windfall-wings

[windfall-wings]

Definitely needed to hear this

good artist tips

there’s always gonna be someone better than you. try to work less on comparing yourself to their work and instead learning from them and turning envy into a personal challenge for your own stuff. i know its hard, trust me.

the best way to get better at art is to practice. there is no special trick to improving, no secret method. practice makes perfect is a tired old saying that im sure you dont want to hear but unfortunately, its true.

draw as much as you are able to. i wont say draw every day!!! because i know that there are folks that dont have this sort of luxury, whether it be because of physical or mental restrictions, or simply because they dont have time. draw whenever you can and have the strength to. try not to be too upset if you miss a day or a week or even months. shit happens, do the best you are able to.

if you get bored or stuck, try another way. change mediums if you can, flip the canvas, do something weird that you wouldnt normally do. sometimes this is the best way to un-stick yourself from art block.

dont be afraid to ask for help. this is so important! its ok to ask for assistance from other artists you admire (given that they have time to give pointers.) even if asking for help is straight up asking for a redline of your work, its ok to ask for it. improvement doesnt come without outside assistance, more often than not.

references are 100% a legitimate resource. i’m not really sure where the idea came from that real artists dont use references, but its not true. every renaissance painter used references in the form of in-house models. disney artists use references of animals and people to correctly model and then correctly exaggerate their designs. you cant learn to draw the world around you without actually studying it. use references, even if its just google searching.

your art is not an island. you will pick up styles from other people like tape picks up pet hair. its inevitable, and its not something that should be seen as a negative. artists inspire other artists. use your discretion, and study what you like about another artist’s work. every artist’s style is a mashup of a hundred other artists. its ok, experiment.

youre not going to make masterpieces all the time. youre gonna suck more often than not. but youre putting effort into something you enjoy and in the process you are getting better, slowly but surely. you arent going to see your stuff improve overnight, be patient.

please be kind to yourself. you are making a unique form of artistic expression, regardless whether you see it that way or not. youre doing fine, please keep going and pat yourself on the back for getting this far.

[windfall-wings]

The Will

Prompt from: http://www.adammaxwell.com/lost-the-plot/writing-prompts-generator/

Dear, dear Aunt Jess sat before them in her polished brass pot. The executor, one Mr. William Woodroofe, fiddled with the dials of the combination lock on his suitcase. Nearly all of the heirs had arrived, except for the twins. Even if they had, he was prohibited from reading the Last Testament of the deceased until seven o’clock on the dot. The poor woman’s lawyer sat nearby to help resolve any disputes.

Jessamine Murdoch, or Aunt Jess as she was better known to all, was a riot of a woman. She traveled the world, making her fortune but finally settling down in Chattanooga of all places. While she never married herself, she had a large number her extended family who now sat before her ashes. William was her neighbor for some time and helped her maintain the mansion. The two quickly became close friends. It was only a few days before her sudden passing when she asked him to be the executor, mentioning something about the “poor lawyer needing help.”

William could see what she meant. The lawyer looked more at home in a cornfield than at a will reading. His faded suit hung loosely on his body, which was probably all of fifty pounds soaking wet. Then again, William couldn’t really point fingers either. He was just as rail-thin. Any angered relatives would probably tear through them in a second.

The room was nearly full now. A soft murmur filled the air. A group of women lingered near the back, clearly Aunt Jess’s three nieces. William could just make out the passive-aggressive muttering about how well each was doing and how they were obviously Aunt Jess’s favorite. The nephews were engaged in small talk, ostracized by their cousins. They seemed hardly fazed at all. The children were huddled in the chairs up front, less-than-quietly complaining about how uncomfortable their shoes were or how boring it was to wait. Any time their chatter grew too loud, a icy glare from one of the nieces instantly ended the conversation. Of course, the glare would be forgotten in about eight seconds. A few acquaintances of Aunt Jess mulled about the room, trading stories about the woman. One woman dressed a striking shade of orange and blue seemed to hold the most attention with her exploits. William could only catch a few words here and there, but he was certain the story included an elephant, an engagement ring, and the Prime Minister of Canada. The rest was drowned out by questions and gasps. There was one final guest, introduced to William as a traveling scholar who met Aunt Jess in Nepal, but that guest had hardly said a word to anyone. There was still no sign of the twins.

