momebie: (Doctor Who Eleven arms open)
You look up from your dark hole and suddenly there's light piercing the blackness around you. A strange clanging noise sets your teeth on edge as the bucket is lowered down from you. You don't want to be rescued. You're comfortable here, finally. But everything changes, and it's time to come out and proclaim proudly that you did it. You found the end of the tunnel, of your story, possibly of your sanity, definitely of the month.

Who do you want to join you for your parade?



Write. Comment. Party.
momebie: (MCR Frank OMG)
You're almost there, writer. Can you taste it? The salt on your lips! The wind in your hair! The tentacle in your-- Wait a minute, that's not right. That's not how this story was supposed to go at all! But that's just the way, isn't it? Don't give up. You've got two days to push through, and two days is nothing compared to the 28 that came before. I'd get out my pom poms, but well, they just attract the wrong sort of cephalopod.

momebie: (X-Men Charles/Erik leaving)
Do you suppose he turned them into stone, or they turned him into a person?

momebie: (Architects Derek/Amelia Run)
I feel like my story, much like my life, has utterly and completely left me behind. I don't know that I'm ever going to catch it.

How are you doing? There yet? A little ways back? Lost entirely?

momebie: (Yellow gun)
It's Black Friday here in the US, which is the day that we're supposed to come out of our turkey caves, blinking into the sunlight, and go into a retail frenzy. I, of course, left my apartment only to quickly flee to the refuge of record stores. One of the stores we visited was new to us, and the woman behind the counter is just bursting with personality. While I was browsing a collection of old jazz albums she was chatting away with another customer and noted that she sometimes had murder fantasies about her husband, even though he was like her best friend. She then amended that to include the fact that she sometimes had murder fantasies about her best friend as well, because any love worth having had a drop of hate in it. I chuckled, and Boy elbowed me in the ribs, because I feel like that a lot of the time too, and it's funny to run into someone who understands it. Love for me, strong love, is not a pure emotion. It's a collection of feelings and intuitions that are sometimes at odds with each other, but that work anyway. Opposites do attract for a reason.

Is there anyone that your character would hate just as soon as they'd love them?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Trigun Wolfwood mercy)
This church is see through. It's a Belgian art work, which you can read a little more about here, but I'd like to think of it as being used as an actual church. I imagine sitting on the floor and looking through the cracks and just being allowed to contemplate the world rather than any specific iconography. After all, it's the physical realm that affects the most. Or is it?

When was the last time your character felt they could really, truly trust the world around them?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (MCR Frank :D)
In news of pulling as far away from the last prompt as possible while not just giving you pictures of flowers and shit: have some Frank. It's a holiday week here in the US. It's a short week for those of us who work in offices. And overall, that's kind of cruel, because we're so close to freedom yet we have SO MUCH TO DO. And so very little time to do it in. Instead of thinking about it I'm just going to sit in the corner here and giggle.

Are there things your character has been putting off that have come due?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Supernatural Dean demon)
We rely heavily on the eyes of others. We believe they can tell us if the other person is alert, interested, cagey, lying, and a hundred other gut reactions we form about people before even opening our mouths or giving them a chance to speak for themselves. When we can't see a person's eyes we react to them differently. Sometimes it's a person we trust, like a priest or a superhero and it's a relief to us that we can't see them calculating our sins and misgivings. Other times it's a person we don't trust, like a bank robber or a dementor, and it's all the more frightening for us. In those instances we take other cues and form a decision about whether or not we can be okay with the fact that we can't see the eyes that see us. But even in entirely mundane instances, we take the lack of eyes as a vague threat. It makes us uneasy.

How would your character react to an entity whose eyes they can't see? Is that entity likely to be another person, or something else entirely?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Default)
Smoking is a terrible, horrible, no good habit. I am aware of this. And while I've never smoked cigarettes I did spend the better part of one of my college years smoking other things, which mostly landed me with lungs in an even worse state than they were when I started. People get really worried for you when you sound like you have bronchitis, guys. But all that said, I am kind of drawn to characters who smoke. Spike Spiegel smokes. As do Jean Havoc and Nicholas D. Wolfwood. The way they smoke can say things about them. The flare of the embers in the tip can send a small note of light into an unbearable darkness. And then there's the camaraderie. As Simon says in this week's Misfits, it's not fair that the smokers get all the breaks.

What horrible traits do your characters have, and what do they say about them?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Bleach Ulquiorra sword)
I'm kind of impressed that I got over halfway through the month before I let this slip. I apologize, too, because I've been having great fun reading what you guys put up, even as I haven't replied to them all yet, and now we'll never know what I could have read for yesterday. But well, accidents do happen, and yesterday I accidentally Hogsmeade, so. This picture is for [livejournal.com profile] seratonation, who pinged me over twitter about what a forgetful sod I was. The colors in this piece are lovely, and I find them to be almost more interesting than the subject matter.

If you could paint the sky any color, what would you paint it?


[Credit.]


Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Default)
It's Friday. Thinking is hard. Do you like getting lost?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Supernatural Sip Blood Get Crunked)
Look guys, sometimes you just need to cut the problem off at the source.


[Credit.]


Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Default)
Well, we're over halfway through with November. How are you doing? Do you have 25,005 words yet? Do you have 200,000 like some overachievers I know? Do you have 250? I'm about 10,000 words behind. Or will be at the end of the day, I'm sure. I'm okay with this, though, because last night I spent three hours drawing maps and scraping timelines off the inner parts of my skull. We've reached the point where I think we're going to have to pull everything apart and start over new. Handy though, rubble. All the pieces are still there, you just have to figure out how to put them back together.

What have you torn apart so far?


