Author: Amelia Whitaker

Frogbloginning (Frog-blog-beginning) 

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Yet the frog blog still returns! I’ve been looking forward to writing one all senior year, but I haven’t actually gotten on it until now. I just can’t go into May without a frog blog. It’s mandatory to my heart. I love frogs. And information. And sharing information. Basically, I really wanted to do a frog blog before senior year gets out. 

I really do feel like there should be more to say here, though. I mean, graduation is approaching faster than I ever want it to be. We’re getting a class for personal projects. Senior showcases are looming. But I guess part of frog blogging joy is that we don’t have to discuss all that. We just need to discuss frogs! And boy, do I have some frogs to share. Course the hype through your veins. Away we frog! 

Grey Foam-Nest Tree Frog (Chiromantis xerampelina) 

(Source 1) (Source 2) 

I first found out about these frogs through a friend! They sent me a video of this species making a foam nest, and it was immediately insane. However normal they may look, they aren’t! They’re an arboreal species, meaning they live in trees. Though you could spot them visiting some water source to rehydrate, you probably wouldn’t see them swimming or even just sitting in a lake. To survive dry spells, their skin isn’t as permeable as other frogs, and they change color according to temperature! Dark to light are the colors they can go through. Darkening their color allows them to absorb more heat from the sun, while lightening their color allows them to reflect heat. There’re even more adaptations they have which you can check out if you click the sources. I just know what you’re mainly wondering about: their name. These frogs build nests of foam to hold their eggs! Female foam-nest frogs, which are bigger than the males, secrete a kind of mucus from their cloaca, which they churn into foam using their back legs. The foam will then harden a bit on the outer later, all in all protecting the eggs and keeping them moist. Female foam nesting frogs do this with a lot of males present to fertilize the eggs. They also build their nests above water sources, so once the eggs turn to tadpoles, they can eventually wriggle out of the foam and into the water below. Keeping the eggs out of the water until then increases the chances of survival. Developing into a tadpole only takes about six days for a grey foam-nest tree frog! 

Water-Holding Frog (Cyclorana platycephala) 

(Source 1) (Source 2) 

The water holding frog! Like the foam-nest frog, this frog is pretty much its name, too! They live in areas with dry periods, meaning they’re on their own when it comes to water a lot of the time. For frogs, that sounds pretty impossible, but its actually really interesting how species adapt to live without the things they need. Water-holding frogs go about this by aestivating and burrowing! Aestivation is basically hibernation but in the hot, dry season of summer instead of winter. During aestivation, deep inside their muddy burrows, water-holding frogs shed layers and layers of their skin, all the while secreting a watertight mucus. The shed and mucus lines their burrow, allowing them to maintain their water with more efficiency. And, while they survive off all the nutrition they stored while awake, they may eat their den lining if they need to. It doesn’t end here, either! All of this would constitute the name ‘water-holding’, but the name is from the fact they absorb up to half their body weight in water. They store all of that water in their bladder in skin pockets to survive aestivation. Even if it takes years, the water-holding frog can arise from its burrow again, froggy as always. On the surface, they feed, breed, then fill up on water again to hit the burrow.  

Fringed Leaf Frog (Cruziohyla craspedopus) 

(Source 1) (Source 2) 

Also called the fringed tree frog, and most definitely one of the most colorful guys to ever color. (Not really, but you know what I mean.) You’d think the hues they flaunt would mean danger- toxins, poisons-!- but you’d be wrong! Fringed leaf frogs are safe to handle. For you, at least. Don’t go picking up frogs willy-nilly. These frogs do, however, change color! They rapidly switch into brown hues during the night, then return to vibrancy in the day. They also hide their yellow underbellies when adhering to a surface for camouflage. As for where they live, it’s high up in the treetops. Their eggs can be found on ground level, as they only descend to breed! 

Red-Eyed Tree Frog (Agalychnis callidryas) 

(Source 1) (Source 2) 

And lastly, I thought it would be neat to close with a classic frog! The kind you see in cartoons and logos and whatnot. We all know the red-eyed tree frog, but what do we actually know about it? For starters, they’re nocturnal, like a lot of other frogs. They can also change their color to brownish or dark green! They lay eggs on the undersides of leaves (over a pond) or on the shores of ponds, then leave the eggs soon after. One of the biggest things to me was finding out the purpose of their eyes. Why red? It turns out the red is for a thing called startle coloration! Imagine one moment you’re about to eat a little green morsel, then suddenly it looks up with gigantic, burning red peepers. They’re meant to spook predators out of eating them. Pretty neat! 

