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One small addition to my stock rules because apparently we live in a dystopian cyberpunk nightmarescape now

My stock, including photos, video, and my personal likeness may never be used in the development or production of so called "Deep Fake" media technology. Any deep fake media produced with my stock or using my likeness is a violation of my terms.

While I am certainly impressed with the advancement of imaging technology in 2018, I have seen and read enough to come to the conclusion that I don't want to take part in the development or production of deep fakes. I know my face can be seen from many angles, and this can be helpful for artists learning to draw and sketch, but it also places me in a position where my likeness is vulnerable to being placed in non-consenting pornography, and I just ain't about that business. 

If you're not in the habit of placing non-consenting women into digitally manipulated porn videos, you have nothing to worry about, and I hope y'all are having a great day!

I'll be coming out of my cryptid hole on saturday to visit and overwhelm myself with introvert anxiety!

Hope to see y'all there!

This one is going to be Tatiana Maslany in black and white, queen sized quilt with alternating sized blocks.
Why do I do this?
I don't even know. Something something art for the sake of it.
The Starboy Voltron Lance fanzine I wrote for is finally over!

After a great second run, we sold over 500 zines and were able to raise $4497.76 for Direct Relief
Since the zine is over, I'm happy to share my story here with you. Please enjoy!



While on vacation at Varadero beach, a restless Lance cannot sleep while all the adults are away and having fun. Something out on the ocean is calling to him. And it might just be worth the trouble.

   He couldn’t sleep.

   After the last red rays of sunlight morphed into twinkling indigo and his mother tucked him in bed, Lance shifted from side to side, too hot and too excited to even pretend. The adults were off visiting and dancing late into the night and Lance was here in the beach house, staring up at the old wooden ceiling as moonlight slowly crawled across its surface.

   He thrashed the covers off, rolling his legs forward and pulling himself up to the windowsill to gaze out at the ocean down on Varadero beach. The full moon was dawning oversea, shining directly in his window, bright like daylight and utterly impossible to settle down and sleep.

   Lance edged his nose on the sill, smelling the salty dust in the cracks of the old building mixed with sharp, cool air flowing into the bedroom through the open window as noisy night creatures sounded out their welcome nearby.

   So close to the beach.

   He grunted a little sigh, the kind that comes from tiny lungs born of disappointment and love and excitement that this was only the first day of his family’s vacation and he had not supped every precious moment of fun from it so far. His mother had told him that patience was a virtue as she slathered more sunscreen on his back that afternoon, rubbing in soft circles and gently chiding him not to eat so much sugar.

   Lance did not have patience.

   It were as if the moon were calling to him, a cool and mysterious imitation of the sun waking him in this bright night-morning. Its light flecked the ever-shifting ocean waves; the low din of their rhythm eerily calm without the screams of gulls and lively buzz of daily tourists.

   For hours, or maybe only a few minutes, Lance watched the waves crash upon the beach, rising higher and higher with the incoming tide, feeling that unsuppressable itch rising in his little belly as he curled his toes into the tangled bedsheets beneath him.

   The sea was calling.

   “Don’t leave the beach house at night,” his mother had told him and his younger siblings as she’d tucked them into bed, while Valeria and Guillermo and his father got ready to leave for their night-time fun that grown ups and big kids got to do.

   “Be good for tía Lorena,” she smiled, and Lance smelled the warm, sweet scent of vanilla perfume as he tucked his face into her neck, jostling her dangling gold earrings. He’d promised to be good. He’d settled himself into bed before it was even dark, and fought every urge to get up and wander into the kitchen or find a book.

   But mama was gone and Lorena was fast asleep in the living room along with Julieta and and Mateo in the other beds beside him and Lance couldn’t stop staring at the moon.

   That rising moon, out on the ocean.

   The moon that winked at him.

   No. Not the moon. Something else? He squinted at the horizon, where the needle-thin edge of the ocean met the rising span of moonlight, and saw it. Something massive out there, too strangely shaped to be a cruise ship, too close to be a star. Something else, glowing and floating out on the ocean. And coming closer. He was sure of it.

