Category: Senior Literary

hey everyone, for this month’s blog i have decided to continue on with the story that i began in last month’s blog, but as the year begins to close, and knowing that i only have two blogs remaining i want this part to be my last, becuase i am hoping to make my last two blogs more of a reflection on my time at msa, but anyway-

But as days passed, so did the inches between him and the men in the park. It was only until one of the later days did, they begin to notice him as well, however Dmitri was not sure if it was in a positive or negative connotation. As he had once again found himself entranced with the way that each man would slowly drift their hands across the board as they continued their game. But before he was able to look more into the way the men’s hands would begin to move, he felt something brisk, yet firm grasp his back collar and pick him up into the air. “The fuck do you think that you are doing” a man said to him, the contents of whatever he had eaten that morning spewing on to Dmitri’s face. His teeth were stained a deep yellow and the smell of his breath was something that Dmitri remembered very strongly but did not know how one would even attempt to try to describe it. 

“Let the boy go” he heard boom from throughout the park, or at least it felt as if that was what was happening. Though he was almost certain that whether or not the voice was booming, it caused the man who still had Dmitri’s collar in his grasp to take a step back and quickly drop him to the hard concrete of the park’s path. ” If the boy wants to watch us play than there is no reason why he cannot, and no reason why your fucking disgusting hands should be on the collar of a boy that you do not know,” he said, “Do you understand?” He asked the man; however, he was only met with a fearful studder. “Come get a little closer boy” the man said, getting closer he realized that it was the very same man who he would love to watch. He had slicked back black hair and a nose that would protrude out the front of his face like a plant attempting to escape the confine so of the soil, but most of all he found himself once looking again at the man’s silver tooth, shining in the reflection of the marble board.  As the game continued on, and each man would periodically make moves that had only begun to make the smallest bit of sense to him. He did not know the name of the pieces; however, he knew what each of them did, or at least he thought that he did. “Checkmate” the silver toothed man exclaimed as he slowly placed down his large piece that sat next to the piece with the cross on its head. “Son of a bitch” the other man exclaimed, standing up and angrily throwing his hat on the ground, soon after he began too reluctantly pull money out of his back pocket and placed them in the silver toothed man’s hand. 

Walking away that afternoon he felt as if there was something different, as if getting to see more than just the periodic movements of the pieces themselves changed the way that they themselves would move. Seeing the way that the man would angrily fork over the confines of his wallet just because he moved his pieces the wrong way. Even as Dmitri lied back in one of the alleyways that he frequented it was all that he could think about, even though it had been months of watching the men play, tonight he felt as if he needed to make his way there again. So, the moment that the streetlights turned dark, Dmitri found his legs moving faster than he knew they had the capability of moving. Getting to the park he found himself walking slower and slower, as if something was going to happen if he got too close to boards, but the closer and the closer he found himself getting, the more it felt as if it was calling to him, not in the literal sense, but in the way that he continued to walk, regardless of the fact that he was afraid. Sitting down on one of the chairs that sat behind the board was a surreal feeling. One that he could never imagine until it happened to him. There were no pieces, only the black and white board that was intertwined with the concrete of the table. But this would not be the first time that he snuck to sit by the board, however the last time wouldn’t be too far away either.

It was only when March had turned to April did, he learn the name of the game which met his fascination for the past few months: chess. And it was only when the summer winds began to hit the nights of Moscow did his jacket that was now too tattered to call clothing in, the first place, finally fell apart. It had been a long time since Dmitri had taken off his jacket. But as the first few days of June knocked upon his door Dmitri was left to stare at his arms which were now caked in a deep black dirt. 

 

 

i know this isn’t a completed work but i hope everyone enjoyed what they read 🙂

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. 

 

Part 1 of Part 2: Black Friday 

 

Ok, so my last blog was a review/non-sensical babble about the first part of Team Starkid’s Hatchetfield Trilogy, The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals. So, it’s only natural that I cover the second part. I’ll try to make this one not so long.  

