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Dog cuteness

photo: my pit bull mix Briar cuddling with Plunkett the guinea pig

photo: my pit bull Hanzo trying to make out with my mom

ahahahaha

photo: my pit bull hanzo with an emoticon superimposed over his dumb face

Write-a-thon: Monsterpede, page 06 + new collaboration

(For those just joining us, Monsterpede is an anti-all-ages picture book that serves as an allegory for a writer’s journey. I intend to self-publish it for the experience, and I am bloging all my progress. Also, my hand is busted and typoa abound. Sorry!)

I think perhaps this book will change the world. I say this not from any great arrogance about its quality, but rather because the universe seems to be attacking. There must be a reason. In addition to all the other nonsense, my computer temporarily broke on Monday, when i only had this:

sketch: Monsterpede, page 06

But finally, my computer is Frankensteined into existence once more, though i wouldn’t put your hand anywhere near the DVD drive just in case it has an Abby Normal CPU. Hurr hurr!

art: Monsterpede, page 06

I need new frisket. This is blobby and drying up. (More evidence the natural order is against Monsterpede!)

My original second Write-a-thon goal was sixteen pages of comic script per week, a goal i made in advance of my splinted hand. As an unexpected replacement, a close friend came up with a hilariously bad idea for a collaborative story. It is smutty and explosively embarrassing, so you will never ever ever see it, bu it does mean i am doing at least one short chapter per week. she dosn’t mind my wealth of typos! Here is my wordcount so far: 1,453.

“I cannot tell a (boring) lie.”

 

photo: my broken fingerAfter i broke my knuckle, i sat around for half of an hour, then ate a burger, then played the (fabulous!!) Rick and Morty videogame with Seamus, but at his wise insistence, i decided i was prooobably busted enough to go to the ER. (He’s marvelous. If it wasn’t for him i probably would already have died in some super-Darwin-Awards way.)

photo: electronic ER monitoring deviceWhen we got there, they put this tracking device on me. I figured it’s because they knew my time was coming to an end, which meant i was an endangered species and they needed to record my migration patterns and mating habits.

However, Seamus explained it was just so we’d know when our table was ready.

photo: me in the triage station(?!) or whereverHilariously, the 1 – 10 pain scale means NOTHING to me. I do things that reach a 6 or 7 just for fun, and this was only a 3, but all broken bones are way more serious than playing couch MMA with a friend. They declined to use the triple-axis pain graph that i offered as a replacement for their wimpy 2-D chart.

photo: nasty overflowing hospital trashThey put me in scenic Room #11, which boasts a vista of overflowing trash cans and the melodic shrieks of hyperventilating children. This was the only time that day that i really regretted my injury. (That, and the few seconds of soul-hollowing sorrow that followed the realization that i’d have to stop climbing for a few weeks.)

photo: me on the hospital bedThat bed actually was pretty comfy. If i thought i could have wheeled it out of there without getting caught, i would have loaded it onto our car.

photo: me flipping off the x-ray machine (the nurse said so!)They asked me to flip off the machine, which was awesome, but the print-out they gave me was the G-rated one you see below. ):<

x-ray of my busted knuckle

Best bandage art ever.

photo: i drew on my bandage haha

Commemoration

photo: getting my Viable Paradise and Clarion West tattoos Teresa at Sabbath Tattoo inking a splashy, artsy jellyfish onto my arm.

photo: my finished Viable Paradise and Clarion West tattoos R: jellyfish for VP XIV; L: shark for CW2012

I am a graduate of both Viable Paradise and Clarion West. These workshops changed my life in very different, intensely meaningful ways, and i’m so honored to have had those experiences and become friends with these people.

Write-a-thon Week One: Broken bones and pretend progress

It’s that time of year again, when Clarion and Clarion West graduates and supporters pledge to write every week in solidarity with this year’s students, generating sponsorships from generous donors. I promised to blog my progress, so to begin with, here’s an x-ray taken the first day of the Write-a-thon:

x-ray of my busted knuckle

While this post is late (i meant to do it Sunday night!), it’s proof that i’m still doing this. After all, 205 of the bones in my body are still whole, which means i’m 99.52% unbroken. Piece of cake! I’ll just use all those other bones to type with. (I’m currently pushing keys with my sacrum.)