Frogblogending (Frog-blog-ending) 

You’d be surprised how difficult it is to get a conclusive call on a frog’s scientific name. Research takes time, but it’s fun, and it only gets better with frogs. Don’t feel afraid to share your own frog facts in the comments below, if you so wish! Or just share what your favorite frog is, on the list or not. There’s so much out there! Until next time, frog blog out. The frogs are never ending! 

Have I done a blog on this before? Yes. I have. But I’m also still building aliens and discovering new things about it. I’ve also been sharing my progress with friends, and that’s naturally brought up a lot of questions, which has provided a lot of answers, so… yeah. I’ve figured all these tips I’ve given might help someone out there, so why not share them? Some might be old, but they’re good. At least to me. These are only tips from my personal experience and methods- what works for me won’t work for everyone, and that’s good! Expand and explore and create. It’s fun. But onto the notes:

The hardest part about creating aliens is consistency. See what I mean in an obvious example. I created a sit and wait predator at one point, then proceeded to make them incredibly agile- but that doesn’t make sense. Why would a sit and wait predator need agility? It’s evolutionary niche is to sit and wait. So I had to go back and revise that to make it all coherent. I went about removing the agility. This applies to pretty much everything in alien creation. The biggest question to ask yourself with every feature is “Why?”, social, biological, psychological, and everything else.

Don’t be afraid to make your aliens utterly alien in shape. You could make an alien a sphere if you wanted to. Or a two dimensional circle. Honestly the more unearthly you make their biology, the more fun it can get. They’re aliens. I have an alien species that is made of fumes. Different materials work as long as you can convince your reader. Not everything needs to be flesh, or even plant matter!

Pronouns. Do your aliens even have pronouns? Does their language only account for name? Do they only speak in third person? What if their pronouns weren’t even based on self expression, but based on some kind of emotion? Like a language with an “i’m busy” pronoun, and a “I’m happy” pronoun? There’s so many things you can do with language. They can affect the dialects your aliens have when they speak in another language, too, like a common language.

Reproductive cycles. A lot of media marks alien reproduction as something within human perception, like egg laying, live birth, or even parasitic stuff- but they’re aliens. You can go so much further. You can have your aliens be born as microorganisms from the teardrops of their parents and grow as they’re stewed together in a vat. Throw in food and mix until you have baby. You can make them have entirely different forms depending on their life stage. They’re aliens.

What technology they don’t create. There’s a lot to say in what a species does create, but there’s also a lot in what they don’t create. Think of it like this: if a species doesn’t have computers, maybe they just don’t have the tech. But they could also have photographic memory and lightning quick thoughts, or maybe they’re connected by a hivemind. Maybe they don’t need computers. Anything a species doesn’t have speaks easy exposition. A lot of media will use this in a way that’s like… they use what the aliens don’t have to highlight what they aren’t, but to me it’s super fun to use what aliens don’t have to highlight what they are.

Evolution is incredibly important to species building in my mind. It makes it easier to figure out anatomical traits and behaviors, all the while fleshing out the world. Then, when you have traits and behaviors, you get a better idea of what that species’ society looks like. How would hibernation effect a government? Does family structure matter? There’s a lot more I could put to this, but I struggle to word it. How a species acts defines their customs. 

Picture this: you wake up early on a weekend. It isn’t late in the day, but it’s early. I-have-school-today early. I am gripping your shoulders with foam falling from my mouth. There is a corkboard behind me.

Houseki no Kuni, English translation being Land of the Lustrous, created by Haruko Ichikawa. A manga I can best describe as a psychological horror with symbolism down to the very chairs and enough details to feed you into an entire new year. Yes, it’s the new year. It’s been the new year. I arrive here today with even more conclusions on this story; even more info to share. I still haven’t been able to get the final translated volume, but when it releases- when it releases. You will be waking up early again.

I woke up early on day whatever of whatever and immediately spiraled into this. I grabbed volumes off my shelf, splayed them open, and by god- MAJOR SPOILERS- I realized a detail so major it was PUT IN A VOLUME’S COVER.