   Lance had been a hero before now, saving his youngest sister last summer from a tarantula that had crawled into her bed by shooing it out the back door with a feather duster. She unlocked herself from the bathroom where she’d been crying on top of the toilet and hugged him tight, promising that next time she wouldn’t scream so loud. It filled him with a fierce and noble pride.

   And that was how Lance found himself sneaking out past his siblings gently snoring in the other room, past auntie Lorena fast asleep in the rocking chair, oscillating fan beside her gently wafting her linen skirt and grey curls, and hovering, however briefly, by the screen door as patches of moonlight illuminated rows of summer sandals on the bench.

   Too noisy, he decided, too much time. Lance reached up and unhitched the door, opening it with agonizing slowness as his heart raced with every rusty creak. A little wider, just enough to slip through. He caught the underside of the door with his foot, guaranteeing a silent close punctuated by the tiniest click.

   Lorena slumbered in the living room.

   Down and out the chain-link garden gate, on little bare feet Lance padded along the scrubby grass, around the side of the house to the back, where his bedroom window overlooked the ocean. Still there. Still that mysterious shape on the horizon, shifting with the waves and flickering moonlight. Surely a grown-up would see what he was seeing.

   But then again, maybe not. Grown-ups never seemed to notice anything important.

   Past the sheds that held surfboards and beach chairs, down the gentle slope between the giant palms Lance hurried on his tiptoes, concrete steps still a little warm to the touch after such a long, hot day.

   And there he was, out on the beach. No one and nothing around him on either side but endless white sand and crashing waves. Lance closed his eyes and breathed in, the night air filling his little body with a particular vigor that only being up at night without parents or permission gave. The breeze fluttered his Buzz Lightyear print pajamas as Lance wriggled his toes into the soft sand, slowly, tentatively, making sure for real that no one was around to catch him by the collar and send him back to bed.

   And then he was off. With an airy whoop of joy his legs were carrying him along the sand, first towards the ocean, and then lengthwise along the beach, silent footfalls thumping soft marks into dry sand as he ran into the wind, hands up and feeling like he was about to get picked up and fly away.

   Closer. He needed to get closer to see what it was.

   Out along the breakwater boulders he crawled, full moon shining like daylight as Lance scrambled across the smooth, dark jut of rocks, deeper and deeper into the incoming tide. The dark water swirled perilously around him as wind buffeted his hair and shirt, but Lance refused to be afraid. Buzz Lightyear wouldn’t be afraid.

   “I saw you. I saw you out there! Where did you go?” he called into the salty breeze, and nothing replied.

   Now he was out on the very tip of the breakwater, catching his breath as he slipped on the uneven rocks while large incoming waves sprayed cool mist onto them. Carefully he tread between the razor-sharp barnacles that dotted their sides, planting his toes, and keeping his arms wide for balance as he searched the horizon for that winking moon-creature.

   Was it a trick? Now the wind whipped fiendishly about him as Lance gazed up into the star-speckled heavens, and the sky briefly darkened as a cloud passed in front of the moon. Surely it was still out here. He stared upward at the endless sky, lost in the depths of space beyond him. Surely it was real.

   Lance hadn’t time to look down when the wave hit, that sudden gust pushing him forward as his foot slipped on the rocks and he tumbled head-first into the salt-water, the shock of it making him scream a jet of bubbles under the waves.

   He fought for the surface, arms pumping outward as he’d been taught by Guillermo, legs kicking fury against the rolling tide. He reached out for the breakwater rocks, stretching his arms as far as they’d go.

   And missed.

   He reached again as another swell brought him a little closer, but he had nothing but sharp barnacles and smooth rock to slap his tiny palms against, and again, Lance was dragged away by the tow.

   Further now, and further he slipped away, watching the rocks get smaller and smaller as he fought to stay along the surface. A rip-tide, his older brother had warned him as they sat on the red woolen picnic blanket that afternoon, eating corn on the cob: Don’t swim too far. You’ll get dragged out to sea and die.

