Fat Princesses

(no subject)

I wrote this in a rush for my creative writing class. There are a billion things wrong with it, but you know, the whole point of the class is to sit around and go, "This is what's wrong with your story, you louse." only not so much the louse bit. It's based off a dream I posted to my LJ some time ago. In my brain, it's a comic, so some bits are too rushed, poorly explained, and etc.

Read more...Collapse )
Fat Princesses

Sadly, he was born without a chin.

Here are some doodles of a character who will be showing up in this week's episode of Rue Thadday, Hobo Princess. His name is Baxter. Technically, he is a hot dog vendor and college student, but he also serves as resident wiseman and de facto prince.



Baxter firmly believes in sideburns. I am kind of in love with him. This is unfortunate, for reasons I think are obvious.
Fat Princesses

(no subject)

Another doodly trip to Cillacora, Texas, and the alphabetical deists what live there. Suddenly it occurs to me that WHY AM I GIVING YOU THE LIMERICKS? Most of them are heavy rough drafts, granted, but still, Forget that. You'll read them when I'm done, and then you'll go, "...that's it?" and we'll all be good.

Meet Magnus, the preacher. This is the seventh shot I've taken at him, and the closest. I want him to have a charisma that has been worn away by hope systematically destroyed. Barring that, a beard. I will probably be working on his design way more than the others because he is the only recurring character, being the man who led this tiny town to its despair. (Oh I swear, if this only gathers interest from goths, I shall kill myself.)



At the top is the ABCDeists logo, tinified and lost when I inked in the black. It's a sun/compass/broken effed up clock. I'll make the finished snazzy one tommorrow for you kids to see.

This drawing is why I cannot do the comic by mself: See how shitty and wonky it is? Poorly planned and whatnot? Clumsily inked, etc.? Still took me an hour and a half. HI, I'M ANNE, APPARENTLY I'M SLOW. (Also, it looks absurbly better in real life.)

Xander Xarris. He likes doggies. I don't like doggies: they ate ALL OF MY RUBBER ERASERS. ALL OF THEM.



His dogs need to be fiercer, but, yanno, I like to draw friendly, rounded doogs. Dogs that would never eat my rubber erasers. Jerks.

I love how I am agonizing over the themes and arts of this when NO ONE WILL GET THE THEMES UNLESS I TELL THEM. I mean, it's LIMERICKS. Oy. I need to calm down. Or sleep.
No words.

WOW I DID A FULL BODY DOODLE, IS THAT POSSIBLE??????

One unexpected side effect of the war was a shortage of boxers. All the young men, strapping or otherwise, were off on the front lines, defending the nation. No one was left to fight for entertainment at home.

Dog and cock fighting took center stage in most towns, but it didn't hold the same appeal as formal fisticuffs. So were born the oh so illegal "poutpugs"---boxing matches between boys as young as six.

After his father died in the war, and his mother was taken to the asylum, little Jander got swept up in the poutpug circuit. He was a crowd favorite, the slight boy with one hand. He had a natural flair for it---they encouraged him to fight dirty, and so he did. It was the strongest male prescense he'd have in his life, and it was miserable. He was traded from pub to pub, hated and mocked by the other boys. But it's what led him to Chilton, and his job with the newspaper. Which led him to the Agency.

At least once he left town, no one called him God's boy.



I don't care that Arche is shaping up to be a grade A melodrama. Melodramas is important too, yo.
Fat Princesses

I would like to learn how to narrate some time. That might help. Get some o'that description mojo.

I don't know what this is. It's an Arche snippet, I guess. AND HEY GUESS WHAT JANDER HAS A DREAM. I know. It's like his modus whatever.

I swear, I'm not trying to be a jerk with Arche, letting out scraps. Honestly, I don't even know what it is anymore. I mean, the world it's set in is very nebulous to me. Tobin and Abby took control of the plot for awhile, until I remembered the whole point I'm trying to make is in Gerry and Jander's twin crises, so I'm trying to wrangle it back that way. It drives me crazy: Three years---four years now! It's Arche's birthday!---I should know what the hell I'm doing. But no, it's all on the other side of this ravine, and I'm not even close enough to peek over the ledge, much less figure out how to get across.

Anyway, hey look, a snippet. I'm just letting the characters out to play a little, stretch their legs a bit. But it's more canon-y than The Hand, that's for sure. I didn't even bother making it read pretty. Just getting it out of my system. (It's amazing how easy it is to write when you don't bother with quality control.)

In my mind, Jander's dream was a comic, but it was all hands and light sources and bla bla bla and please note I am an art wuss.

Written to Orion.



Monday the FirstCollapse )
  • Current Music
    P.S. I AM A HOPELESS ROMANTIC, LET'S JUST GET THAT OUT THERE.
Fat Princesses

(no subject)

Normally I wait until I have the finished product, but I really like how this ABCDeist portrait concept doodle came out.



Back east, Widow Peggy was known
For her quaint engravings in stone,
'Til a close inspection
Of her vast collection
Showed most were in fact carved from bone.


I wanted her to be old, but sexy (she's a serial wife and all), so I based her off Lauren Becall a little. My mom went, "Hey, it's Lauren Becall!" so I feel my work here is done.

Now I notice her chin is wonky, but whaddya want. So it goes.

Also, since some of you might be curious: I've officially decided not to do the arts on this. Like I've said before, the portraits are fine, but man, I canna do the illustrations. So I dunno.
  • Current Music
    Go Home Productions - Christmas On The Block
Fat Princesses

(no subject)

I finished up my run at Acid Zen Wonder Paint today. Well, that was delightfully lame! Well done, Anne; your proudest hour, to be sure.

I have to finish Top Secret Christmas Project by TONIGHT, holy shit, but here is a glimpse for you brave tabiasdotcommers.

The week after Christmas, the livingroom floor
Was more of a sea than a floor anymore:
Here were some bears, and there were some blocks,
A hundred green soldiers atop a toy box,
A pony, some jacks, and a Playstation2,
A large plastic sword and a pair of tap shoes,
A shiny pink ring and a big rubber ball;
So on and so forth, from wall to wall.
Anyone else wouldn’t know where to start:
But not Vicky Blaggers, for Vicky was smart.
She had a system for sorting through loot.
For seven years old, she was fairly astute.
While combing through all of her treasures untold,
She found a toy labeled in lettering bold:
MADE IN TAIWAN. She frowned at the words,
Because as far as she knew, the claim was absurd!
Toys come from Santa and all of his ilk!
It’s part of a system, with reindeer, and milk!
But just the idea gave Vicky some pause:
If it’s made in Taiwan, what of Santa Claus?
She tore through her toys, looking for clues:
This, made in China, that, Kalamazoo!
Not one single toy, not one in the whole,
Had a sticker that said, MADE IN NORTH POLE.
She sat and she thought, she thought and she sat,
And the product of all of this thinking was that
Something fishy went down in the dark Christmas night,
And it was her duty to bring it to light.
Keep your eyes peeled on Christmas day, kids....