Busy at the moment...

Sorry the posts are so far between right now, and with very little if any artwork for them-I'm really busy right now, working on a few different things with more stuff lined up, and there's a lot going on...plus I really don't care for Pinocchio, particularly not the original version of it which just makes me want to strangle the little wooden jerk, so I don't have a lot of motivation there other than the fact that I've already started it, so it'd be rather inconsistent if I just said 'screw it' and went to a different story. So, please bear with me until things get a bit more settled!

In the meantime, here's a look at one of the projects eating up a lot of my time:

This is the pony plush I'm making for my boyfriend's nephew...and yes, my laptop is purple, and yes that is a DND book back there on the shelf, I'm a geek. I'm hand embroidering the eyes on a piece of felt, to be sewn onto the plush, since the fuzzy cloth I've used to make the body and head is too thin to do embroidering on and would fall apart if I attempted it. The eyes look a smidge wonky right now because they were kind of scrunched over the desk edge. Embroidery isn't hard, but it is tedious. And yes I am filling in the white parts too, to keep it looking consistent. Faetouched is one of my Deviantart accounts, in case you were wondering about the watermark.

So, that's part of what I've been up to, I'll do my best to get onto a reasonable schedule soon!

Pinocchio Ch. 7

CHAPTER VII
Geppetto returns home and gives his own breakfast to the Marionette

....Dude. He's been a little prick. Why would you do that?

     The poor Marionette, who was still half asleep, had not yet found out that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his Father's voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so, he staggered and fell headlong to the floor.

    In falling, he made as much noise as a sack of wood falling from the fifth story of a house.

....did the author try this out to figure out what exact volume would be appropriate? "CARLO, what are you doing?! It's three in the morning!" "Sorry, Mom, I just need to drop this sack of firewood from the next two stories up to figure out which one sounds the most like a living puppet falling down from trying to walk with it's feet gone!" "......honey, did you forget your medication?"

    "Open the door for me!" Geppetto shouted from the street.

    "Father, dear Father, I can't," answered the Marionette in despair, crying and rolling on the floor.

    "Why can't you?"

    "Because someone has eaten my feet."

    "And who has eaten them?"

Geppetto seems to be taking the whole 'someone ate his kid's feet' thing fairly calmly.

    "The cat," answered Pinocchio, seeing that little animal busily playing with some shavings in the corner of the room.

    "Open! I say," repeated Geppetto, "or I'll give you a sound whipping when I get in."

Regardless of whether or not he opens the door he still deserves a good beating for the crap he put you through!

    "Father, believe me, I can't stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have to walk on my knees all my life."

    Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks of the Marionette, climbed up the side of the house and went in through the window.

    At first he was very angry, but on seeing Pinocchio stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while the tears ran down his cheeks:

    "My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your feet?"

Dear little nothing! Did you forget he got your butt thrown in JAIL for nothing?!

    "I don't know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright-- and I was hungry. And then the Talking Cricket said to me, `You deserve it; you were bad;' and I said to him, `Careful, Cricket;' and he said to me, `You are a Marionette and you have a wooden head;' and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own fault, for I didn't want to kill him.

HIS OWN FAULT THAT YOU'RE A PETULANT LITTLE BRAT AND THREW A HAMMER AT HIM?!

And I put the pan on the coals, but the Chick flew away and said, `I'll see you again! Remember me to the family.' And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry, and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn't! Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for miles around.

    Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except that the Marionette was hungry, felt sorry for him, and pulling three pears out of his pocket, offered them to him, saying:

    "These three pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly. Eat them and stop weeping."

    "If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me."

Smack. Him.

    "Peel them?" asked Geppetto, very much surprised. "I should never have thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must accustom ourselves to eat of everything, for we never know what life may hold in store for us!"

    "You may be right," answered Pinocchio, "but I will not eat the pears if they are not peeled. I don't like them."

SMACK. THAT. UNGRATEFUL. LITTLE. WOODEN. ASS.

    And good old Geppetto took out a knife, peeled the three pears, and put the skins in a row on the table.

Pft, the people were saying he'd be cruel to him, but really if anything he's spoiling him!

    Pinocchio ate one pear in a twinkling and started to throw the core away, but Geppetto held his arm.

    "Oh, no, don't throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some use!"

    "But the core I will not eat!" cried Pinocchio in an angry tone.

    "Who knows?" repeated Geppetto calmly.

    And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the skins.

    Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he yawned deeply, and wailed:

    "I'm still hungry."