   No. Not now. Not tonight. Not after sneaking away from his family and getting his favourite Buzz Lightyear pajamas soaking wet. Salty tears melted invisibly into salty water as Lance fought the endless seaward pull of the tide, promising to be nicer to his sister, promising to let Mateo play with all his toys if only he could get back to shore.

   And it was when his head ducked under the waves for the fourth time, and his legs were exhausted, and he had prayed every prayer he knew that the mysterious light suddenly dawned underneath him. Glowing brighter and brighter, out of the depths below something was rising, coming straight towards him. And it was big.

   Solid blue metal gently lifted his shaking body out of the ocean as water sloughed off the edges of its surface. Two small spires that looked like- ears? poked up and Lance gripped the left one as tightly as he could, steadying his feet on the polished surface as they began to move, thankfully, towards the shore.

   And with every step towards white sandy safety, Lance got a new idea of the scope and scale of this beast, rising out of the waves to tower over Varadero beach in the indigo twilight.

   Slowly, gently, it brought its massive head down to the shore, and Lance lowered himself from the ear, sliding forward down the slope of its nose with a hapless cry of unrestrained joy and bouncing off the tip to solid, dry ground. After digging his hands into the cool sand and promising his mother he would never, ever go out on the rocks alone again he turned to face his rescuer.

   Standing before him loomed an enormous blue creature made of metal and soft lights. It flicked its tail behind it, splashing lazily in the moonlit waves as it towered over him, almost the size of a house.

   “You…” Lance spoke, his voice steady and fearless while his pajamas dripped.

   The machine-creature stared down at him with curious, glowing eyes

   “You’re a tiger!”

   He pointed his index finger firmly up at the creature’s great face. It reared back half an inch, blinking its bright yellow eyes down at Lance.

   “Thank you for rescuing me, Tiger,” said Lance, placing his tiny hands on the machine’s metal nose, and pressing his forehead gently against its cool surface. A low rumble of acknowledgement emerged from the tiger, nudging him as if the action meant nothing at all.

   “Where did you come from?” asked Lance, “The ocean or the moon?”

   The creature shook its head.

   “Hmm... A mystery,” Lance pondered, stroking his chin. And then, “That’s ok. I’m not supposed to be out here, either.” He smiled up at the blue tiger. “Um, if you could- I would be in a lot of trouble, so please don’t tell my mom or auntie Lorena.” He reached out and patted the massive creature’s solid metal nose.


   Lance stared down the empty beach as the warm night breeze fluttered his damp clothes. The tide was fully in now, and the moon still rose steadily overhead. The creature seemed to be waiting for him, quietly, as they both stood on the beach.

   “I think I might even be asleep in my bed right now. Mama told me not to leave the beach house. But it’s ok if it’s in my dreams, right, Dream Tiger?”

   The creature cocked its head to the side.

   “Will you play with me?”

   The massive metal tail flicked once, twice, and then the whole robotic cat sprang up, playfully throwing an enormous spray of sand in the air as its dangerous claws dug deep trenches into the ground. Lance threw his head back in raucous laughter and peeled away, skipping a few steps and then careening at breakneck speed down the empty beach as the massive cat graciously gave him a head-start.

   The moon was high overhead when Lance, panting and tired, returned to the cluster of palms that led up the pathway to his family’s rented beach house. Too narrow and dense for the great machine to follow, she stood, lowered, watching him as he turned back one more time to face her.

   “I have to go now.”

   She nodded. He waved goodbye.

   “Will I ever see you again, Dream Tiger?” he asked. 

   “I am sure of it.”


I'm not acting in it. But you can vote for it if you like it!…

This time around, I was signed on with the glorious role of Script Supervisor!

What on earth DOES a scripty DO, exactly?

Well, we have an interesting job. We're in charge of eliminating, or at least reducing, all errors when we shoot.
You know those Movie Mistakes videos that show a character wearing a watch on their left hand, then in the next scene the watch in on their right hand? That's continuity. You know when an actor is smoking a cigarette that was just lit in a scene, and then when you cut to the close-up it's burnt down to a stubb? That's continuity. We're in charge of making sure these things don't happen, or happen as little as possible.

