| Mistake in speaking |
[Feb. 5th, 2006|11:05 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  aggravated | ] |
Err...right...well...I figured I misspoke last time I typed here. I don't HATE comic books. I just dislike most of them that are just pictures or have WAY too much writing, so that there's only a cm of space for the pictures. Tell me, how am I supposed to retell as story in 25 panels...a story like the Giver? That would take quite a bit of fat-trimming, wouldn't you agree? |
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| Yeah. Sure. Whaaaatever. |
[Feb. 2nd, 2006|08:35 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  Whatever | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | I Think God Can Explain - Splender | ] |
Right, so, I have to say that I hate comic books with every part of my heart and soul. Not only do I hate reading them, but I hate making them. I've done covers and everything 3 times this year, and done heroes and god knows what else when it comes to heroes, villains, comics, Superman, whatever. It bugs me. The Giver bugs me.
But that good news is: It's my mom's birthday today! And I'm not going to school tomorrow because she's off tomorrow, and I can go to a book store! Yay!
Okay, I just felt I shouldn't make this empty LJ one of those long-forgotten ones like my Xanga or my other blogs. It feels so wrong. |
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| "And so it is." "...Is what?" |
[Jan. 19th, 2006|07:38 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  Insightful...per se | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Someday - Nickleback | ] |
I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm already planning these crazy, wonderful, drastic ideas for my fanfic and I haven't even figured out the best, proper way to get started. It feels like a DBQ for school (I'm good with those, though!) : I mean, the first paragraph or so is hard, and it takes a while to build itself up, but then things just smooth out and it takes its own, rightful course. For me, at least. But today, I've been answering my friend's questions with these unbelievable Kreia ones. I space off, and then I come to, just in time to hear, lets say, David insist on something. Here's kind of how the conversation goes:
D: "It is!"
Me: "And so it is."
D: "...Is what?"
Me: "It is."
Jordan: "Is something in that head of yours?"
Me: "A thought, a mind, but all are just titles."
Jordan: "Uh-huh. Right. I'm gonna go stand and gossip over there, alright?" *edges away*
D: "So...what is what?"
Me: "A good question."
D: "..."
Me: "Silence is a valid answer, for silence often keeps peace, though strained."
D: "Uh-huh." *goes where JOrdan is standing. Begins to whisper loudly* "She's lost it!"
Me: "What's lost can be regained."
Jordan: "Uh, ya think?"
Me: *goes back into daydreams*
Like I said, I am weird. I guess I was testing this odd Kreia thing I've been trying to write. It came out good, if you can count Jordan as Atton and David as Mira (ha ha...David would never be the woman Mira is...*snort*). But like I said, writing is still pretty hard. I already know, basically, how I'm going to end it. *Rolls eyes* I also have a few scenes from inside, and a few which I've been planning. I'm back on Telos, though. But, you'll see that soon enough. My chapters are short, and I may end up combining some to make 'em longer, but...yeah. Not to mention I'm trying to figure out songs for the characters and make a *Soundtrack*! It's a thing I picked up off of CRPG from their challenges. It's fun, if you've got the right music and pictures. But for some reason, I only seem to have Atton and Delasaer music, and one Mira song so far. *bangs head on desk* I think of the most absurd things.
Uh. You must be wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Oh forget it. I'm just hoping by re-reading this a few times on a solid background, I may be able to figure out exactly what I'm thinking. I'm planning a scene with Frolee, in it though...Hm... |
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| It's LJ! |
[Jan. 14th, 2006|08:55 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Meh. | ] |
That's right, soon-to-be-reading readers! I have joined the millions of bloggers and I-journalers! Enough about that.
I'm not one for long first impressions, so here's the deal: I draw, I write fanfics and stories, and you get to see them, almost first-hand. For now, here's the prolouge for my first solidly planned out Kotor I and II fanfic ever. It's called "Malachor V: Wounded Again". Yeah, cheesy, I know, but lets see you think of something better. (And to let you guys know, Malachor V did go in this big explosion, but it just broke apart, but the gravitational fields and the surface storms were disrupted and it's turning into this Asteroid feild, so, people will notice)
The final explosion of Malachor V resounded throughout the outer rim of the galaxy. All those who knew who the Exile had been and her self-declared purpose watched from their windows and doors and over their fires in the direction of the planet…or the place it used to be. Now it was just an asteroid field, as empty and devoid of life as ever.
But there was an echo – not one of sound or light. An echo that only those with ties to the Force could feel. Jedi who refused their past or dark Jedi felt the power of all the deaths – of all the loss and emptiness – to some degree, though it was not the full magnitude of it.
The closest people to Malachor V were some near 10 group on a small star-ship called the “Ebon Hawk”. It consisted of an odd bunch: Two droids, one being an astromech droid and the other an assassination droid, a tech Zabrak-Iridonian, a Mandalorian soldier, a bounty-hunter, a Jedi student, a Jedi Miraluka and the last of her kind, a scoundrel, and an exiled Jedi.
The Exile felt it first. It had always been there, but it screamed into her conscious mind now, full force. She had been in a war not more than 5 or 6 years ago. She fought against what she, at the time, assumed were the enemies – the Mandalorians. She had even been a General. She now felt the echoes of the cries of death, the anger, and the pain she heard then. They were loud echoes.
She gripped the chair hard with her right hand, until her knuckles turned white; she placed the other over her heart. All this was all she could do to keep from falling over the first few seconds. She then fell to her knees, giving a loud cry in pain. Back then, she tried to reach out to comfort all the dying and wounded, as she did now. She felt she could handle it all. But it proved too much for her. She felt too much pain and it killed her, or a part of her. She was never sure of what it did to her – whether it eliminated the bonds she’d developed and left her bare, poor, empty self, or took her away as she knew herself, meaning it took away everything – bonds, her own thoughts and feelings, everything, leaving her emptier than a Juma Juice glass.
The next to feel it was the Miraluka. She closed her blind eyes as tears fell down her cheeks. The others could not understand what happened as the Exile gave another cry in anguish.
The assassin droid, now genuinely curious and worried for his master, put his cold, metallic hands on the Exile’s shoulder peeking from her torn Jedi robes, and sitting beneath her dark, matted hair spilling from her metal hair binder. She vaguely heard the droid say “Master?” in an attempt to call her back, but the voices ran over the droid’s voice, taking over her completely.
The droid lifted his hand and looked at the blood he’d picked up. The scoundrel, the tech, the Jedi student, and the bounty-hunter came to see what was wrong. The scoundrel, having been the pilot of the ship, randomly punched in some codes, for Telos Citadel Station as it turned out, and set the Ebon Hawk for hyperspace. He came just in time to see the Exile pass out. He reached out to shake her awake. The tech and the Miraluka both shook their heads,
“Leave her be. She remembers the war. She won’t be cut off from the Force as before, but she will be wounded again,” the Miraluka whispered. |
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