A soft chime rang through the air. The grandfather clock in the hall finally struck seven. A spell fell over the crowd. William had hardly blinked and everyone was in their seats with rapt attention. William shot a pleading look at the lawyer, who smiled gently and sleepily nodded to the briefcase. William took a shaky breath and sprung open the locks.

William froze. Aunt Jess’s Last Testament was a single page. A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. William felt his face flush and he quickly skimmed the will. It was a simple goodbye letter. At the end, it merely said: “I leave it for the twins. I already told them. They’ll be somewhere in the Caribbean by now, I expect.” William felt beads of sweat start to form. The crowd was growing restless. This was not going to be fun.

#shortstory #writing #fiction

[windfall-wings]

Secret of the Tower, Part III

Part I: http://windfall-wings.tumblr.com/post/139250541331/secret-of-the-tower-part-i Part II: http://windfall-wings.tumblr.com/post/139691806021/secret-of-the-tower-part-ii

Photo From: http://www.xtremexplorations.com/apps/photos/photo?photoid=55935905

The world blurred into focus around her. Soft red lights lit the elevator car, now resting on one horribly mangled side. The air smelled burnt as sparks flew. A flashing display read: “Braking System: Failed.”

Riley forced herself up. Miraculously, she wasn’t terribly injured, just sore all over. She pushed the bent elevator doors the rest of the way open and crawled out. Before her was the last thing she wanted to see. On the wall, stenciled in yellow paint, were the words “SUBLEVEL 3”. She grabbed the battered security manual and opened it to a map. Unlike Sublevel 1, Sublevel 3 appeared to be more of single short hallway, connecting to the four “Gas Release Towers”, a security room, and one giant central room. There was one way around the lockdown, an emergency elevator, if it was still running. The only way to get to it, was to pass through the central room.  

Riley shivered and grabbed the baton. With a grunt, she pulled the guard doors open just enough to wedge the baton in. The doors groaned as she pried the doors open just enough to duck inside.

The same soft red lights were positioned on the floor of the new hallway, barely bright enough to see by. She found another security room. She reached for the handle. A muffled splat came from the other side. She froze. Another splat. Was it a footstep?

Riley kicked off her shoes as quietly as she could and then continued on. Her socked feet made no sound on the cold floor. Every few steps, she’d look back into the darkness. Yet nothing could be seen following her. She drew a shaky breath and pressed on. Soon, giant metal double doors materialized out of the darkness, blocking the way. She pushed one open; the heavy latch echoed through the hallway.

“What…what the hell is this?”

The stench of the tower was even stronger here. Brown goop was splattered all over the floor. Rows and rows of giant vertical tubes filled the room, each glowing a sickly green. They reached high above her before branching off in all directions. Smaller tubes branched off leading to another group of short tubes filled with the same green substance but something else as well. Half formed people, curled as if in the womb floated in the tanks. Riley looked closer. They were not half formed; they were dissolving. The same brown goop was falling off of the bodies and settling to the bottom of the tanks. Some of it leaked out of the bottom, making the same horrifying noise. Splat…splat…

A still lit computer terminal caught her attention, as did the dead scientist slumped over it. Splat. His face looked like it had been scorched off. Splat. She read the monitor over the scientists’ shoulder.

“The newest batch has failed. The new strain we introduced was meant to stabilize their DNA, but seems to have done the opposite. Some began to melt after being released from the tubes while others do not even make it that far. We fear the remaining substance will do the same to the humans. Unfortunately this means only one clone batch has been successful.”

Splat. Riley noticed a clipboard at the scientist’s feet. She snatched it up and the world stopped.

“Successful Clone Released to University for Social Experiment #34. Designation: Riley.”