On the side of things you can't see, we're in charge of making sure teh actors say the lines that are actually written down on the script, in the order they're written down, without flubbing or changing dialogue. While some directors love creative improvisation, it's important that the key ideas still get conveyed, and get conveyed consistently if you're switching camera angles in the same scene.

So basically, what I did on this movie, was I wrote down each take, what it was showing, and whether it was good or bad. I wrote down all mistakes or errors, and a few things that the director liked or didn't like, and my notes are then given to the editor once we've shot all of our material to somehow stitch a movie out of all the footage we shot.

Also I got to hang out with an awesome dog.

Enzo, the dog in the movie is a belgian malinois, and he is less of an actor and more of a retired US veteran. He was originally trained by the military as a cell phone sniffing dog, (similar to bomb or drug sniffers, but focused on electronics) but during one of his medical exams, they discovered a small defect on him. Enzo was released from the program and adopted by a loving family, and we were able to work with him using his military training. Let me tell you, when he was commanded to bark and growl, that dog wasn't acting! But when he was commanded to not be on duty, Enzo is a sweetheart and a barrel of energy.

It was amazing to work on this short film, and I hope to bring you guys other stuff soon!

Dear Baby Boomer Pedestrians of Vancouver,

I regret to inform you, but I will not, in fact, stop biking on the curb just because you have pointed your index finger somewhere out in the general direction of the road. You see, I understand that the curb is primarily for pedestrians, and as a safety-minded cyclist, I fully understand your wish to go about your day unhindered by the ticking of my wheels or, I don't know, my ability to completely steer around you.

You must understand. I'm not doing this for the thrill of going much slower than it would take for me to not steer around you or have my speed reduced by pavement bumps. The thing is, I am not safe cycling on the road where we currently are. And I very much like the state of being not dead or mangled.

That white diamond you pointed out to me on the road on East Broadway? That is not a bike lane. That is a bus lane. And I do not wish to become a human pancake for the next 99 B-line sweeping up behind me. Up on the curb I go, because too many motor vehicles think “yield” means “everyone yield to me for I AM CAR, and I am steel and leather and the roar of hydrocarbon dragon's breath”

And I am so, SO sorry that you need the ENTIRE triple-wide pavement of Main street to walk your tiny rat-dog in its fashionably tiny rat-dog sweater. And I am not a monster, dear baby-boomer. I see your rat-dog and I swerve around your rat dog and I take a few moments after deliberately choosing not to flip you the bird for yelling at me to appreciate your long woolen overcoat. It gives a nice fall flair.

Perhaps you should form a club with the man who called into CFOX radio station the other day to complain about a cyclist at the roundabout of 10th and Glen “Whipping past me without stopping!”

At a roundabout! On a designated bike lane! “And if I had not looked, and accidentally hit that cyclist, well, I would have been the bad guy, there. So those cyclists need to pay more attention to the road.”

Yes, dear baby boomer, we cyclists, protected only by our helmets and our gloriously toned thighs must pay more attention to entitled truck drivers who listen to CFOX as their radio station of choice because if we are not careful, those truck drivers might not remember the rules of the road and do something completely dangerous and illegal in a roundabout and they MIGHT LOOK BAD. On a designated. Bike route.

God forbid I ever try to turn left at a busy intersection.

And so until delivery trucks and luxury cars stop seeing “bike lane” as, like, just a suggestion, whatever, I am still going to raise myself up those precious six inches and bike on your consecrated concrete dedicated to human footfalls.

Because it's safer and I have places to be.

I love you all. Biking is fun.

Hey guys! I'm currently uploading some sample scenes I've shot in class to my Youtube channel.
I know these don't have the highest production value, but I'm not dead to the world, and you're alwas welcome to use them for art / animation reference if you'd like*

I'm really really excited about a few of my student films being finished up. Those are much higher in quality and definitely worth watching more than sample reels.