THE RIGHT EYE

(as depicted in the manga. I know it looks like the left but the manga says its the right.)

+ EYES OVERALL

Eyes have always had an important part in Houseki no Kuni. In fact, what I realized was both more eye-related details, and the symbolism of the right eye itself. Both of these are intertwined though. They’re both still eyes. I’m going to tell you all of this information I have between my scrabbly little claws. To even get to the right eye we have to understand what eyes in Houseki no Kuni symbolize. Generally in art, eyes are considered gateways to the soul. Fitting for Houseki no Kuni, but there’s more here.

Eyes, pretty much stated, are symbols for happiness.

“Happiness.”

“I want…”

“…To be happy.”

This is a page after Kongo tells Phos to take his right eye. It is a climax of everything. It is the feeling of exhaustion washing from your bones. This symbolism in eyes doesn’t just show up here, either. There’s panels depicting sadness where eyes are purposefully hid, over and over again. There’s Dia flinging back arrows with their sword, hair covering their eyes, only to be revealed when they think it may be over. Cinnabar is a character who’s steeped in loneliness and worthlessness, and their design consists of flowing hair over their face, often obscuring their eyes, which may be held downcast. When Rutile is thrown into turmoil over the loss of Padparadscha, their neatly done hair falls loosely over their face. Even Amethyst styles their hair to show both their eyes when they’re made distinct from their twin. Kongo tells Phos to take his eye for happiness, and Phos slams it into their skull. 

You can see it vaguely in this shot, and it doesn’t resurface. Maybe it has the potential to in the final volume, but this shows how happiness isn’t something so easily gained, especially in Phos’ case. But take care to note that this is Phos’ right eye (according to the manga), taken from Kongo’s right eye, which he specified. He didn’t just tell Phos to take his eye. He told Phos to take his right eye specifically. 

I could be all leagues of wrong with this, but Houseki no Kuni has integral aspects in its heavy themes of Buddhism. The right eye in this story could extremely easily be linked to Right View, also known as Samma Ditthi, in Buddhism. Right View is the first, crucial step in the Noble Eightfold Path. From Dhamma Source: “In essence, Right View is the understanding of the true nature of things, which leads to the eradication of ignorance, the primary cause of suffering.” Right View “Is essential for understanding the nature of reality and achieving liberation from suffering.”

Do you hear that?

Understanding of the true nature of things? The eradication of ignorance? Liberation from suffering? I said the right eye symbolized happiness in Houseki no Kuni, but it could very well be some literal representation of Right View. Phos’ whole character arc is based in finding the truth; shaking off ignorance to find out what everything means. Phos was, too, assigned the job of creating a nature and natural histories encyclopedia, way, way back in volume one. That task set all of this off. Do you hear that (again)? They were tasked. With making. An encyclopedia. Of nature and things. Of nature and histories. Of na. of.f of LIFE. RIGHT VIEW IS THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE TRUE NATURE OF THINGS> IM GOING OY SDCRE<S

And that’s not all!

God. There’s just. There’s so much to this series. Hold on a moment while I reel and collect my thoughts. We still aren’t even to Phos losing one of their eyes to be replaced with a pearl, then ultimately losing their ‘original’ right eye altogether. Should I make another blog on that? There’s so much more. There’s so much to explain and too little words. You will wake up early another day.

The title pretty much says it all. Here’s a snippet from a draft that may as well be seen, because who knows when it’ll come to fruition?

–

Shale’s hooves thump against the ground. The field is nothing. Dirt and roots break under every steady hoof for miles and miles on end. The snow rolls in ridges and craters from where it’s filled undone earth. It’s as if the cloudy sky crashed down in swathes of churned dead gray and fascia white, meaning what they’re walking on must not even be land at all. It’s a corpse. Hugo sees the same scenery no matter where she turns her head, and it’s all the same. She thinks that no humans could have done this. They are not possibly so powerful they can create this distortion; rend this land until it’s so out of reach. This must have been the battleground of dragons. This field is a setting in tales of draconic warlords. 