Her smiling face looked back at her from the picture stapled to the report. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

Splat…splat…

She spun around. A horribly disfigured creature glared at her. “Help…me…” it gurgled, reaching a hand out. A finger fell off of the creature. Splat.

Riley screamed. She leapt over the desk and ran as fast as she could. All around her the piles of brown goop began to move and tremble, some forming howling faces, screaming at her. “Help...hurts…hurts…so much…”

She threw open the double doors at the end. The final hallway. She pumped her arms, stretching as far as she could with each step. Splat…splat… She slammed the elevator button.

Splat…splat…Ding!

The elevator opened. Riley dove inside.

Splat…splat…

Only a giant red button was on the panel. Riley hammered the button as quickly as she could. The doors slammed shut.

The elevator screamed, shooting up its rails. Riley curled into a ball on the floor, breathing heavily. In seconds the ride was over and the doors swung open.

Riley stepped out into a small closet with another iron door. Behind her the doors shut immediately, and she could hear the elevator shoot back down into the hellish depths. She felt the door, this time ice cold. Tears forming in her eyes she turned the handle slowly.

It was the station. The 30th Street Train Station. People passed by as they went down to the platforms or out to the taxi stand. She fell to her knees, laughing weakly.

It didn’t last for long. Suddenly everything snapped into perspective. The door was revealed for anyone to find. Plus she was a clone. Whoever ran the facility would find her. “I can’t go back.”

She wiped her eyes and retied her shoes. Gently she brushed her hair back. Without a second thought she walked to the ticket counter.

#shortstory #writing #fiction #serial #sci fi

[windfall-wings]

Happy Pokemon Day! #Pokemon #Pokemon20

[windfall-wings]

Secret of the Tower, Part II

Part 1: http://windfall-wings.tumblr.com/post/139250541331/secret-of-the-tower-part-i

Photo from: http://www.thestreet.com/story/11571245/1/ugly-airports-laxs-1000-foot-walk-of-shame.html

It must have been at least a half hour. Riley could no longer see the light from the top of the tower. The heat had become stifling. The scarf served poorly as a filter. Just as her head began to swim, a pale orange light caught her eye, just below her. Quickly she scrambled the rest of the way and pulled the door open as quickly as possible.

As she slammed the door, fluorescent lights buzzed to life above her. It was ice cold here, but the air was clean. The room appeared to be an airlock. Gas masks lined the wall with biohazard suits. On the other was the seal of the university with a small sign. Apparently where she came from was “Gas Release Tower 4, Extremely Toxic!”

After a few quick breaths, she moved to the next door. It opened into a silent and sterile white hallway. She ventured out, trembling. After a quick walk, she found yet another door. Unlike the airlock, it was only labeled “Room 328” and had the university seal. She gently pushed open a new door. It appeared to be a classroom of some sort, lined with lab tables and a projector, similar her own chemistry lab.

She kept walking down the seemingly endless hallway. Occasionally it would make a turn but never stopped. Each door she checked was yet another classroom, but covering a different subject. Other than the strange “Gas Release Tower” nothing seemed out of the ordinary for a university…well other than the fact she was at least a half mile underground.

Finally she came to a new door, one that was actually named: “Security Room 6”. Strangely it was unlocked. She was met with a bank of computer monitors, each focused on a different part of the same hallway. Not another soul could be found. The large central monitor displayed a basic map of the underground facility. While the hallway eventually looped around and reconnected to itself, Riley hadn’t even covered a quarter of the distance. Even then, the map revealed this to only be Sublevel 1 of three. Riley turned to the terminal, a large warning across the screen.

AUTO LOCKDOWN ENGAGED SUBLEVELS 1 AND 2. SUBLEVEL 3 FAILED, ALL PERSONEL ON SUBLEVEL 1 EVACUATED.

Riley shivered. Try as she could to use the terminal, it refused all access. She snapped a quick picture of the map and moved on.