Wailing AGAIN? Does he every speak normally?!

    "But I have no more to give you."

    "Really, nothing--nothing?"

    "I have only these three cores and these skins."

    "Very well, then," said Pinocchio, "if there is nothing else I'll eat them."

    At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the skins and the cores disappeared.

    "Ah! Now I feel fine!" he said after eating the last one.

    "You see," observed Geppetto, "that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us!"

This kid. Needs. To. Be. Smacked.

No picture for this one again since there's really nothing to draw but the puppet and old man, and as aforementioned, puppets creep me out. Sorry for that! In an upside, I'm going to get my slice of life comic/blog Typecast as Myself (here on blogspot) going soon, so if this sort of stuff really isn't your thing and you prefer funnier, more modern stuff, and like my artwork, I'll get that set up ASAP (this week may be a bit too busy with my boyfriend's brother and nephew being here, one of his brothers having a birthday and a lot of other stuff going on for me to get it up within the week, but once things calm down I'll try to get everything up and running!)

Pinocchio Ch. 6

CHAPTER VI
Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the next day with his feet all burned off.

....See, I wouldn't provide these summaries. If you know what's going to happen, why read the whole thing? Just skip to the next part.

This author clearly never understood the concept of 'Spoilers'.

     Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.

    Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he came to the village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging.

....clearly this author never encountered a whale either.

    The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of the Dead.

    Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely answer that!"

    He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out. He called down angrily:

    "What do you want at this hour of night?"

    "Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry."

    "Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully asleep.

    After a minute or two, the same voice cried:

    "Get under the window and hold out your hat!"

Hoo....

    Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.

Well, you did bother the guy at an ungodly hour. I can't say I blame him, I've wanted to pitch a boot at some particularly belligerent birds occasionally.

    He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger.

    As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.

    There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.

Wouldn't he feel it?

    Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.

    "Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

    "It is I," answered a voice.

    It was the voice of Geppetto.

Finally having returned to shove the little snot into the stove and burn him to ashes! ....wishful thinking on my part.

No picture for this one because not only am I dead tired from working on a plush, making apricot jam, and cleaning house like mad, but there really wasn't anything I could draw for this one except for the puppet himself, and puppets creep me out so I really don't want to draw that, sorry!

Pinocchio Ch. 5

CHAPTER V
Pinocchio is hungry and looks for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but, to his surprise, the omelet flies out of the window

....yeah, I think that'd surprise anyone.

     If the Cricket's death scared Pinocchio at all, it was only for a very few moments. For, as night came on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of his stomach reminded the Marionette that he had eaten nothing as yet.

See, how would he have known about eating earlier if he'd never eaten before?

    A boy's appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as ravenous as a bear.

    Poor Pinocchio ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least two inches longer.

So it's frustration, not lies, that make his nose grow in this version?

    He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be, or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have tasted good to him! But he found nothing.

    And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor Pinocchio had was to yawn; and he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and faint. He wept and wailed to himself: "The Talking Cricket was right. It was wrong of me to disobey Father and to run away from home. If he were here now, I wouldn't be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!"

How....how does yawning relieve hunger? Unless he yawned so big that he managed to swallow a bug or something.

    Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and white that looked very much like a hen's egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon it. It was an egg.

    The Marionette's joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it, you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned the egg over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to it:

    "And now, how shall I cook you? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better to fry you in a pan! Or shall I drink you? No, the best way is to fry you in the pan. You will taste better."

    No sooner said than done. He placed a little pan over a foot warmer full of hot coals. In the pan, instead of oil or butter, he poured a little water. As soon as the water started to boil--tac!--he broke the eggshell. But in place of the white and the yolk of the egg, a little yellow Chick, fluffy and gay and smiling, escaped from it. Bowing politely to Pinocchio, he said to him:

    "Many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. Pinocchio, for having saved me the trouble of breaking my shell! Good-by and good luck to you and remember me to the family!"

....where did the egg come from if the old man had no chickens? And furthermore, how did it gestate to hatching point without a source of warmth?

    With these words he spread out his wings and, darting to the open window, he flew away into space till he was out of sight.

    The poor Marionette stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open mouth, and the empty halves of the egg- shell in his hands. When he came to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping his feet on the ground and wailing all the while:

    "The Talking Cricket was right! If I had not run away from home and if Father were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!"

    And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by village, in the hope of finding some charitable person who might give him a bit of bread.

After the trouble he'd caused, and the fact that he's a clearly posessed puppet walking around and screeching at all hours of the night, I'd be more expectant of someone using him as kindling than feeding him.