Then Hugo sees little feathery tips sticking out of the snow, cast about as if they were the same as the twigs buried in the snow. But there’s no forest here. They’re iced over arrows. Some are so shattered and strewn they’re no better than splinters. Hugo flicks her eyes to Shale’s hooves, the bumps in the snow, and feels the way she jostles in the saddle. There could be anything in the snow. Rusted spears crafted for human hands; ripped off chest plates forged for human figures. Rot. Bones. Hugo’s mind flicks to Brutus.  

Brutus.  

Hugo could have done this with her. Hugo should have done this. But this isn’t the work of Derecho, it’s the work of humans, and Hugo feels pressure building behind her skull. She wants to run, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why. She keeps running to how this could have been her, but it wasn’t her, wasn’t even a dragon, should have been her, and all of it fills her lungs and makes her want to crumble to snow. Snow is a nothing of a thing, in her mind. She listens to the way it crunches beneath Shale’s hooves, and to her it sounds like final, choked breaths. Maybe she heard the same sound in the moments when Brutus died. Felt it in the lightning and the reverberation of the ground. Maybe this is what Hugo choked on that day. But then why didn’t Derecho choose her?  

Why is she still here? 

Because she could never be chosen. She isn’t enough— she’s destined for too little, and anyone who’s heard her sister’s tale knows. Derecho saw the destiny flowing through Hugo and saw it wasn’t incredible, nothing with luster nor impact, and showed the world just what a sorrow that is. Brutus was worth all her mother’s grief and more. Even her death was bright. Hugo can only follow her, like back when they were young. 

“For the love of our sanity, be careful,” Ailith spits out the words as if they were bile, “There’s all sorts of sharp things in the snow here. Shale just nearly got speared and you didn’t even blink.” 

Hugo curses, “I didn’t mean to— I’ll keep my eyes sharp.” 

“Sharp,” Ailith huffs in passing, “I’m holding you to your word. Shale is, too.” 

With a nod, Hugo’s guilt moves her hand to softly stroke Shale’s neck. Right. She wouldn’t forgive herself if Shale got hurt from her carelessness. She hopes whoever buys her after Hugo’s gone will give her all the luxuries Hugo can’t. 

For now, though, Hugo needs to make sure they make it. Ailith rides a little ahead as to get a view that isn’t half Percheron flank, Hugo assumes, so she stays a bit back. If she were alone, she would run, but she has three lives around her she can’t go on without. She bears the burning in her eyes from scouting the shining snow. They can’t go fast because then they’ll up their chances of injury, but they can’t go slow because of the sun. Getting caught out here in the darkness would either give the horses frostbite or, again, impale them. Hugo pats Shale again in apology. 

She begins to wonder how many horses died in the battle that took place here, but Hugo locks away the thought for Shale’s and Lumber’s sakes. It’s a disturbing thought and she has to focus. She notices now that some of the large lumps beneath the snow are darker than others, and she avoids them without mind of what may be underneath. They must be getting into the real thick of it. Hugo sees the way Lumber’s nostrils flare and Shale’s ears perk. 

“Where’ddya think they were headed to?” Ailith cuts in. Hugo turns the question over in her brain. 

Before I sit down and write, there’s one word on my mind: snow. 

            Beep! 

            “Chunks of snow and frost tumble down from the disturbed hillsides. They’re sloped like mountains and could just as well hatch one. Like an egg tooth bursting from the rounded peak of its shell. Egg teeth are probably white, like snow. So, there’s egg teeth and frost tumbling down from cracked nests that are convex instead of concave. Not a very good nest, mama bird. Unless you’re looking to have them soar. The hillsides, I mean. The mountains are dead with that. But the hillsides reach higher than dead mountains, likely because the dead mountains are dead. You think a hillside could fly as long as it kept breathing?” 

            Dr. Faraday opens her mouth to speak, but she’s quickly cut off by the beep of an input and an automated voice. 

            Beep! 

            “—Don’t answer that. These are my words, the thought of you speaking makes my mouth itch. Prickle. It’s not going away. It’s like a tickle with nails but soft like a buzz, like the feeling from a fly zipping across your ear minus the fly inside your mouth, and you don’t flinch so much as cringe, which could make frost and teeth fall off your shoulders, which would make your shoulders hillsides. I don’t want birds on my shoulders. Those are mine. These are mine. I’m gonna sprout mountains from my hillsides to punt them off. Choke on the teeth in the sky.” 