She moved down the hallway, faster now until she came to another security room. Like the prior room it was unlocked, and the terminal stubbornly reiterated the warning. The monitors were different. This time they showed Sublevel 2. Again not a person to be seen, but the pristine hallways were stained by splatters of…something. Riley gasped and snatched a security manual. According to the manual, the nearest escape would be the elevator just a little ways down the hall from where she was. She grabbed the handle to leave, but froze. Something caught her attention on the monitor. Something moved.

Riley stifled a scream, backpedaling into the wall. Her hand hit something cold. A police baton. Her hand locked around the baton as she tentatively left the room.

The silence of the halls grew deafening, only punctuated by the squeak of her tennis shoes on the polished floor. She could feel her heart pounding, but thankfully she could see the elevator doors not far ahead. She barely pressed the button before the doors opened with a soft whoosh. She slammed the button marked “Ground Access”.

Riley collapsed into a corner, taking deep breaths. “It’s fine,” she murmured to herself. “I’m safe now.” A terrible screech filled the car. The car began to tremble, followed by a loud crack. Suddenly the car tilted to the side and the lights flickered. “No! No! Please!” One by one, the lights fizzled out. Then there was a snap.

#shortstory #writing #fiction #serial

[windfall-wings]

Secret of the Tower, Part I

Prompt from: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/the-room Photo from: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/walesnortheast/2010/12

Riley hated cleaning her dorm room. “A mess is a sign of genius!” she would claim, but her roommate would often counter with the fact her pile of clothes were making it impossible to get the windows open. That, and the room was starting to smell like a locker room. The constant nagging finally won the battle, and she begrudgingly began the task.

The dorm itself seemed ancient to Riley. At over a century old, it seemed to belong more to a fantasy novel than a college campus. The pipes creaked every night, the heating and central air hardly ever worked, and the showers were always ice cold. Floors creaked and the cockroaches ran rampant. Yet, Riley loved it. Their room was built on a corner next to one of the older towers, blocked off long ago. On the rare occasion that she and her roommate could see the window, they could look out into the quad and watch the changing leaves as well as the partiers stumbling back after midnight.

After a dozen trips to the basement laundry room, the clothes piles were at least under control. Riley shoved the window open. She now turned to her desk, covered with old papers ranging from this week’s homework to the failed term paper of three semesters ago. As she began to move the stacks, one slip fluttered away under the desk. She groaned and bent to retrieve it when it began to slide under the wall. She pulled it back, though it resisted as if being pulled from the other side.

Riley tossed the paper back up with the others on her bed and stuck her hand by the crack. Sure enough, the air was being sucked through to the other side. She wedged her finger under the edge and broke away the plaster. Little by little pieces of plaster came off revealing a giant iron rivet. Forgetting about the papers, Riley drug her desk out of the way and grabbed her chair. Swinging as hard as she could the wall crumbled with a sickening crack. Behind the former wall stood a rusted iron door. She placed her hand on the warm handle. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she wrenched open the door. The hinges screamed in protest and grinded against her, but she slowly cracked it open.

A group of spiders flew from their homes as the door smashed the cobwebs. A giant warehouse fan spun lazily at the top of the tower room, but Riley could have cared less about that. Below her opened a gaping hole with no visible end. Pungent smoke rose from the hole. A ladder lead down into the darkness accompanied by new plastic pipes labeled with a variety of chemical formulas. Curiosity called. Riley ducked back into the dorm room and snatched a scarf. After wrapping it around her face, Riley began the descent.

#shortstory #writing #fiction #serial

[windfall-wings]

The Folded Note

Image Source: http://www.pipelineworkspaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/DSC01561.jpg

“Route 15 to Center City, 15th Street!” The driver shouted as I stepped onto the trolley, out of the stagnant air of the Philadelphia underground. I had barely stepped into the aisle before the trolley shot forward again. I lost my footing and fell face first. I groaned as I picked myself up again, fixed my dress and collapsed into the bucket seat. I snatched my university ID from the floor, and shoved it back into my backpack. 