Do you have a monologue or scene you'd like to see me do? Give me a shout in the comments!

*Please do not use the actual footage in video projects, there are copyrighted scripts, and visible logos, it's a copyright nightmare! But stuff like rotoscoping is fine.

To be specific, it were these photos:
  Male Head Turnaround Stock Pack by RobynRose

Yep yep.
And nothing bad happened, I promise.

Tima.G Commercial “The Beauty Within”
Client: Chic Designs
Director: Domenico Cutrupi
Producer: Domenico Cutrupi & Savanna Franklyn
Associate Producer: Jeffrey Rosenbjork
Model: Laura Auffray, Owen Unruh
Cinematographer: Yong Jin Kim
Music: Claudio Smussi
Production Designer: Juvel Jeo
Make-Up Artist: Kaci Jae Wilkins
Camera Operator: Juvel Jeo
Editing: Domenico Cutrupi
Special Thanks to Crystal Davis for providing the location, the beautiful Crystal’s View Bed&Breakfast, and to Mert Daglaroglu for graphic consultation.


Tima’s Fall and Winter 2015- 16 line is a collaboration of the amazing architecture we are surrounded by with our desires for a well fitting and flattering gown. Inspired by architectural creations all around the world, especially those of Zaha Hadid and others, the gowns are a celebration of humans’ creative power.


It's real, you guys. I'm actually becoming an actor. This is so strange and wonderful. Now I know why people cry at awards ceremonies.
You can keep up with more of my IRL shennanegans at
Long story short, I'm losing The Great Loftspace.

The loftspace is the photography room that exists in my parents house, and I have moved out to live in Vancouver.
Now, that house is being sold, and so it is the end of the lovely grey loft with the big natural light windows.

But that's not the end of my as an artist or photographer, it's just a time of growth and change
I've spent six months in the city intensely studying acting, and working towards becoming a working actor and model.
I've made lots of new friends in the city, and it's really opened up new doors for me.
As much as I love the country, there is just not a strong enough arts community to thrive here.

And I want to say, that, while I've been quiet for a long, long time, I have struggled with illness, both the physical illness of my mother and my own depression and anxiety about not being good enough. But this spring feels different. It feels happy. I feel like my joy and creativity have returned. I want to draw, and paint and photograph again. This feels like a time of great healing and growth for me.

I suppose now is the best time to finally tell you guys my real name. I'm Laura Auffray.
Wow. That was easier than I thought. Yep, I have a name, and now I'm trying to get it out.

If you'd like, you can check out my new facebook page…

And if you view my demo real, you even get to hear my real voice ^^

Moving ahead, I'm really not sure what the future holds for me, but I'm looking forward to it. It feels like things might just turn out ok.
My new year's resolution is to eat more vegetables. Although I love the idea of going vegetarian or vegan, I know deep down in my heart that I simply love sweet mesquite BBQ ribs too much. So I compromised and told myself I would eat more vegetables to balance out my omnivore ways.

Squash! It's not just for putting by your front door in the fall!

IMG 249squash by RobynRose

Preheat oven to 400*F and place the rack in the middle.
Cut the squash in half and scoop out the insides.
Cut a small piece off of the bottom of the round side of each half, so that they don't roll around on the pan when facing up.
In a bowl, or in one of the squash halves if you're lazy, mix:
2 teaspoons margarine
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1 clove garlic finely chopped (or a small squeeze of garlic paste in a tube)
1/2 tsp salt
Less than half a teaspoon, to taste:
Ground black pepper
Powdered ginger
"Italian seasoning" Which can include oregano, basil, thyme, rosemary, marjoram, sage (if you have those as separate bottles, feel free to sprinkle in)

Mash the butter mixture up with a spoon, or fingers if you haven't emptied the dishwasher yet.
Split the mixture between the two halves, coating the bowl and the inner side.
Lick fingers clean and place on a baking sheet in the oven for 45 mins to and hour.
Check halfway through and re-baste the sides if you feel like it.
Every time I think I can finally break my connection to the universe, those Harry Potter Christmas marathons suck me right back in with powerful feelings of wonderment. I want to write fanfiction again. Badly. I want to write about wizard colleges in North America and nextgen children! And underdeveloped characters! and Hufflepuff / Ravenclaw points of view! I've already started pre-plotting something a little long involving Draco slowly, agonizingly coming to terms with his past, and Hermione going off to Wizard university! Feeling super inspired.