            “Shut off the audio both ways.” 

            Beep! 

            “The s-” 

            The laboratory goes silent as a collective, save for the shuffling of individuals subconsciously moving closer to one another. The shuffling brings them further away from their creation, and it would be laughable if not for the enormity of the subject. A human brain, lab grown, hooked up to walls of monitors and tubes, sits in a small, square, see-through containment unit upon a pedestal. It is labeled ‘The Terrarium,’ by a fancifully penned sticky note. Dr. Faraday wrote it, and placed it, herself. 

            Still, nobody speaks. Someone in the back brings up a transcript of the brain’s conversation onto a large monitor. It is read, clear as day, silently, by all present. All at once: 

            “That’s a bit aggressive, right?” 

            “It’s making up sensations for itself.” 

            “Absolutely none of that made sense.” 

            “That sure is some data.” 

            “We made that.” 

            “Interesting…” 

            “Oh, man.” 

When I finally take the time to look up from my mind, I see a hundred different words alongside the simple starting point of ‘snow.’ 

Boy, did we drift off from snow. But I don’t dislike it. It’s raw, and might not make sense, but it was freeing to write, and likely influenced by the absolutely freezing air conditioner in front of me. It’s probably laden with other little bits like that. Little bits of me. In any case, it sparks ideas, and it was fun, and I think everyone needs to have some fun with their writing. There are the agonizing bits of writing, the joyous bits of writing, and what you get when you start off with the word ‘snow,’ then get paragraphs leading up to an ethical dilemma. Maybe the next time I simply want to write, I’ll sit down with the word ‘brain,’ and see where I’m taken. 

I open up to a blank page, document, note, and begin to write. My typing is faster than my mind and my mind is faster than my typing, but there are still words, and I’m still writing. My handwriting is messy and overly spaced, but so is my mind, and I’m still writing. Even if I may loathe the outcome, at the end of the day, it’s still writing. 

Journaling, though at times a battle to start, is entirely worthwhile. I am no expert at it, but if there is an expert at something as personal as journaling, I think I’d furrow my brow. The entire point of journaling is to write, well or not, about anything you want. A journal for you and you only, so you can really make it whatever you want. I use mine with no theme involved. The pages hold whatever is on my mind. Still, even with how free a journal is, I have found some advice and collected some experience that helps, because ironically the hardest part of writing a journal is the writing part. You can know it’s supposed to be messy and whatever you want, but it’s difficult to stay true to something so undefined. Freedom in messiness lets you discover more things about yourself, and that’s daunting, but immensely helpful. You can think more clearly once your thoughts are on the page instead of on the brain. 

One piece of advice I have found helpful is to write notes anywhere, everywhere, and on anything. Take that napkin from a restaurant and turn it into a notepad, then copy it down in your journal if you feel like it. You can also cut out bits from notepads, worksheets, sketchbook pages, etc., and glue them into your journal. Heck, stick entire sticky notes in there. It’s fun. The more chaotic your journal is, the easier it is to write chaotically in it. 

Telling yourself to write chaotically and messily can still leave you with the itchy feeling that you’re performing a task wrong. You become all too aware of every sentence you can reword, every punctuation mark you should put, the reading speed of your words. I find it helps to turn this into a more solid challenge. Challenge yourself to write with absolutely no punctuation, making the lack of punctuation undeniably the point, and only cast a glance at the last word you wrote if you must. Messiness goes from something you feel like you should be doing to something more fun with a mysterious outcome. 

Don’t confine your journal to only words. For me, my journal serves the purpose of writing every day, but I still draw in it. Journals are creative outlets where any urge you can fit on a page goes. You don’t even have to be good at drawing or writing if you think you aren’t. From the stone age to the day you’re reading this, humans from early ages have indulged in finger painting and writing and warbling tunes. It is human nature to create, and nobody has the right to say you must be good at it to do it. You, Picasso, and the people who drew on cavern walls are all united in the act of creation. That is good. Things can be good, messy, and upsetting. Go wild. 

Journaling, though at times a battle to start, is entirely worthwhile. I hope this helps you with your journaling joys and endeavors. There are still many ways to journal, and experimenting with different methods reveals different results for everyone. Even if these methods don’t spark a fire for you, keep messing around with all sorts of things. You’ll get there.