I probably cannot deliver on the comic script i was going to attempt, but my most important goal was to get crackin’ on a picture book called Monsterpede, which is an allegory for my personal journey to the Clarion West Workshop. That means less typing than most books i work on! The original notes even contain plans for the protagonist to acquire a finger injury. My ER visit on Monday was a sign from the cosmos to concentrate on Monsterpede!

I didn’t make much progress the first week, so no new finished pages to show you, but i have an index of previous posts about the project, a photo of my workspace, a revised script, and a sketch of page six!

Monsterpede post index:

Making Monsterpede: Self-publication
Monsterpede Script & Dummy
Monsterpede Script & Storyboard
Monsterpede: Monster design
Monsterpede: Making pages 02-03
Monsterpede: Finished pages 01-04
Monsterpede: media practice
Monsterpede: a sketch + page five

 photo: my workspace for Monsterpede

 sketch: page 06 of Monsterpede

Please let your overwhelming pity rain down upon my CW Write-a-thon page in the form of sponsorship. (:

I’ll have more Monsterpede for you on Monday!

PIE ATTACK

photo: me with lemon pie all on my face (the pie started it)

The pie started it.

…SHUT UP, YOUR MOM’S A LIAR.

Wereology

So last Saturday, Seamus and i visited an abandoned zoo. It was spooky.

illustration: me and Seamus about to go in a haunted zoo

Never go to an abandoned anything with me, because i have two life philosophies that, when combined, create almost certain death:

1. When faced with a decision, choose the option that makes a better story later

2. Nothing in horror movies is ever real so you should definitely check out that mysterious noise

illustration: me and Seamus in the haunted zoo

The inside of the monkey house was disappointing at first… until the proverbial mysterious noise. Seamus looked up, but it was too late–it had already spotted us, and it leapt down and bit each of us right on the ass. This isn’t the first time a pissed off animal has bit me in the ass, and it won’t be the last. But this time, something was different.

We ran back to the car and checked our wounds. They were gone. I mean, the holes were still there in our jeans (i really can’t afford a new pair and super-pissed about it) but our skin was flawless, like it had never happened.

After he put me in a headlock and wrestled me into the child safety seat that i ride in because i’m so short, we went home, ate salted caramel gelato, and marathoned Community until we fell asleep. When we woke up, we didn’t speak about the monkey attack because what would we say?

By Wednesday it was clear, though. It wasn’t a ghost monkey. It was a were-monkey. Because Seamus and i both went and did this, even though we’re heinously out of shape and terrified of heights.

photo: Seamus climbing a fake rock wall

photo: Seamus climbing a fake rock wall again

photo: me climbing a fake rock wall, dressed like a banana

Definitely were-monkeys.

Oh and also, so is our friend John, so now we have something in common with him besides being really good-looking and charming and smelling good.

photo: my friend John Poor climbing a fake rock wall

My useless lawnmowers

My last pair of guinea pigs (which i call marsvin, because the Swedish word is way cuter) were the queens of lawnmowing. I would put out their 2′x3′ wire cage top directly on the lawn, set them in it, and in 45 minutes they would mow six square feet and fertilize it with their funny little turds.

So when i got these marsvin (Plunkett and Macleane), i thought they’d be the princes of lawnmowing. Here they’re all set up, with some towels pinned on top f the cage so they can get out of the sun (which they oddly despise, like fuzzy little vampires).

photo: both marsvin in their cage on the lawn

They are defective. They only mow little bits at a time, sometimes in weird patterns so it looks like my lawn has mange, and sometimes in oddly coherent strips, like this:

photo: weird bald path across my lawn

And it takes them HOURS. But if i ask them about it, they just give me these innocent faces and shriek their horrid little marsvin shrieks. And look vaguely smug. It’s like they’re eating the lawn unevenly as some kind of subversive, avant garde art revolution.

photo: one of my marsvin, Macleane

I’m not reallllly upset about it, though, because my backup lawnmower? That one is sexy.

photo: Seamus at the helm of the Zodiac