 

Black Friday, the second part of the Hatchetfield Trilogy created by Team Starkid, opens up with a bunch of people, not named, adorned in green costumes singing a song about the new toy that’s all the rage and will be hitting the shelves at the Hatchetfield Mall this Black Friday, the Tiggle-Me-Wiggly. The song ends opening credits roll and then boom, Emma and Paul(yes from the last show, I know they died but…moving on) Paul makes his disdain for the musical commercial known Emma hushes him, while dropping to the audience that she’s heading to Tom Houston’s the widowed husband of her deceased sister Jane, where she imagines they’ll be having family time. 

 

Once they arrive, Tom “greets” them at the door and drops that he just needs them to watch Tim, Jane and Tom’s son, her nephew. While he goes to the hardware store. Much to Tim’s dismay, this news causes him to storm off once he’s out of earshot. Tom reveals to an irate Emma that he’s actually going to the mall to get Tim a Tiggle Me Wiggly Doll. He is then struck with the harsh reality that given the high demand of those dolls it’s unlikely that he’ll get that doll after only getting there an hour before opening, but regardless of Emma and Paul’s logic, he’s determined to get this for Tim. 

 

Once he arrives at the mall, he sees an old student of his, Lex Foster, out back smoking. He expresses his disappointment towards her quitting high school, to which she responds by doing the same, as Tom quit teaching after Jane’s passing. Their conversation is halted when he runs to get into the lengthy line in front of the toy store. 

 

We then follow Lex, meeting her cranky, greedy boss Frank as she enters her job, the very toy store Tom was rushing to. Frank is just getting a new shipment of the dolls,, and is ecstatic it is here We see the delivery guy for the first time, identical to the main guy from the commercial, Uncle Wiley. After he leaves, Frank degrades Lex, giving the audience some information about her: she lives in a trailer with her drunk mom and her little sister, who is referred to as “crazy” in the musical. Once Frank leaves, Lex opens the box to begin shelfing but quickly shoves one in her bag, We learn here that she intends to steal and sell the Wiggly-Doll to run away to California with her boyfriend Ethan and her little sister Hannah. Ethan was mentioned far before cluing us in on the fact that he’s a troublemaker, henceforth not really allowed around the mall. He’s watching over Hannah, who is in a tizzy saying a whole bunch of things about “Good-Blood and Bad-Blood” and “The black and white.” We learn a lot of what Hannah can see is shown to her by Webby, an “imaginary” spider who lives in her head. Ethan manages to calm her down and get her to wear Lex’s backpack by giving her a hat, swearing that it could protect her from anything.

 

After this, we are taken to the toy store line, where citizens are currently waiting to purchase a Wiggly-Doll. A blonde woman, who reveals herself to be Linda Monroe, is a highly wealthy Hatchetfield Boating Society member and wife to the most well-renowned plastic surgeon in Hatchetfield. She doesn’t wait in lines, so she writes a check to a man to get him to trade with her. Catching the attention of Becky Barnes, a nurse at the Hatchetfield Hospital’s pediatric wing. She catches the attention of the rest of the line, who mutter to themselves in annoyance, but no one takes a stance. It is here that we are revealed the truly sadistic, evil personality of Linda Monroe. Not only does she tear down Becky’s hunger for justice, but she twists the knife about the situation surrounding her abusive husband, Stanley, and his recent disappearance, which has been believed by many as him leaving Becky for a younger woman in Clivesdale.

 

All of a sudden, Tom Houston comes rushing in front of the people behind him, about to ask Becky for her spot before he notices who she is. The two of them were high school sweethearts back in the day, before Becky met Stanley and before Tom got enlisted. We can tell by the interaction that they are far from over each other. 