Sorry about the lack of artwork for this one, there wasn't really anything to draw and my wrist is kind of hurting from some commissions I was working on, and I still have more to do!

Pinocchio Ch. 4

CHAPTER IV
The story of Pinocchio and the Talking Cricket, in which one sees that bad children do not like to be corrected by those who know more than they do.

*Snrk* Okay, yeah, I like that bit. No one likes being corrected, but I think everyone's encountered that one person who just will not listen, even when speaking to someone who's way more knowledgeable about the subject than they are.

    Very little time did it take to get poor old Geppetto to prison. In the meantime that rascal, Pinocchio, free now from the clutches of the Carabineer, was running wildly across fields and meadows, taking one short cut after another toward home. In his wild flight, he leaped over brambles and bushes, and across brooks and ponds, as if he were a goat or a hare chased by hounds.

What goats are you people talking about? I raised goats, and if any dog got near them, that dog would be the one running, not the goats! Goats bite!

    On reaching home, he found the house door half open. He slipped into the room, locked the door, and threw himself on the floor, happy at his escape.

    But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard someone saying:

    "Cri-cri-cri!"

    "Who is calling me?" asked Pinocchio, greatly frightened.

I understand someone who was, y'know, just born not knowing what a cricket sounds like, but how does 'cri cri cri' translate into; "Yo, puppet boy! I'm calling you!"

    "I am!"

    Pinocchio turned and saw a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

    "Tell me, Cricket, who are you?"

    "I am the Talking Cricket and I have been living in this room for more than one hundred years."

....wow. So that house must be at least a hundred years old, and the Cricket as well. Didn't know they had that kind of life expectancy!

    "Today, however, this room is mine," said the Marionette, "and if you wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don't turn around even once."

    "I refuse to leave this spot," answered the Cricket, "until I have told you a great truth."

    "Tell it, then, and hurry."

    "Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home! They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they will be very sorry for it."

    "Sing on, Cricket mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow, at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me, let me tell you, I hate to study! It's much more fun, I think, to chase after butterflies, climb trees, and steal birds' nests."

....How does he know of any of this? No one has mentioned school up to this point. How does he know anything about school if he knew nothing of crickets? For that matter, how does he know about bird nests and butterflies then either?

    "Poor little silly! Don't you know that if you go on like that, you will grow into a perfect donkey and that you'll be the laughingstock of everyone?"

    "Keep still, you ugly Cricket!" cried Pinocchio.

    But the Cricket, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being offended at Pinocchio's impudence, continued in the same tone:

    "If you do not like going to school, why don't you at least learn a trade, so that you can earn an honest living?"

    "Shall I tell you something?" asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose patience. "Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really suits me."

    "And what can that be?"

    "That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from morning till night."

None of which he has done up to this point, so how does he know anything about it?

    "Let me tell you, for your own good, Pinocchio," said the Talking Cricket in his calm voice, "that those who follow that trade always end up in the hospital or in prison."

    "Careful, ugly Cricket! If you make me angry, you'll be sorry!"

    "Poor Pinocchio, I am sorry for you."

    "Why?"

    "Because you are a Marionette and, what is much worse, you have a wooden head."

BURN.

    At these last words, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the Talking Cricket.

Did everyone in that time have anger issues except the insects?

    Perhaps he did not think he would strike it. But, sad to relate, my dear children, he did hit the Cricket, straight on its head.

    With a last weak "cri-cri-cri" the poor Cricket fell from the wall, dead!

....DUDE. He was a hundred freakin' years old and some petulant child kills him? Not cool, man. Not cool.

BEST. DREAM. EVER.

Dude, I need to consume obscene amounts of sugar before bed more often! (an ice cream bar and a lot of soda if you're wondering)

Basically, this dream started not so cool-I was with the Family Guy family, and the girl with the hat had gotten lipo-suction or something so she was all skinny (I don't really recall their names, it was a long dang time ago that I saw a few episodes) so they decided to go to the store to get her new clothes to show off with. Blargh. I don't know why I went with them, I guess I was another family member or something-anyway, I ended up wandering away from the clothes section into another aisle, and I saw those 'learn to draw' things, several of them being the specific styles of certain Disney animators or of different characters. I lost my head over one by Glen Keane. Then the dream changed, and someone (I think it was my boyfriend) was introducing me to THE ACTUAL GLEN KEANE. For those of you who don't know, Glen Keane is the animator who was the driving force behind the Disney Revolution. He and another animator are responsible for the princesses everyone knows and loves, him in particular for Ariel (he insisted on animating her, said there was something that just drove him to do so) and is one of the best things ever to happen to the Disney company, though sadly he recently left them as they really don't need hand-drawn animators anymore since they're going with computers. Anyway, Mr. Keane and I started discussing art and animation, and I timidly mentioned I had a movie idea, which he insisted on hearing. From there we were in his studio, and he was showing me how to do hand drawn animation, we were talking story ideas, hammering out details, storyboarding, animating together and eventually presenting the rough draft animations and storyboards to the Disney exects.

