus Grey 12:39 am
it's adorable in a story, but in the real life he spends with his Artisan, he's more than a character. He is a person, and he has to deal with these issues, and she has to watch him deal with them. As he changes and matures, he questions the integrity of Artisans and humans in general, and how they could be so cruel to torture made up people like him--after all, what sort of ethics are brought into question in a society where a schizophrenic serial killer dragon with a Napoleon complex could pop into existence in the middle of time square?
colinmk2 12:40 am
heh
Thaddeus Grey 12:40 am
as he is removed from any story that might have held him in his Artisan's head, Boo is removed from the acceptance a character has--this is the way they are, right? They can't do anything about it--they are not aware that it is not their fault.
Thaddeus Grey 12:42 am
But Boo is aware that it's not his fault. It literally isn't. Thus he is cursed with a sort of awareness of himself, something else he constantly struggles with. And there's the question, of course--does he really love gouda? Or did his Artisan decide he does? Is he really terrified of kitchen sinks? Or is that another afterthought his Artisan slapped onto his ref sheet the other day?
He's always questioning his free will and sense of self, and that fucks with his head.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Musings of a Hairy, Bitter Cynic
The power on my laptop is dying which means after I get this posted I will have to get up and go all the way over theeeeere as Mek would say, to get the chord.
Oh, mine is a tortured soul, suffering for its art.
Tagging this for spoiler warnings. Not really sure why, because everyone who's reading this will have already read the first ever draft of Dollface. Which reminds me. I still need to remember where we keep our matches now. Mom moved them from the pasta cupboard for reasons I still haven't fathomed.
And before I post my little tirade/musing, I am going to post some stuff from Mek, from a conversation we had the other night. Because it's damn feature-worthy and I may very well put it in the end of Dollface if it ever gets published, if Mek allows, of course.
Do you?
(Slightly edited into a suitable format for reading. All I did was put some punctuation in, really. Hope s'okay.
Honestly?
The TV said life would be fair. Every bit of fiction out there said life would be fair. The good guys win, the bad guys lose, and everyone gets what they deserve in the end. The television taught us that we would grow up to be rock stars or famous authors or celebrities or doctors. That our dreams would come true if only we tried hard enough and believed hard enough.
So we become adults and spend our lives in a daze because most of us didn't become rock stars and what did we do wrong? We believed what we were taught, that's what we did wrong.
I remember I was a senior in high school. And everyone, everyone up until then had told me that life was short, enjoy what you got. And then this guy comes in.
"Attention students, life is really damn long. You need to work hard now so you don't hate the last sixty or seventy years of your life."
...
WHY THE FUCK WAS HE TELLING THE SENIORS
TELL THE FRESHMEN!
THEY'RE THE ONES THAT NEED TO KNOW!
Attention, kids, students, politicians, and people in general.
Mek knows shit.
Listen to him.
The TV lied.
And now for something completely unrelated--I just put that up because I thought he put that shit pretty damn well for spewing it off the top of his head over an AIM conversation.
Let's be honest.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
Right now, I am wasting time writing some stupid pointless ramble about how pointless my attempts at writing are. I also realize some people think I'm good at writing, and that as they've gotten to know me and endured my talking-down of myself in general more and more, they think I'm fishing for compliments/sympathy/attention. Or at least, I probably come off like that half the time.
So let's be honest.
I don't always feel like my writing is shit. Sometimes I even feel like I write good characters, if not plot. Because I like to feel like my characters are something new. Something no one has done before. There are butch women and there are feminine boys, but name one of them you've met personally that isn't gay or at least bi.
Which brings me to the point where I am supposed to say I have nothing against gay or bi characters. But I do. I can't stop people making them and I can't stop actual people being gay or bi, but I can damn well say I don't like it because I think there's a fuckton enough of people out there saying it's okay to be yourself and express your opinions.
And anyone who doesn't like it can't bitch at me about it because they're the ones saying I can't bitch at them for supporting homosexuality.
I made my characters the way they are because my world says that this is the way it is: transgenders are okay, homosexuals are okay, but there's nothing the fuck wrong with a private school inscribing in their rules that I must wear a skirt on chapel days because I am a girl.