 

The doors finally open at the toy store, and Sherman Young, the first man in line, immediately requests to buy every Wiggly they have in stock. The line groans and whines about the price; the idea of limiting the purchase amount to one is not on board for Linda as her four little perfect blonde boys all deserve their own Wiggly. This crowd soon gets violent, physical altercations take place. We move on over to the CineaPlex, where Ethan and Hannah are trying to see a movie. We get a true peek into how much Ethan cares for Lex, and Hannah expresses her fear about an upcoming disaster that’s emerging. The sweet moment is soon cut short when shoppers, deluded by the idea that Ethan has a doll, beat him to death. Leaving Hannah to fend for herself. 

 

Tom and Becky come across Ethan, but it’s too late. Ethan is dead, and the brief act of kindness gets Tom stabbed by another crazed shopper. Becky takes him away to bandage his wound.

 

Cut again, we are now following Linda, distressed on the phone with Gerald. Soon, she is approached by Wilbur Cross, who we have seen as Uncle Wiley. He reveals that though Linda doesn’t know him, he knows her; he knows enough about her to know that only two of her four children actually belong to her husband. He preys on her only want in life, which is to be adored. He tells her that she needs to help bring about the birth of a “god”.

Alrighty, so as of lately I have had a lot of writers block however there has been one thing that has been stuck in my mind. A piece that I have been working on to this day have consumed a lot of my time and I just wanted to share it here for a bit of feedback, this is only the first half of the piece, but I digress. Mostly if it is something that I think I can work with in the future.

The sound of piano tiles was the only thing that came to mind for Dmitri when he tried to think about his mother. It was the only thing that he could remember. At least until the ‘before nights,’ the before nights were the nights that were blurry for him, but nights that he remembered, nevertheless. They were the nights he would hide in dimly lit alleyways and the nights where the sleeves of his jacket would be littered with holes and scraps found from bistro dumpsters. The before days were the days spent ducking behind crowds and waiting for the sun to set, but most of all they were the days that Dmitri spent making sure he never had to go back to the home where he had lived before. Ever since the day that the flu had grasped its hands around Dmitri’s mother and refused to let go, Dmitri would not come back home. His mother was all that he had left, and for all he knew she still sat motionless in that same bed with a throat void of sound and skin void of color.

However, when it came to the before days, there was one day that stood out far beyond the confines of what people understood as a start. It was the day that would create Dmitri’s life. Shape it into the form of a being that sat behind an army of marble.

Dmitri did not know the name of the game that the men in the park were always playing, all he knew was the way that they sat in beholden of the way their opponents played always met his gaze. There was one man in particular who he would always find himself focused upon. It might have been due to the fact that there were always men that sat around him as he played, closely looking in on the games that he would play. However, Dmitri liked to think that it was because of the silver tooth that sat in his mouth that were already littered with crowded teeth. Every time that he would play, he would relentlessly lick at the silver tooth, as if he was trying to polish it bright enough to a point where it would distract the other player. But as Dmitri continued to watch the man play, he realized that it was instead his eyes that distracted the other player. Dmitri had always watched the games from afar, so he was never sure of what color the man’s eyes truly were, however, all he knew as that they were dark. At first, he was offput by the darkness, but with the cold nights spent huddled in dumpsters and under awnings, he had begun to find comfort in the impending darkness that were the nights of Moscow. Even when the streetlights finally cut off in the early hours of the morning Dmitri had realized he was no longer afraid, this was due to the fact that the lights had done nothing for him but block out the light of the stars. This was one of the few things that Dmitri had begun to find comfort in, this was due to the fact that no matter what happened on the harsh streets of a Soviet Jungle of concrete, no matter how many games the man one, no matter how many times the lights would flicker off, and no matter how many times mothers died, the stars in the sky would not go out, they would continue to shine every time that the streetlamps began to flicker.