The Frankfort Train screamed by next to us as we dropped below the Schuylkill. I stared lazily out the window, catching only a few of the faces as they shot past. The trolley lurched to a stop, then shot ahead again, a deafeningly silent ride. As I hopped off at City Hall, I wondered if I should stop by Chinatown. The promise of warm food and tea seemed a comforting thought as the freezing New England air cut through my jacket, tearing at my cheeks. 

I scurried around the edge of City Hall toward the art supply store. Pedestrian traffic was thicker than usual; Christmas was coming. To be absolutely honest, it was better than back at the dorm. All the girls were just whining about getting drunk tonight or trying to find a boyfriend to kiss under the mistletoe. It was giving me a migraine from hell just to hear them every day, I had to get away. I shivered as another gust blasted through the streets. It wasn’t like I had to stop by the store today, just looking at the new stock was better than the dorm right now. As I stood waiting at the crosswalk, I thought about stopping by the bookstore near Rittenhouse as well. 

Suddenly, I noticed a small boy dash across the street, couldn’t be older than 10. Effortlessly, he weaved his way across the street. He turned on a dime in front of me, flashing me a mischievous smile as he shot away down Broad Street. It was as if he wanted to play or something. I was filled with the urge to follow him, just running down Broad Street without a care in the world. I looked down at my feet and saw a brass bracelet had fallen, probably from when he spun around. “Hey!” I yelled after him. I snatched it up and ran after him.

Not matter what I did, I couldn’t catch up to him. He seemed to fly across the pavement as I huffed along, far behind. The cold air burned in my lungs, but I wasn’t tired, only excited.

He led me on a zigzag path through the streets faster and faster. I forgot all etiquette as I charged through the crowds. Soon, we arrived in the back alleys of old Philadelphia. My lungs were about to collapse, but I knew I had him cornered. I turned into the last alley to find…nothing. All that remained of the little boy was a folded note.

It read: “I was bored. Thanks for playing with me. Keep the bracelet. It’ll look better on you.”

I smiled as I gasped for breath.

#writing #shortstory #fiction

[windfall-wings]

The Professor’s Travelogue - The River Shack

Prompt and Photo from www.meredithsuewillis.com

After returning from my lectures in Ireland, I began my new field studies. This time, I’m travelling the more hidden tributaries of the Colombia River. I sent my team further west to chart some larger sections in the research vessel, while I chose to investigate the smallest myself.

The foliage was dense, making the voyage almost pitch black, even though it was the middle of the day. As I came around the bend, the river opened up a bit. The trees parted and light poured down. Off to my left, I spied a rotting shack, a good three or four feet up a steep embankment. Curiosity got the best of me, and I had to see who lived in this building in the middle of nowhere.

I made sure to drag my canoe up on the rocky shore; I wasn’t going to have it drift away THIS time! After several failed attempts, I clambered up to the shack’s entrance. I suppose “entrance” would be generous, as it was really just a gaping hole. What was left of the door frame sagged with moisture, sure to break any day soon. Two lone windows remained intact.

Peeking inside, I could see where windows once were, jagged holes with splintered edges now stood. The walls bulged out, slightly cracked, almost as if some kind of force pushed outwards. I now directed my inspection up to the ceiling. Strangely, it was all replaced with new beams. A ladder and a pile of new planks were stacked in a far corner.

I leapt across the small gap; the foundation shuddered as I landed. Thankfully it held. I barely stepped inside, before I was assaulted by the stench of rotting wood and flourishing fungi. The floor was mostly gone. Someone had removed it recently. With each step, the shack shook, threatening to slide down the hill into the river. Piles of rotting boards were thrown around the room haphazardly. That’s when I saw it. Claw marks on the rear wall. Just put out of sight from the main doorway. It looked like it was about the right size for a bear. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how such a large animal could fit inside a small cabin like this. Another board seemed to be pierced by teeth while another by a spray of rifle fire. Stray tufts of fur and fabric were scattered about. What happened here?

