Chapter One
Blue shadows stretched themselves across the kitchen. The sound of the waves crashing against the pilings outside was soothing. Grammy's house shoes slapped her heels as she made her way from her bedroom to the kitchen. Abby, who sat at the table braced herself. She liked silence, her grandmother liked noise. Her grandmother entered the kitchen. Her usual, "Good Morning" was not spoken. Absently she flipped on the kitchen radio. Classical music, noise to Abby, obliterated the peaceful music of the waves. Abby looked at her grandmother. Her eyes were tired and red rimmed. She asked, "Grammy are you okay?"
Without making eye contact Grammy nodded her head. "I’m fine. Just didn't sleep well." She cleared her throat and added in a strained voice, "You're daddy's coming home."
“Oh.” Abby frowned. This news was not good for her, but it should make Grammy happy. Only she wasn’t.
Fevley
That one with the faceNewest Deviations
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January 2019 monthly
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Usurpers of Oz 107
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Canon Story Progress Bars
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Literature
Lone Gull Crying ~ cerealnovels 1
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Literature
Errant
It started when you recovered from your illness.
Or perhaps when you got sick in the first place, or…well, really it began the day you first picked up sword and shield again. Not that you’d have changed that: life as a knight is the only thing you ever wanted. It was—it is, it still is—your honor to defend the folk of the kingdom. To hunt down the unclean things that steal through the dark. It’s a difficult task; the forces of the crown are spread thin these days, and you’re the only appointed knight in the surrounding villages. With the increasing reports of witches and night things about the borders, you’ve been overworked ever since you took the post.
How long has it been? Shit, about a decade. Too long and with too little rest.
It was no wonder that you fell ill. Three weeks were spent wracked with fever and shakes, but hey, it was the first vacation you’d had in years. Little pins and needles skittered across your muscles at n
Or perhaps when you got sick in the first place, or…well, really it began the day you first picked up sword and shield again. Not that you’d have changed that: life as a knight is the only thing you ever wanted. It was—it is, it still is—your honor to defend the folk of the kingdom. To hunt down the unclean things that steal through the dark. It’s a difficult task; the forces of the crown are spread thin these days, and you’re the only appointed knight in the surrounding villages. With the increasing reports of witches and night things about the borders, you’ve been overworked ever since you took the post.
How long has it been? Shit, about a decade. Too long and with too little rest.
It was no wonder that you fell ill. Three weeks were spent wracked with fever and shakes, but hey, it was the first vacation you’d had in years. Little pins and needles skittered across your muscles at n
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Horror Narratives in Comics, Movies, and Games
If you're a writer, even if you're not into horror, watch this. It's important educational shit.
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Buff In The Buff
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Literature
Granny Shoe
“You dropped your guard again, Edie.”
It was a warm spring day, the house was airing out, and Granny Shoe sat on the front stoop with her basket of clothes that needed mending. She had never liked the name Granny Shoe, but the children had given it to her, and the name came from a place of love, so she wore it with grace.
Edie, meanwhile, was taking nothing with grace. She threw down her wooden practice sword and folded her arms over her chest.
“This is pointless.”
Granny Shoe set aside the pair of pants she had been mending. It could wait. Michael would just have them right back in the basket anyway. “How so?”
“I don’t need to learn how to fight. That’s what princes are for.”
“Is that so?” She patted an empty spot on the stoop. “Come and sit with me, child.”
Edie did as she was told, plopping
It was a warm spring day, the house was airing out, and Granny Shoe sat on the front stoop with her basket of clothes that needed mending. She had never liked the name Granny Shoe, but the children had given it to her, and the name came from a place of love, so she wore it with grace.
Edie, meanwhile, was taking nothing with grace. She threw down her wooden practice sword and folded her arms over her chest.
“This is pointless.”
Granny Shoe set aside the pair of pants she had been mending. It could wait. Michael would just have them right back in the basket anyway. “How so?”
“I don’t need to learn how to fight. That’s what princes are for.”
“Is that so?” She patted an empty spot on the stoop. “Come and sit with me, child.”