January had turned to February, and to March soon after. A nine-year-old boy who stood behind alleyways to watch men play a game that he knew not the name of turned into a ten-year-old boy who would cower behind the crowds of people who walked the sidewalks, just so that he might be able to get a better look at the board. Even though the nights had begun to warm up, this did not make things easier for Dmitri. Nights spent easier outside did nothing but create more places for others to take the spots Dmitri would call home. “Dumpster Scum” he had heard one of the men at the park say one morning when a man Dmitri had recognized had crossed through the park.

Yeah, okay it's like. Unoriginal or whatever BUT I'm working on something a little cool that I wanted to show off which is basically, Mr. Peabody and Sherman meets Bill and Ted EXCEPT Mr. Peabody and Sherman is one person (Shawn) and so are Bill and Ted (Sid). I wrote  a couple hundred word skits as well as like. 400 hundred words of a pilot episode and that seemed better than my original blog idea so here!

SID: Oh man, you ever seen Da Vinci paint? That guy has the worst brush holding technique I have ever SEEN, dude.

SHAWN: What are you talking about—You’re supposed to LEARN from Da Vinci.

SID: Yeah, dumbass, how to paint.

SHAWN: No, NO, the mountains of history he carries? It’s literally fucking Leonardo Da Vinci. What— I—What are you doing with that machine?

SID: Well. Last week, I rewatched the original Dracula—As far back as I could go. I didn’t even pay a quarter for that movie. I paid a nickel, dude! A nickel.

SHAWN: Stop talking, stop talking! Oh my God!

SID: Jesus was real.

SHAWN: What the fu—SHUT UP! JUST BE QUIET!

SID: God’s not.

SHAWN: OH MY—(face behind hands) MMHMPH.. 

-------

SID: A timetraveller from the 70s who’s definitely lost. Very chill and tries to use timetravelling to enjoy life as much as possible. Went back in time six years to visit Woodstock. He balances out Shawn’s paranoia but frustrates him endlessly.

SHAWN: A wannabe timetraveller who’s built a portal and plans to use timetravel as a resource for the good of the universe and to gain knowledge lost to man. Then Sid shows up.

SHAWN is sitting at a long desk that stretches from wall to wall, covered in red string and papers. He’s muttering to himself, growing more and more wide-eyed. A loud crash sounds behind him, where his non-working time machine stands. SID exits a time machine, coughing and waving away clouds of smoke. SHAWN, stares in horror and quickly starts muttering prayers.

SHAWN: (complete horror) What the fuck is that what the fuck is exiting my portalllll I THOUGHT IT WASN’T WORKING my god I’m gonna die where’s that fucking gun holy shit this is it—

SID: Let me tell you, Joan Baez can have my…my… This is not my. Hey. Stevie? Stevie, where are— (He finally notices SHAWN, in the room) Hey.

SHAWN turns around, shaking. SID stepped out of the time machine awkwardly.

SID: Hello. You’re not… There’s been a—Oh, please don’t grab that gun…Okay.

SHAWN points the gun directly in SID’s face, who raises his arms.

SHAWN: Who are you?

SID: I’ll answer that politely—

SHAWN: (more desperately) NAME.

SID lets the answer sit on his tongue, weighs its believability, and answers confidently.

SID: Sid.

SHAWN: (lowers gun) The sloth?

SID: Sure, the sloth, put the gun down. I’ll tell you whatever information you need just put the gun down.

SHAWN isn’t sure, backing away and tightening his grip on the gun.

[part here I haven’t quite figured out let’s move on]

SHAWN: You don’t know? 

SID: Me and my friend, Stevie were travelling the timestream, and we stopped at a movie in the 80s, because like future movies and all that—

SHAWN: Future? Wait, what year do you think it is?

A look of dawning realization strikes SHAWN as his mouth drops. He turns to SID, almost fully dropping his gun, and his face goes pale. He surveys SID from head to toe.

SHAWN: No… No way. Holy shit. You’re actually a—No. No—No—(muttering) Does my portal actually work?

SID: I don’t think it does, man. 

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.