Oh, Potterverse, you suck me back in every time!

EDIT: As I said above, I like Draco Malfoy. But I don't like "good" Draco, the kind that may be prone to wearing leather pants... *cough*. I really like bad characters for being bad. I like Draco and Voldemort and Loki and the Joker because I like the idea of them being bad, nonredeemable characters. I feel like it sort of deflates the characters to make them sympathetic or justified or somehow secret jerks with a heart of gold. Why not use the character you have available, even though these examples are played by very attractive, very personable actors, to do fun, interesting, cathartic bad things?

I don't know, I just see a lot of fiction doing backflips to try to justify a bad character's behaviour, and while I think some takes can make a refreshing anti-hero if done very well, lots of them fall into weird rationalization of a bad person, especially if it's needed for an unlikely romantic pairing.

Also, if you're doing lots of rationalization, where is the fun in seeing the bad guy get their due? Like, Draco shouldn't get away with all the racism and bullying he did in school. He was categorically awful, and pretty much everyone who wasn't a death eater knew it. But that's the difference, in my opinion, between being a good character (interesting, complex) and being a good person. You don't have to be a good person to be a good character. Hence why I like Draco and Voldemort and Loki and the Joker just as bad as they are. :D

Like seriously, don't try to date a murderous psychopath. I just can't see it ending well. o_O
I am so excited and unprepared!

See you there!
I'd like to throw out feelers for number of people and what you're interested in.

We can have a meet and greet, and I'd like to volunteer myself as a model. We can look at sketchbooks, take photos, talk art supplies, etc.

If the number is under ten we can get a small meeting room for free if we register. If it's larger than ten, I need to talk to the staff about reserving a larger space.

Is there anything you wnat to do at a meetup? Have a raffle / door prize? Art challenges / trades?

Let me know!

EDIT: Ok, so I went to the library and I looked into how to reserve a room. Someone has to go in the morning and reserve a room in person that day. No phone calls, no over-night reservations. I don't know if I can accomplish this, because my classes start at 10:00 and the library opens at 10:00. We may be meeting in the lobby, but that's easier to find than a private upstairs room.
I'm not a person with a strong religious background. My parents have dubious ties to both Catholic and Protestant faiths, but they didn't raise me into it. What I was raised into, was a sense of community and duty to that community. We raise up the smallest. We protect the most vulnerable. We feed and clothe the poor.

These are not necessarily religious values, but they are shared by many faiths and denominations. And it's why it absolutely burns me inside to see this kind of thing. Well-dressed white middle class people ignoring the problems literally standing right in front of them. You have an opportunity to help those in need and you're standing around handing otu pamphlets to people who don't want them. (And if you've ever lived in the city, these people can get really pushy and bothersome if they think they have your attention)

I'm a student, and an art student at that (it's like double-poor! Yay!) and yet soemhow, at the end of the day, I can still scrape a bit in my budget to drop some change in a cup or buy a sandwich and coffee for those in need. I don't do it because I think I'm going to heaven, or because I get to pat myself on teh back for being such an awesome person. I do it because they're hungry and it's the right thing to do. Until British Columbia pulls its head out of its ass and actually deals with the issues of hunger and poverty, there's going to be homeless people and they're going to need food.

No amount of pamphlets or morally superior tut-tutting will change that.

EDIT: and let it be said, I am not condemning all Witnesses everywhere. there is no need. I do not believe that all Witnesses are bad, or that the actions fo these WItnesses represent all Witnesses. But I am certainly condemning the actions of these Witnesses, in this instance, right here. This was bad form, by these specific people.* They had an opportunity staring them in the face and they chose to ignore it. The actions or inactions fo other Witnesses are irrelevant to this conversation.