Edie did as she was told, plopping
Tobaeus Tobaeus
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Literature
Three Cities
1: Öb. The Tall City
The botfly-woman was anxious, as if there might have been ants, hiding in ambush; she’d landed on the lip of the central chimney and circled sun-wise, as demanded by ritual. It was always easy to confuse the botfly with the hirsute ground-dwelling wasp, but botfly-women knew to circle any city chimney, sun-wise; botfly women knew to fan their wings and wet any ample number their hairs with spittle, before plucking those strands and dropping them into the depths of the city to announce their arrival.
The botfly-woman had done this, signaling her presence and her harmless intentions to the city below, and The Warrior caught word of her scent, from the glands of a news-vendor. She might have been there for long, long hours. She might have been there for moments, more likely, if the trio of boisterous near-male alates were any indication; they might have seen her in the distance. They might have called to her: prone
The botfly-woman was anxious, as if there might have been ants, hiding in ambush; she’d landed on the lip of the central chimney and circled sun-wise, as demanded by ritual. It was always easy to confuse the botfly with the hirsute ground-dwelling wasp, but botfly-women knew to circle any city chimney, sun-wise; botfly women knew to fan their wings and wet any ample number their hairs with spittle, before plucking those strands and dropping them into the depths of the city to announce their arrival.
The botfly-woman had done this, signaling her presence and her harmless intentions to the city below, and The Warrior caught word of her scent, from the glands of a news-vendor. She might have been there for long, long hours. She might have been there for moments, more likely, if the trio of boisterous near-male alates were any indication; they might have seen her in the distance. They might have called to her: prone
Chipchinka Chipchinka
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Literature
The Author is Dead
Please, I need your help. We're both in danger.
Do you see that corpse in the corner? The one with fluffy red hair? That's the author of this story, and she's dead. If you don't want the same thing to happen to you or me, you need to do everything I say.
Okay?
Okay. First, turn off the volume on your device. The monster's still here, and it will attack if it hears you. Work quietly now...
Good.
We don't have words to waste, so I'll sum this up quick:
I'm the protagonist. You can call me Proto.
The writer invented a creature whose harpoon-like limbs could go through anything. While she was thinking of a way for me to beat it, one claw punctured the fourth wall, and her chest, then dragged her in. She died before giving me anything.
That hole in the wall is how I can see you. You're all I have left, dear reader.
All of my teammates have been killed off- the other bodies you see. It is still nosing around them. Hasn't noticed me hiding by the rubble.
If nothing changes by the story
Do you see that corpse in the corner? The one with fluffy red hair? That's the author of this story, and she's dead. If you don't want the same thing to happen to you or me, you need to do everything I say.
Okay?
Okay. First, turn off the volume on your device. The monster's still here, and it will attack if it hears you. Work quietly now...
Good.
We don't have words to waste, so I'll sum this up quick:
I'm the protagonist. You can call me Proto.
The writer invented a creature whose harpoon-like limbs could go through anything. While she was thinking of a way for me to beat it, one claw punctured the fourth wall, and her chest, then dragged her in. She died before giving me anything.
That hole in the wall is how I can see you. You're all I have left, dear reader.
All of my teammates have been killed off- the other bodies you see. It is still nosing around them. Hasn't noticed me hiding by the rubble.
If nothing changes by the story
dragoeniex dragoeniex
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So at my day job, which is actually a night job, I get to listen to a things while I work. This is great especially since I can get stuck in thought-loops about the most inane things, like Spongebob or a single unwritten story scene/actually just one line/actually just a facial reaction to a situation. Point is I listen to a lot of podcasts. All of them want their listeners to spread the word. Well, why not.
BBC Global News Podcast: A half hour segment twice daily featuring the latest headlines from across the globe. I like it because it's unbiased as far as I've noticed, and also because they always have segments of good news in every episode. There is a reporter who goes out of his way to pick up every sandwich-related story out there so he can eat on company time. It's a good balance against the natural horror of current events.
C-SPAN Radio- Washington Today: A one hour show every weekday except on days when Congress is taking an undeserved vacation. Fridays are half an hour. This isn't a news source, it's a chance to hear unabbreviated speeches from important elected and unelected officials. It's not this podcast's place to call them goddamn filthy liars, it's yours. I love this show.
The Economist Radio (all audio): Fifteen to thirty minutes five times a week. It's specified as all audio because while you can get podcasts for the specific topics of economics, technology, and so on, this one just gives you all of it. These are important stories, but not necessarily headlines. The journalists love their jobs here, and it shines through in all their stories. It's a joy to listen to.