Actually that was the other strange thing, why was there a cabin here? Who was fixing it up? Aside from the new roof and new planks, there was no sign of life here. The birds did not sing, the fish did not swim, and the bugs did not swarm. There was not a single sound aside from the river.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so isolated.

#writing #shortstory #fiction #travelogue

[windfall-wings]

A tea party at the Armstrong Estate after Alphonse got his body back. Fullmetal Alchemist: Daughter of the Dusk for Wii

[windfall-wings]

Largan

I found myself walking the streets of Belfast late one night. The streets still buzzed with life from theatre patrons to pub regulars. It wasn’t long before I found myself on the infamous High Street. It was there I met him.

The years were only beginning to etch their way onto his face, but his eyes seemed so much older. He was handsome, but broken all the same, kneeling at the edge of the road. With a rough hand, he placed it almost lovingly on the asphalt.

“Everything alright sir?”

He snapped back to reality. “Oh I’m fine, just a bit of a visit to my brother.”

“The Troubles?” I suggested.

“No, no. It was far before that,” was his forlorn reply.

Funny, I thought to myself. He didn’t look that old.

He heaved himself up to his feet. I could see he was a stocky fellow, probably worked in one of the old warehouses. “I didn’t mean to get you down. Name’s Largan.” At the back of my mind though, the name sounded familiar. Regardless, I replied with my usual pleasantries.

“A tourist eh? Welcome to Belfast! Been here my whole life.” He nodded to the street. “My brother and I used to run this city. They called us wild stallions, raising hell wherever we went! We were loved by the ladies…and” he added with a snicker, “hated by their husbands!”

He then heaved a deep sigh. “One day, they had enough though. The men of Belfast cornered my brother and trapped him here on High Street. Ah, poor Farset! Nowadays I can only see a glimpse of him, trapped below…”

I thanked him for the story and left quickly, fairly sure I just heard the ravings of a madman. His brother was trapped below High Street?

It wasn’t until I was on the train the next morning, when I recognized his name. In fact, it was right as we passed on a bridge over the River Largan.

#writing #shortstory #fiction #largan

[windfall-wings]

I would just like to point out that the beginning and end of Spirited Away creep me out in the most delicious way possible. I’ve always been a fan of fairy tales, and not just the Grimm and Anderson stuff, almost all my life. Like the honestly faerie court stories.

Themes you see in those reflect strongly in this movie, and comparing them side by side just makes it that much more stark.

Often times you hear that if you get sucked into the fairy realm, you shouldn’t eat their food. It gives them power over you. More often than not, heroes finally escape the fairy realm after what they perceive to be a very short time (a night or a week)…

…only to find that seasons or years have passed.

‘Hey, it’s all dusty in here. Is this someone’s idea of a joke?’

[windfall-wings]

Punchline

All I heard was a click. My eyes fluttered open as a cold barrel jabbed me in the check. “Good morning sweetie,” the lady purred, still out of sight. My eyes darted around frantically trying to find the source.

“Now now, let’s not waste that energy. You’ll need it.”

My eyes shot to the window; my roommates are there waving wildly at me. What happened?

“Oh aren’t your friends cute? They think they can save you.”

I can’t move. My arms are pinned, and I’ve got weight like an elephant on my chest.

“Tell you what. Tell me a good joke and I may just let you live. How about a good one-liner?”

A what? A good one liner? How does she expect me to do that when I’m about to die?!

“Come now, I know you can think of one.”

Half-asleep, my head is full of fog. What does she want? A duck crossing the road? A guy walks into a bar?

“Tick tock dear. Perhaps a longer joke will suffice…”

My friends are jiggling the doorknob now. Do I use a dirty joke? Political commentary?

“Five…four…”

Satire?

“Three…Two…”

A pun?!

“One…”

“How can I tell a one liner when I can’t even tell a joke right?!”

She paused a little giggle escaping her lips. “So, so sorry dear. Just doesn’t do it for me.”

#shortstory #writing

[windfall-wings]

Senpai-derman

[windfall-wings]

Hello

And so it begins...