They didn't even have to be Witnesses. There are lots of other self-righteous pamphlet-givers out there. Mormons, Scientologists, Evangelists, etc. And if it were Mormons handing out pamphlets and ignoring poverty, I would be calling those Mormons to task for hypocrisy as well.
This past episode was delightfully improved. I felt a breath of Who again. Someone behind the scenes made a note to cut the fanfiction out and we had a solid episode with a plot that went from A to B. Not perfect, but watchable. I also noticed that this week's episode had a co-writer.

So far I like Danny, even if his Tragic Past(TM) was like being hit in the face with a Sadness Water Balloon. Repeatedly. He has potential to be a good love interest and potential to grow. I only hope he doesn't become Mickey 2.0.

At this point in the shows as a whole, or maybe just because I'm an adult, I'm not really surprised by or scared of Daleks anymore. I know they're iconic, and the show would never get rid of them. I'm not even saying I dislike them. They're just sort of the Team Rocket of Doctor Who. They show up. They always show up. They're defeated, and they show up again. It's hard to keep a good Dalek down.

I guess what I'm tired of is there always being a "final solution! If we break this morality code, we can defeat the Daleks once and for ALL!" Except they don't. The Daleks will never go away. And so you know that all the 20-40 minutes of moral hand-wringing is just inevitable time-wasting plotiness.

The interaction between the Doctor and Clara has greatly improved with Capaldi's take on a distant, more self-absorbed character. He has ideas of his own and Clara can either try to pry, or leave him to himself. This space gives both characters room for personal growth and friendship. It's far removed from obvious, forced, inevitable sexual attraction that we usually know is going to happen to whatever two main characters by whatever mid-season finale.

Gosh, it's almost like once you take away Clara fawning over the doctor, she actually has things to do. This should be obvious to many writers, but unfortunately even in 2014 a lot of creative professionals need to be reminded that women aren't just for decoration. Clara had a significant role in saving the day through decided actions, and not just a magical, coincidental existence. Clara is at her best when she is, like Rose or Martha or Donna, an absolutely ordinary person thrown into extraordinary situations. She is realistic and funny. We don't need a magical companion, we need a relatable one. A human one. The companion has always been the humanity to offset the Doctor's alienness.

I liked this episode. I have hope for the show if producers and writers can wrangle in Moffat's Fanfiction Train. I want the show to be good, and I want to love it as I once loved it in the past.

On Capaldi being a Jerk Doctor(TM): I sort of expected this from both Capaldi and Moffat. Capaldi is ok with embracing a darker, more authoritarian doctor without romantic entanglements. I like this. And I'm also used to it. If you look back, Matt Smith's doctor was exactly this darker, authoritarian doctor the whole time. You just probably didn't notice as much because he was whizz-banging around with childish antics. And Childish antics and genocide don't really mix well. This is the same Matt Smitth doctor minus the goofy whizzbang. Same moral dilemas, new eyebrows.

(Warning: rant ahead)

Steven, We get it. You don't have to knock us over the head.
This is your homage to Tennant-era Dr Who. Because you know that fans (GIRLS!) like Tennant-era Who.

But you still don’t know why. You can’t figure it out.

Let me give you a hint: It’s not robots, or explosions, or romance with the Doctor that made us like RTD Who. It’s not witty banter. It’s not even, and especially not your brand of ~*feminism!*~ (Hey! You dumb broads want feminism? have two women! Lesbians! And they kiss! And they kick ass with swords! Yeah! Bechdel or something! pow pow MEN ARE PIGS!)

We liked Tennant-era Who because it had meaning. It had moral. It had story. Not random, oh-so-witty plot twists. Not bizzare mysteries that drag on for far too long while the characters stand around unable to solve simple riddles. It had heart. You stripped it of its heart when you took over the show and now you want to somehow put it back in.

