Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Wayward Blogger

I know. You have all been terribly worried about me, not posting in weeks.

Truth is, my blog posts will be a little sporadic for a while. Here are the reasons:

I have finished the first draft of my novel. You would think this would free up time, but it does not. I must now start the rewriting process. Painful, fun, crazy, good, frustrating rewrites.

My novel is getting so much better and the process has flown so far, but that's due to the first third of my novel being pretty well polished. The middle is rough and the last third will take a lot of time and work to revise, adding in huge new scenes and gutting ones that are written.

I am working on a mobile game app. This is new to me. I had a crazy dream and woke up with a great idea. I am working with a friend who is still learning how to write the coding. I'll provide the drawings and create animations and whatnot. Scary, but I think it will be fun and make me some money once it is done. I think, completely unbiased by the way, that it is a great idea for a game and people will buy it in droves. Angry Birds look out!!

This takes much of the time I would usually devote to drawing stuff for here. Sorry. Here is a taste of the game drawings. They are not be nice.

I'm excited to make more, but daunted. I have to do multiple backgrounds, several more characters, the foreground building blocks, the bad guys, and more. I might be insane.

I am looking for a job. My little business venture has not been making me much in the way of mula. I am going to have to buckle down and go back to the corporate world. I am not entirely happy about it. I hope I can find something that isn't full time so I can still work on my art, novel, refinishing, and game app. Yep...I'm crazy.

And the biggest reason I haven't been posting often, I haven't felt very funny. Too much stress over money and the lack there of. Once I find a job and things stabilize a little, the blog posts will go back to at least once a week. I promise. I don't want to lose any of you, seriously. I fought hard to win every follower. I hope you bear with my absences and enjoy the bits I give you.

I must say, if you haven't read through all my older posts and are eagerly awaiting my latest...well...what are you thinking? Go read them. They are just as good as my newer stuff. Some might be better as my drawings have improved with time and some of the earlier ones are funnier thanks to my incompetence.

Those are my excuses reasons. To keep you happy and coming back, here is the revises opening scene from my novel. I hope you like it.

            Aren spun her lock as the hallway filled with jostling students, deafening and not just from sound. Aren closed her eyes, pushing away the noise of invasive memories, images, secrets, and sins not her own. Each body in the hall carried these around them like a cloud that Aren couldn’t help but see. Oh, how I hate crowds.
Tracy, Aren’s best friend, leaned against the locker to Aren’s right and continued to drone on about the new kid, Kaden. Aren hadn’t heard a word. She opened her eyes and spun the lock again.
A small fist slammed into the locker to her left, startling Aren. She glanced over at Steph who had been Aren’s locker neighbor for two years. Steph hit the locker again and made a growling noise of frustration in the back of her throat. She also looked like she’d been crying, eyes puffy and pink. She caught Aren’s look. “Sorry, Aren, Adam’s being a jerk!”
Aren barely heard her. She had already fallen into one of the memories.
Aren found herself looking up through Steph’s eyes as Adam’s face came closer. They were in the auditorium, lights dimmed. Aren could feel his warm breath roll across her face and she wanted to pull away, but this wasn’t her memory. She had no control. Soft lips touched hers, prickling with the thin mustache Adam had been trying to grow. Aren pushed the memory away, freeing herself and turned away. “I’m sure he’ll get over it, being a jerk. He always does.”
Steph smiled. “You’re right. He does. Doesn’t he?”
Aren nodded and swallowed, managing to keep other memories at bay as she stared at her locker. Avoiding eye contact usually helped.
Steph slipped away and Tracy started tugging at Aren’s sleeve.
“You listening to me at all?”
“Of course I am.” Aren lied.
“Okay…where was I?”
            “Right. He’s tall. Not as tall as Brian, but still up there. He has dark hair, almost black, and green eyes. Sea green. At least I think they were green, maybe hazel. And—”         
Aren lost her place with her locker combination for the third time. “Tracy, that’s enough. Slow down a little.” She spun the lock again, letting the notched numbers slide beneath her fingertips. “You only met him this morning.”
Tracy would be talking just as excitedly about another boy in a day or two. It’s such a waste of energy for both of us.
            “Just wait till you see him. He’s in our fifth period History class. I peeked at his schedule when he wasn’t looking.”
            “Oh, I’m so excited,” Aren said.
            “You could at least try to be for once instead of pretending you’re better than everyone!”
            She only does that when she’s really angry. Aren looked up at Tracy’s wide, angry eyes.The anger made it harder for Aren to keep her guard up. She fell deeper into Tracy than she had with Steph. For a moment Aren ceased to exist. She was Tracy through and through. Then a memory surfaced.
            Tracy rode on a bike, Tracy’s dad holding the seat to stabilize her as she pedaled. Aren could feel Tracy’s laughter in her throat as if it were her own. The memory faded.
Tracy sat on the floor in her kitchen, peeking through the door to the living room. Tracy’s mom sat on the couch, crying. Two men sat stiffly across from her in their crisp uniforms. Tracy started crying, not knowing what was wrong, but unable to stop. Aren could only watch, unable to comfort her friend.
Tracy huddled in the corner as her stepbrother swung the sock, Aren looking up at him through Tracy’s tear blurred eyes. The sock smacked against her stomach hard, knocking the air out her as the thick piece of soap inside did its damage. It fell again and again. Tracy would have bruises for months, but never tell.
Aren watched through Tracy’s eyes as she cracked the popsicle against the edge of the table and handed her stepbrother the other half. Tracy always forgave too easily. Anger boiled up in Aren, not part of the memory, but her own. It cleared her head and brought her back to herself, to the moment. She’d seen those memories before, but her outrage never lessened.
            Aren swallowed back the anger. Don’t take it out on Tracy. “I don’t think I’m better—”
            “You do too!” Tracy interrupted. “Just because you don’t like anyone, doesn’t mean you can make fun of me when I do.” She gave Aren one last dirty look and stormed away.
            Aren watched her friend’s back as it disappeared behind the mass of students walking the hall. Better than everyone? Aren wanted to deny it, but she often felt that way.
She sighed and turned back to the lock. It failed to open again. I give up. She abandoned the locker and walked to class without her textbook, weaving her way through a group of boys who smelled of sweat and too much cologne. She looked down, not wanting to meet their eyes.

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