And I am sick of this hypocrisy. I am sick of people saying boys can be girls and girls can be boys but I can't be masculine because I got lady parts. Fuck you. They aren't lady anything. They're the equipment I was born with, and I accept it and have no problem with it. I have a problem with people assigning characteristics and mannerisms to them.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
I don't write because I think I'm good at it. I write because I know I suck at it and because I want to get better and because I feel like shoving my foot up anyone's ass that says boys can't wear dresses. That any man who has ever put on a dress and liked it isn't a real man. That I need to shave my legs and rip hair off my face with hot wax and show off my milk-producing infant-feeding glands to be considered "hot" and thus suitable for a mate.
I don't shave my legs. I stopped because no one was seeing them anyway--I go for days, weeks even, without leaving the house. But school's starting again and it won't be cool enough to wear pants again for a bit yet.
And you know what? I'm still not going to shave them. Because they aren't there for you. They aren't there for the sole purpose of being aesthetically pleasing according to the preferences set down by a society I didn't ask to be born into. Because for a moment, I'm going to wax scientifically sexist and point out that as a woman, I've been technically born already more attractive than the opposing gender, which is what I'm supposedly supposed to go to all this trouble for in the first place, and I don't see why I have to put so much additional effort into pleasing their eyes when I'm already a lot more apathetic about my appearance than most women.
Because my legs exist for the purpose of getting me places. That's all. My eyebrows exist for the purpose of keeping sweat and crap out of my eyes. My breasts are there to feed children I don't intend to ever have. I'm not sure what the hair on my chin and upper lip is there for. Probably because I get a fuckton of hair from my dad's side and my body just has nowhere else to put it.
And let's get vulgar for a minute. Let's talk about crotch hair. It's there because humans were created without clothes for a reason--they don't need them to survive. It's there to protect my piss-exit and reproduction site, and it's there to clot the blood when I shit uterus once a month so I'm not leaving blood trails all over the savanna that some rabid lioness could pick up on and follow me and hunt me down. It actually has a purpose and a function. I am not going to cut it off or rip it off with hot wax when that's already a damn sensitive area and because I don't need to.
Hair isn't ugly. It's not unhygenic. It's just as fucking natural as it is on a man's body and I refuse to be ashamed of my body's natural defense system.
Fuck knows what I'm doing.
I'm not a good writer. But I think I write good characters. And I think the stories--their stories--that they're telling you are interesting. They're different. You've read scifi and future and sex and romance and mutated monsters before. Hell, you can get all of that if you just pick up an issue of X-Men.
But you've never read a boy who wants to wear dresses and makeup who was sexually violated in a closet as a child and is now a rising electropop star and a woman that's probably slightly insane--no, I'm serious, she probably is--wants to pin down a cyborg with freckles that glow in the dark and make him squeal, and may very well be as manly as Rambo. And if you've had, send me the title, because I want to read it.
Am I hoping it will get published someday? Fuck yeah. Do I think it's likely? I try not to think about it.
Do I want it to start a revolution?
My expectations are low, but it would be pretty damn nice.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I am trying to tell a story that as far as I know has never been told before.
Does the world need to hear it?
I'm sure it can survive without it.
But I think if it does, there will be some interesting consequences.
I'm Thaddeus Grey. I am thoroughly convinced I can't write worth a damn.
But I do think I'm relatively good at making up crazy shit to throw at the fan just to see what happens.
And I think you're all here because you're interested, too.
Oh, mine is a tortured soul, suffering for its art.
Tagging this for spoiler warnings. Not really sure why, because everyone who's reading this will have already read the first ever draft of Dollface. Which reminds me. I still need to remember where we keep our matches now. Mom moved them from the pasta cupboard for reasons I still haven't fathomed.
And before I post my little tirade/musing, I am going to post some stuff from Mek, from a conversation we had the other night. Because it's damn feature-worthy and I may very well put it in the end of Dollface if it ever gets published, if Mek allows, of course.
Do you?
(Slightly edited into a suitable format for reading. All I did was put some punctuation in, really. Hope s'okay.
Honestly?