[Belgium after a German invasion, 1914]


Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Supernatural Gabe I'm Awesome)
Today's prompt doesn't have anything insightful to say. He just wants to remind you that if you're ever feeling blue and you don't know where to go to, that you should go to where fashion sits. And also that sometimes changing your outlook is as simple as changing your look period. As an experiment to this end, today I'm wearing shiny new red shoes (new to me, the Yulee Goodwill is amazing). I'll let you know how things work out.



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (NNoD Caleb smoke)
Some photographs tell your story better than you can tell it with words. This particular image slots in with the Big Damn Existential Scifi Novel so well it's eerie. Ever since I decided to set the thing in Florida a lot of the blanks have filled themselves in. It's a long walk between military bases in Florida, but sometimes the slow way is the only way to get there. Just like in writing. One foot in front of the other. I haven't written more than a thousand words all weekend, since I was in Fernandina visiting Boy, and right now I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by the distance I need to traverse. But feeling overwhelmed isn't going to fix it, so I must put it aside and simply march. (Though, what I wouldn't give for my march to be done in that sunlight. The light here is a character all its own.)

Two men diverge in a yellow wood, which one takes the path less travelled by?



Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Architects Top Hat)
I like it when people swap genders for dress. I don't really know why, but it draws me in. Even when it's not really merely androgynous. When Scott Westerfeld gave his talk at LeakyCon this year someone asked him why Deryn dressed as a boy and he said that it was simply because he'd always wanted to write a character who did that. I can relate. In the original outlines of the Steampunk Amelia sometimes dresses as a boy. In my head she still does, but I don't think that it'll end up on the page, given the time period we're working with. Maybe for book two.

Is there a time when your character has been found out for being someone everyone else thought they weren't?

momebie: (Angel Sanctuary Lucifer)
It's Friday morning, and those of you with desk jobs know what that means. One more walk across the hot coals before the weekend! (Not colas, as I just typed. Though some book at Joann's the other day tried to convince me to drink warmed Dr. Pepper. Igh.) There are often a lot of paths to freedom. Not the big, all encompassing Freedom that Veteran's Day reminds us of, but the smaller, quiet freedoms that are the first steps in our voyage to becoming who we want to be. Trouble is, there are just as many versions of that freedom as there are people in the world, and sometimes it's hard to know if what we're heading towards is the right one. But there's good news, too. Even if you make it to the wrong one, there's no one saying you have to stay there. You may have to traipse back across the embers to find your path again, but it'll be worth it, right?


[Credit.]


Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Cowboy Bebop kick ass woman)
I write a lot of stories about boys. I do this for a myriad of reasons, but the one that's the most problematic is that I am hyper aware of the fact that there is a way to Write Women Wrong, and if I do it someone is going to call me out on it. On one hand, I am all for challenging societal expectations and progressing towards a more accepting and balanced world. On the other though, I think characters should be whole people, and some people are just terrible people, regardless of gender. The thing that makes me the most nervous about the almost violent backlash to what people perceive as Wrong is that, by identifying certain traits and weaknesses as Issues, we are telling people who identify with or are in possession of those traits and weaknesses that they are also wrong. Not to mention the fact that womanhood, like art, is open to some amount of interpretation about what it consists of these days. In the Locke Lamora fandom, for instance, there are people who complain because Lynch's female characters are too kick ass. This seems like a rather backwards complaint to me as someone who spends a lot of time side eyeing comics fandom for how they react to what they feel are regressions in female character development. Who doesn't want a world populated by kick ass women who hold their own? Even when you do it 'right', it seems, you can't make everyone happy.

One of my favorite animes is Black Lagoon. That story is full of women who kick ass and take names, but it's also full of women who are just people and who have pasts and weaknesses. It won't stop them from shooting you in the face, but they're not ignored entirely, either. It's how I'd like to write all of the women I tell stories about, but that type of woman doesn't fit in all stories. Sometimes you need someone who's passive or still learning or willing to use her body to get what she wants. It's a fine balance, writing believable women. Of course, I usually feel like it's a fine balance writing any believable character, and I should worry about gender a lot less.

All that said, I feel like this woman probably kicks some serious ass. Tell me about her, would you?


[This is my new favorite Tumlblr.]


Write. Comment. Repeat.
momebie: (Supernatural Thank God)
I'm not even going to try today, you guys. It's Wednesday. AKA HUMPDAY. I'm behind on my word count. I'm behind on life. But at least I watched Glee. A lot of people liked that first photo so this fits almost the same demographic. I'd never actually seen the real version of this photo before so I was pretty surprised when it came across my dash WITHOUT Misha Collins' head photoshopped onto it. My mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. I wonder how many freckles that guy has. And where they are. And yeah. There you go. Boost your word count. Write some angel porn.



Write! Comment! Get the tissues! Repeat!

I promise that for seven days starting today I won't post anything that has to do with trains, just for [livejournal.com profile] pocky_slash. Seriously though, it's not like there's a point anymore, since she pretty much already wrote the best thing possible for a train prompt.
momebie: (Default)
Max Ernst was a surrealist painter and a member of the Dada movement, but I know him best for his collage, which tends to find me no matter where I am on the internet. The image below is taken (I believe) from Une semaine de bonté, a surrealist graphic novel that is made up of 182 images he created by cutting up and reorganizing Victorian encyclopedias. For those of you familiar with Wondermark!, it's kind of like that. I wish I could say something intelligent, like how Ernst's work holds more interepidation and danger than that of the other artists who also use this technique, but I just haven't read enough yet to be sure. (I wonder if I can order that off Amazon...)

The key to collage is, much like writing, knowing what you want to represent and pulling together the pieces that you think will get you there. Which part of this image are you going to pluck away and make something new with?



Write. Comment. Repeat.

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