I mean, go ahead and try. Thank god you got rid of the romance between Clara and the doctor who had zero chemistry together. I would love a story that is less forced, awkward sexual humour and more plot. More heart. I WANT this show to be good. But you’ve proven time and again that you don’t understand a large portion of your audience, and you’re not really growing and expanding your repertoire as a creator. It’s just the same POW! plot twists over and over again until everyone is bored to tears of the latest episode of the week being THE MOST DANGEROUS DARKEST OLDEST SECRET IN THE UNIVERSE OF ALL TIME AND SPACE.

We miss RTD-era Who because it was fun and did a hell of a lot for its shoestring budget. New Who takes itself way too seriously and seems to just throw money at gaping plot-holes in the hopes that flashy cinematography will distract the audience long enough to crank out the next episode. And yes, we get it. SHERLOCK. YES. HAHA. REFERENCE. Stop it, Steven, you’re not that clever.

I do, however, want to give a lot of props to whoever is composing the music. Astounding work. Really excellent scores. No wonder they've steadily cranked the BG music up over time, it's one of the best things about the show.

Which you can read here in full

And I wanted to reflect upon similarities betwen our situations.
I've gone through many things in my life, and talked about some of them, and not talked about others.
And I sometimes drop off the face of the earth.

But I look at everything you make.

I keep everything.

I have my folder on my computer of drawing made from my stock
and it makes me so happy when I'm feeling down.

And if you think your drawing isn't worthwhile because you're a beginner
It's the BEST. BECAUSE you are a beginner.

It makes me feel like I am helping young artists to get better.
I am inspiring new artists to challenge themselves.

I look at every drawing.
I keep every drawing.
Because it's a part of me and it's a part of you.
We have that connection now.
We've made our mark on the world, however small, together.

Fellow artists, I support you.
So I'm doing a small scene in my acting class, and I have to smoke.

aaaand being the good D.A.R.E. kid that I am, I've never gone anywhere near cigarettes.
Yay for fumbling my cig around and then dropping it on my foot.
Anyone know of any tutorials for how to smoke?
I'm interested in the mannerisms and habbits of smokers.
So that it looks like you've been doing it for a long time.

What sort of differences in behaviours are there? Nervous smoking to calm down vs having a relaxing smoke after dinner.
Do right-handed people generally smoke with their dominant hand? How long do you go between inhales?


EDIT: also my practice cigarette for right now is just a tightly rolled up piece of paper taped together.

UPDATE: My scene went over just fine! I used a rolled up piece of paper for my "cigarette".

I practiced taking it habitually out of my pocket and fake-lighting it. And getting comfortable fiddling something around in my hand and my mouth with my lines. I also practiced feeling relaxed and satisfied after taking the first drag. My acting teacher said I did really well playing attention to small details. They're what really make a scene.

Thanks for all your help and replies, I found them all very useful!
I only did Saturday at the con. I don't think I could have done a whole weekend. What an intensity of geekdom pouring in from all sides! There was tons of cosplay, too. My friends went as Krieger and Pam from Archer and got tons of asks for photos. They got tons of compliments. And here I am walking around in my completely obscure costume from a book series written in 1998. I was recognised four times out of thousands of people. Next time I think I'll do a character that's more a little more well-known. But I'm glad I wasn't wearing high-heels or anything tight or heavy. My gosh, the stamina some folks have for carrying props around on a cement floor all day!

Going to the con was also a really good litmus test for my levels of social anxiety. I am anxious in noisy crowds. I can't hear myself think. I can barely stumble out a few social niceties. Gosh I wish I could have been more eloquent sometimes, but between shouting my words and being bombarded with colours and smells, I'm ok with the fact I was able to speak something that sounded like English in the main hall. It's good to cycle in and out of the main hall to have cool-down periods in quieter areas. I think I might have started to panic if I didn't have some time outside of the intense noise.

Overall it was a great experience. I loved going up and down the artist alley seeing new projects, checking out everyone's style. I liked playing cosplay bingo and seeing everyone so excited about their favourite characters. What amazing fun. I will definitely return next year.

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Photos (C) Jason Romain