The TV said life would be fair. Every bit of fiction out there said life would be fair. The good guys win, the bad guys lose, and everyone gets what they deserve in the end. The television taught us that we would grow up to be rock stars or famous authors or celebrities or doctors. That our dreams would come true if only we tried hard enough and believed hard enough.
So we become adults and spend our lives in a daze because most of us didn't become rock stars and what did we do wrong? We believed what we were taught, that's what we did wrong.
I remember I was a senior in high school. And everyone, everyone up until then had told me that life was short, enjoy what you got. And then this guy comes in.
"Attention students, life is really damn long. You need to work hard now so you don't hate the last sixty or seventy years of your life."
...
WHY THE FUCK WAS HE TELLING THE SENIORS
TELL THE FRESHMEN!
THEY'RE THE ONES THAT NEED TO KNOW!
Attention, kids, students, politicians, and people in general.
Mek knows shit.
Listen to him.
The TV lied.
And now for something completely unrelated--I just put that up because I thought he put that shit pretty damn well for spewing it off the top of his head over an AIM conversation.
Let's be honest.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
Right now, I am wasting time writing some stupid pointless ramble about how pointless my attempts at writing are. I also realize some people think I'm good at writing, and that as they've gotten to know me and endured my talking-down of myself in general more and more, they think I'm fishing for compliments/sympathy/attention. Or at least, I probably come off like that half the time.
So let's be honest.
I don't always feel like my writing is shit. Sometimes I even feel like I write good characters, if not plot. Because I like to feel like my characters are something new. Something no one has done before. There are butch women and there are feminine boys, but name one of them you've met personally that isn't gay or at least bi.
Which brings me to the point where I am supposed to say I have nothing against gay or bi characters. But I do. I can't stop people making them and I can't stop actual people being gay or bi, but I can damn well say I don't like it because I think there's a fuckton enough of people out there saying it's okay to be yourself and express your opinions.
And anyone who doesn't like it can't bitch at me about it because they're the ones saying I can't bitch at them for supporting homosexuality.
I made my characters the way they are because my world says that this is the way it is: transgenders are okay, homosexuals are okay, but there's nothing the fuck wrong with a private school inscribing in their rules that I must wear a skirt on chapel days because I am a girl.
And I am sick of this hypocrisy. I am sick of people saying boys can be girls and girls can be boys but I can't be masculine because I got lady parts. Fuck you. They aren't lady anything. They're the equipment I was born with, and I accept it and have no problem with it. I have a problem with people assigning characteristics and mannerisms to them.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
I don't write because I think I'm good at it. I write because I know I suck at it and because I want to get better and because I feel like shoving my foot up anyone's ass that says boys can't wear dresses. That any man who has ever put on a dress and liked it isn't a real man. That I need to shave my legs and rip hair off my face with hot wax and show off my milk-producing infant-feeding glands to be considered "hot" and thus suitable for a mate.
I don't shave my legs. I stopped because no one was seeing them anyway--I go for days, weeks even, without leaving the house. But school's starting again and it won't be cool enough to wear pants again for a bit yet.
And you know what? I'm still not going to shave them. Because they aren't there for you. They aren't there for the sole purpose of being aesthetically pleasing according to the preferences set down by a society I didn't ask to be born into. Because for a moment, I'm going to wax scientifically sexist and point out that as a woman, I've been technically born already more attractive than the opposing gender, which is what I'm supposedly supposed to go to all this trouble for in the first place, and I don't see why I have to put so much additional effort into pleasing their eyes when I'm already a lot more apathetic about my appearance than most women.
Because my legs exist for the purpose of getting me places. That's all. My eyebrows exist for the purpose of keeping sweat and crap out of my eyes. My breasts are there to feed children I don't intend to ever have. I'm not sure what the hair on my chin and upper lip is there for. Probably because I get a fuckton of hair from my dad's side and my body just has nowhere else to put it.
And let's get vulgar for a minute. Let's talk about crotch hair. It's there because humans were created without clothes for a reason--they don't need them to survive. It's there to protect my piss-exit and reproduction site, and it's there to clot the blood when I shit uterus once a month so I'm not leaving blood trails all over the savanna that some rabid lioness could pick up on and follow me and hunt me down. It actually has a purpose and a function. I am not going to cut it off or rip it off with hot wax when that's already a damn sensitive area and because I don't need to.
