Diane (& the gapot)

Once upon a time (again), maybe around a century ago, there lived a girl named Diane. Diane lived in a small cabin in a rural area, surrounded by sparse trees that were slowly decimated by her artisan father but they proliferated into battalions after a quarter mile or so from the home. She spent most lazy afternoons weaving in and out of trees, trying to count squirrels.

Her father was a respected wood sculptor. Diane's younger sister died shortly after childbirth and was buried near a tree stump, her father deciding to use the stump as the grave marker instead of a granite headstone. Every year, he would clean off the stump and redefine its features to resemble a relief lamb and the inscription "Too soon, too soon". He also sold some of the wood on his property to other local residents. He often gave a small complimentary sculpture to those buyers he favored, usually of various squirrels Diane had decided to give names to. You'd think he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between one squirrel and the next, but he could, as could Diane. Diane's mother just shook her head at it all. He also tried making a violin after finding the odd book at general store (odd that a violin crafting book should end up in this place!) and it was not a bad first attempt, but after Diane scratched its strings with the bow a few times, gave up any idea that she had musical ability and set off once again to count squirrels.

At the age of 12, Diane happened upon a skunk, and the surprised skunk naturally sprayed Diane with what you and I would only wish upon our worser enemies. However, Diane discovered she could not smell a thing. But she did feel upset that her clothes were now of an unfit state so after dispatching the skunk (she felt quite vengeful and she had her trusty knife with her), she shed her clothes and tried to wash out what she could in a nearby creek. Mildly successful, she let her clothes dry while she stayed motionless and tried to see if any other forest creatures felt like paying her a visit.

Not too far away, a gapot was tromping around, waylaying people taking the shortcut through the forest to the next town. Gapots are actually half the size of a human, look like trolls, but enjoy home-cooked meals often carried by these sort of travelers, hence the waylaying. Gapots also happen to quite stinky if you get within a certain distance of them, but are very quick.

By the time her clothes had dried enough, Diane could her the gapot thrashing about in a distance. Feeling curious still while the day was not done, she threw on her clothes and skitted off toward the noise. Upon spying the gapot running away with an old lady's meal, Diane stalked the gapot quietly at a safe distance. When it was sure that it could eat its prize in peace, the gapot settled down at the edge of a clearing and commenced devouring. What a juicy turkey sandwich! Cooked last night! It slowed down and chewed to savor the food.

Diane spotted the creature and, emboldened by her earlier bout with the skunk, stealthily approached the gapot from behind. She figured her lack of olfactory sense at the time would be an advantage. However, she forgot that her own clothes still bore some skunk smell so the gapot, odiferous as it was, was able to smell Diane coming. He turned around and saw the girl approaching with ther knife, and surprise widened her eyes at being discovered.

The gapot, a coward by nature, quickly dashed off, later regretting to remember to pick up its meal. Diane, disappointed at her failure to sneak up on the gapot, scooped up the remaining food and brought it back to where she had seen the old lady. She was only up the path a short distance and brightened up when she saw Diane returning with her food. The lady figured Diane had battled the gapot, so she thought nothing of Diane's own aroma. She thanked the young girl profusely even when Diane didn't want to give out her name (Shy girl, she was. Comes from having few people living around where she did and only squirrels that chirrup at you) and when she arrived in town, she spoke to her friends and family there about the girl who retrieved her food from that horrid gapot.

Diane returned home and was scolded by her mother for being quite careless to have stumbled upon a skunk. Diane couldn't really refute that, so she sat quietly while her mother used industrial strength soap (made with goat fat) on Diane's hair. And that ends the story of Diane and the gapot.

AX Badge Art

There. I've added all the badge art I've ever done up to today to the art tab. I'm lying - I know I've done linework for some of Hamusutaa's badges but he wanted to color them so I did not include those. I also didn't include Niko's 'cuz I had used another guy's photo of the Cal campus as the background but I forgot where I got it. And the badge I actually used for AXNY was some hack job 'cuz my real image was messed up through no fault of my own. And maybe some other ones I've forgotten.. but this is pretty much it!

Statistics (just for fun)

# of badges done by year:
2003: 2
2002 (AXNY): 2
2002 (AX): 5
2001: 3
2000: 5
1999: 4
1998: 5
1997: 2 (1 did not get used)

# of badges done by person:
Amy: 1
CatsMeow: 1
curse: 7
Hamusutaa: 1
Hydrant: 1 (Didn't get used)
Mr. Ishiguro: 2
kor: 1
meowa: 2
Outis: 6
PacoPaco: 5
thndr: 1

Total: 28 badges

Procedure: Drawn, scanned, worked with in Photoshop, all while getting approval from each respective client.

I wonder what to use as my own badge art this year...

Not really gingerbread

"Would you like another box?"

Theresa looked at her co-worker again. Another box? I shouldn't eat THAT many, she thought.

"Really, you can have another- Give it to someone else if you like. And let me know what you think," she said and pushed the box at Theresa. She stood there, holding the two boxes of cookies. They were shaped like gingerbread men, but the coloring was off.

"Um, tell me again why your daughter can't sell these cookies?" Theresa asked.

"Oh, these are kind of like an experiment, you know? Try it in some market areas to see if they should go ahead and make more to really sell it," she replied. She paused, then hesitated before asking, "Speaking of experiment, do you like that sci-fi stuff?"

Theresa sniffed disdainfully. "No, it's all just fluff. A waste of time, that type of fiction," and she thought fondly of her own growing collection of romance novels at home.

"Oh yes, same here," her co-worker lied, and she thought instead of that last ingredient listed on the box side: soylent green.

Waiting

It stood at attention in the dark for over a week now, paying no attention to the slivers of light. After two weeks, its stomach's contents had not gone down any but it thought it was hungry nonetheless. Another week went by and finally the sliver expanded to an opening twice its width and it was freed from its prison. It was taken to a more expansive location, with familiar furniture and shag carpet. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams as the thin curtain undulated with the wind. Its tail suddenly filled it with interminable energy and the vacuum cleaner roared to life.

Microfission

On the way back home from dim sum with meowa, Pawtee & PsychoStrm, Outis had left the radio on KALW 91.7 FM and we listened to Invisible Ink for a while. The topic today was microfiction, or "tiny lit", as described on littleelegy.com. After listening to a few pieces being read on the air, we mused, 'hey, we could do that and put it in a blog'. So, I would like to try this out: putting out a small amount of words of fiction (or maybe anything) daily into this blog. So, here goes something:

- - - - - - - - - -
There she was, abandoned in the middle of nothing, midpoint of a line segment connecting any two opposing stars. Nothing to provide an opposing force to start along a vector, or even rotate. She's stuck, staring at Orion's skimpy belt almost forever. The darkness of space obscured her own extremities from her sight when she turned her head. They had rendered her motionless and had long gone back to the home star system. She had screamed at them to come back but who can hear anything in space? Her coordinates will be kept top secret, or forgotten. It sure sucks being agoraphobic.
- - - - - - - - - -

Okay, that wasn't all that great, but this'll prolly be the "just churn out what you can and who cares about quality" kinda project, hee hee.