The Lawfare Podcast: Forty minutes to an hour. It's scheduled for once a week, but whenever something exciting happens they add a second one, so yeah, it's actually twice a week. The original audience was lawyers, law makers and law students, so sometimes the law jargon can get really intense, but I don't view that as a downside. They discuss the legalities and necessary morality of current situations, from the ousting of Robert Mugabwe in Zimbabwe to the dodging of questions in Mueller's Russian probe. It's fascinating, and they have some extremely interesting and educated guests, so I highly recommend it.
At this point I'd like to point out that I rarely listen to all or even half of my podcasts in a day. Basically, there are twelve more, and if there is interest I'll gush about them in a different journal. This is a reasonable length to stop.
BBC Global News Podcast: A half hour segment twice daily featuring the latest headlines from across the globe. I like it because it's unbiased as far as I've noticed, and also because they always have segments of good news in every episode. There is a reporter who goes out of his way to pick up every sandwich-related story out there so he can eat on company time. It's a good balance against the natural horror of current events.
C-SPAN Radio- Washington Today: A one hour show every weekday except on days when Congress is taking an undeserved vacation. Fridays are half an hour. This isn't a news source, it's a chance to hear unabbreviated speeches from important elected and unelected officials. It's not this podcast's place to call them goddamn filthy liars, it's yours. I love this show.
The Economist Radio (all audio): Fifteen to thirty minutes five times a week. It's specified as all audio because while you can get podcasts for the specific topics of economics, technology, and so on, this one just gives you all of it. These are important stories, but not necessarily headlines. The journalists love their jobs here, and it shines through in all their stories. It's a joy to listen to.
The Lawfare Podcast: Forty minutes to an hour. It's scheduled for once a week, but whenever something exciting happens they add a second one, so yeah, it's actually twice a week. The original audience was lawyers, law makers and law students, so sometimes the law jargon can get really intense, but I don't view that as a downside. They discuss the legalities and necessary morality of current situations, from the ousting of Robert Mugabwe in Zimbabwe to the dodging of questions in Mueller's Russian probe. It's fascinating, and they have some extremely interesting and educated guests, so I highly recommend it.
At this point I'd like to point out that I rarely listen to all or even half of my podcasts in a day. Basically, there are twelve more, and if there is interest I'll gush about them in a different journal. This is a reasonable length to stop.
deviantID
Fevley
Artist | Professional | Varied
Artist | Professional | Varied
|
I am a storyteller of complex politics and silly faces write2me@gamergnome.com |
Comments
So who knew that the stodgy old syndicated comics could suddenly turn so strange? Actually, Mark Trail has been on the strange side for a long time now. But the latest story arc about the wreck of the circus train has gone over the top and stayed there. www.sfgate.com/comics/ck/Mark_…
And they need to stop blaming animal rights. Transportation costs have been killing the circus business for half a century.
And they need to stop blaming animal rights. Transportation costs have been killing the circus business for half a century.
www.gocomics.com/cestlavie/201…
I liked this one for some reason. It reminds me that if we refused to talk to stupid people, we would forget how to talk.
I liked this one for some reason. It reminds me that if we refused to talk to stupid people, we would forget how to talk.
They don't write 'em like this any more. Fortunately.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iHOS_…
And remember, the Indian Maiden you meet may not be your sister, but she might be mine!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iHOS_…
And remember, the Indian Maiden you meet may not be your sister, but she might be mine!
People send me these things when they run across them. 'Ya gotta see dis!' Funny thing is this type of story was oftenish the subject of old movies and books at least into the 60's, sometimes as comedy and sometimes as tragedy, that some kid has no idea that he or she is adopted and grows up thinking they're ordinary average White. They finally figure out they're really Indian or Gypsy or whatever when their 'primal urges' (what we would call genetics) manifest in some way. Hey there are still people who believe - or not sure whether they should disbelieve - that being Indian means you have some primal need to live in the woods, ride horses, or run through the wild screaming and yelling (like in the song)
The part that really gets me is being raised White somehow make you look White, or White enough. If I had been adopted as a baby by the kindly Svensons, I would have figured out at an early age that I wasn't Swedish!
The part that really gets me is being raised White somehow make you look White, or White enough. If I had been adopted as a baby by the kindly Svensons, I would have figured out at an early age that I wasn't Swedish!