Hair isn't ugly. It's not unhygenic. It's just as fucking natural as it is on a man's body and I refuse to be ashamed of my body's natural defense system.
Fuck knows what I'm doing.
I'm not a good writer. But I think I write good characters. And I think the stories--their stories--that they're telling you are interesting. They're different. You've read scifi and future and sex and romance and mutated monsters before. Hell, you can get all of that if you just pick up an issue of X-Men.
But you've never read a boy who wants to wear dresses and makeup who was sexually violated in a closet as a child and is now a rising electropop star and a woman that's probably slightly insane--no, I'm serious, she probably is--wants to pin down a cyborg with freckles that glow in the dark and make him squeal, and may very well be as manly as Rambo. And if you've had, send me the title, because I want to read it.
Am I hoping it will get published someday? Fuck yeah. Do I think it's likely? I try not to think about it.
Do I want it to start a revolution?
My expectations are low, but it would be pretty damn nice.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I am trying to tell a story that as far as I know has never been told before.
Does the world need to hear it?
I'm sure it can survive without it.
But I think if it does, there will be some interesting consequences.
I'm Thaddeus Grey. I am thoroughly convinced I can't write worth a damn.
But I do think I'm relatively good at making up crazy shit to throw at the fan just to see what happens.
And I think you're all here because you're interested, too.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Lingerie and Dead People
Planet Cemetary
Once a tactic for terraforming barren planets for farming purposes, graveyard planets have become obsolete, and now there remains only one, and it is only available to the rich. Despite the fact that a grave reserved on the Cemetary Planet is a sign of great luxury, though, those that are burdened with the task of gravekeeping--the Undertakers--are looked down upon in fear and disgust.
I imagine risks involved would include things like diseases from the rotting flesh, carrion pests(like, giant vulture rat lizards or something) and maybe the air is impure, so Undertakers have to wear gasmasks all the time.
Also, thieves and gangs would maybe run their to hide fer a bit from coppers, because the cemetary planet has only very little security--no reason for people to go there unless fer funerals, and there's nothin to steal. So Undertakers have t deal wit that sorta thing too, and they carry weapons fer fightin off carrion beasties and dangerous people hiding out. There's also a few squatter colonies hanging out until they can get enough fuel to move on. I expect there could also be a few levels, deeper into the planet, a few deep levels of caskets that the Undertakers may have been convinced to exempt from their rounds for a small black market to set up shop.
Many Undertakers are exceedingly poor, so cash can talk to them pretty well, especially those with families. Children raised on the Cemetary Planet may never get off unless they take up with the black market or mercenaries or sign up to play government lapdog for most of their lives.
Exciting stuff.
...I think I had more ideas before I got distracted by visuals of Zen in lingerie.
Nuff said.
Once a tactic for terraforming barren planets for farming purposes, graveyard planets have become obsolete, and now there remains only one, and it is only available to the rich. Despite the fact that a grave reserved on the Cemetary Planet is a sign of great luxury, though, those that are burdened with the task of gravekeeping--the Undertakers--are looked down upon in fear and disgust.
I imagine risks involved would include things like diseases from the rotting flesh, carrion pests(like, giant vulture rat lizards or something) and maybe the air is impure, so Undertakers have to wear gasmasks all the time.
Also, thieves and gangs would maybe run their to hide fer a bit from coppers, because the cemetary planet has only very little security--no reason for people to go there unless fer funerals, and there's nothin to steal. So Undertakers have t deal wit that sorta thing too, and they carry weapons fer fightin off carrion beasties and dangerous people hiding out. There's also a few squatter colonies hanging out until they can get enough fuel to move on. I expect there could also be a few levels, deeper into the planet, a few deep levels of caskets that the Undertakers may have been convinced to exempt from their rounds for a small black market to set up shop.
Many Undertakers are exceedingly poor, so cash can talk to them pretty well, especially those with families. Children raised on the Cemetary Planet may never get off unless they take up with the black market or mercenaries or sign up to play government lapdog for most of their lives.
Exciting stuff.
...I think I had more ideas before I got distracted by visuals of Zen in lingerie.
Nuff said.
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