I can even remember some of the characters and music from the movie, which I'd never seen or heard before-basically the movie was about a dystopian future where war had broken out, which escalated into biological warfare and nukes being dropped. The combination of the biological elements and the radiation wiped out the majority of life on earth, those that were not wiped out (human and animal alike) mutated in some form or another, with very few escaping the mutations. The mutations in humans were usually fairly subtle or at least harmless-pointed ears, oddly colored eyes or skin or hair, an extra set of limbs, tail, or other unusual feature or any combination therof. The animals got some similar mutations-unusual colors and patterns in their fur or feathers, extra limbs, and such, but one of the most notable things that happened was that due to the biological components, animals that were previously genetically incompatible were suddenly able to be bred with one another. Taking advantage of this in order to ensure their survival, humans started creating new species that they could use for meat, transportation, and what have you-service animals. Gryphons being one of the primary species created (their looks and sizes vary a great deal by what species were used to make them). One thing the humans didn't count on, though, was the mutations eventually allowing the hybrids they created to gain sentience, and even learn to speak with intelligence comparable to or, in some cases, exceeding humanity's. Some consider this a blessing, as they can work better together with the friendly ones, some consider it a curse as the belligerent ones are more crafty and can sway others to their points of view.

As for the society, unmutated humans form the 'nobility' of the future, and consider themselves above everyone else due to their purity. They quickly seized political power, and have been struggling to rebuild since the collapse of society. For the most part everyone has been reduced to dark ages technology-relying heavily on the hybrids to help them with their everyday lives-and to possess any technology of 'the old world' is a great mark of status. This is primarily how the nobility keeps hold of it's power-having the largest stockpile of 'old world' weaponry and technology, they could easily wipe out anyone who opposed their rule. No one but the nobility, and those who directly serve them, have electricity-or running water usually. There were some 'grungepunk' or steampunk elements to the whole thing-like the slapped-together guns and other weapons made of junk some of the characters carried, the clothes and such, and there were some golems and such made of scrap metal that was lying around. This was another affect-there were some elements showing up in different places, pockets of energy that had been previously undiscovered (or previously didn't exist, no one's sure) that were released, and certain individuals (dubbed mages or witches or any other name associated with magic) can wield this energy, including hybrids. It's actually much more common for hybrids to be able to use it than for humans, which has lead to the belief that the more mutated you are (since hybrids are technically far more mutated than anything else, having been brought into existence BECAUSE of their mutations) the better able to wield the energies you are. The pockets of energy are all interconnected by underground lines referred to as Ley Lines, which allow even those who don't live near a large deposit of the energy to use small bits of it. Normally the power can only be used for small things, like helping to make tools or levitating light objects or to help heal small scratches or wounds, but some can safely wield larger amounts of it, creating golems (usually these don't last very long, and crumble within a few hours or even minutes, depending on the strength and skill of the maker-a truly gifted mage can create one that can last for years. To create one that can last indefinitely is unheard of. The intelligence of the golem also depends on the mage's skill, and most can only perform very simple commands somewhat clumsily. To create one with human intelligence or sentience is also unheard of) or using it to heal more serious injuries or lift heavier objects, whatever they choose to do with it.

The story we were doing was centering around a group of children and a young male gryphon named Rags or Ragamuffin or something like that-something that started with an R that basically brought to mind grunge or something dirty or whatnot. I don't remember the kid's names. I also remember writing notes on a storyboard where the kids and Rags were burying someone-the little girl's brother-and that the note I was writing down specifically said that their expressions were empty and listless, as if they'd done this many times before.

I can't remember what their goal was or what they were supposed to be doing, but I remember presenting the rough film (mostly pencil animations with the voices added) to the exects with Mr. Keane. I don't remember whether or not they decided to approve it. But it was SUCH A COOL DREAM. I may have to actually do something with that story idea though, I've never had such a thorough, detailed one from a dream before.