tannertan36
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Mike Driver
Discoholic 🪩
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ojovivo
titsay
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roma★
i don't do bad sauce passes
Cosimo Galluzzi
Peter Solarz
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Not today Justin
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AnasAbdin
One Nice Bug Per Day
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@purposelycontrary
@purposelycontrary really loved my pigeon gryhons but liked the idea of some new types, so they took two of my commission sale slots for these two cuties! They are up in my Redbubble if you'd like stickers, shirts, or the like!
You can also check out my commission sale here if you'd like it!
I love them so much!! It was so fun to look at a bunch of wacky pigeon species and try to dream up a new gryphon. Gonna get soooo many stickers now mwahaha
i was thinking today about the smoothness of walls, and how drywall does not connect smoothly, and plaster does not go on smoothly, and tape is inherently textured
we create the smoothness as an act of force, like wind in the desert against ancient stones, making impossible sculptures over the course of millennia, or
a small stream, carefully cradling its lode of pebbles, knocking them together and tumbling them through water and bubbles, until they lie acquiescent, perfectly smooth
the smoothness in our rooms created through repetitive grinding with an eye towards perfection, uniformity, not standing out
after the sanding, the dust is allowed to settle. then it's wiped off (not vacuumed, that would be too disruptive, and the point is to make it seem like the dust was never there), dust leftover would interfere with the painting. would crack the paint, would dry it out from the other side, loosen the varnish's hold on the wall
a perfect paintjob requires a perfectly clean, mote-less wall
it happens before we ever inhabit the room
starting a new blog to maybe possibly occasionally post about nano stuff so like. this could go way off or it could be completely dead. you should follow cuz either way it won't negatively affect your life.
anyway i'm writing a horror/locked-room-murder-mystery near-future spec fic about all these rich/powerful people who gather on a submarine to eat the biggest, freshest tuna, as part of a benefit/raising of funds for the conservation of the bluefin tuna, but then they start getting...weird. Do they survive? How many survive? I did not plot this out, and I hope we find out.
inspired by Jennifer E. Telesca who did an episode on a great podcast called Green Dreamer:
Jennifer E. Telesca on Xx, and more.
in which she talks about the pernicious relationship of conservation organizations who are essentially monitoring and managing the extinction of the bluefin tuna for maximum profit, instead of actually trying to...you know...save them from extinction.
Anyway I got Jen's book from the library and have written 1,750 words since midnight yesterday, and have I finished Jen's book? Of course not. But I've already found enough in the introduction to add to the description in my story so that's exciting!
Here's my favorite paragraph I've written so far:
The Perciformes was surfacing, in advance of the pack. Sunlight slowly bled into the water like pigment, streaks pushing through where the water column was full of a bit more debris, little bits of plant matter and exoskeleton absorbing and reflecting the sun’s beams. A few more seconds and it was bright enough to pick out the sparkles of yellow finlets - a line of brilliant triangles running down each tuna’s back like flashes of the sun, captured in the bones of an elder god. Mal thrilled at the sight.
Follow along if you wanna! And I guess it would be helpful if people asked me questions about the story to help me plot this thing out because I haven't even decided how many guests there will be or how many people are already on the ship.* Just that there will be pretty lights, creepy vibes, and reverential descriptions of tuna. This is a fanfiction to Jen, Nature, and the Bluefin Tuna.
*(which corresponds to how many ways I can figure out how to cleverly kill or drug or hypnotize or otherwise control the characters) (since you've read this far, I'll reveal that this is ultimately a feel-good revenge fantasy in which I get to come up with a bunch of poetically just and artistically fucked up ways I can punish archetypes of various people in power so that we can create alternative fables for how we deal with this global fuckery we're in)
HOW TO GIVE PERSONALITY TO A CHARACTER
Giving personality to a character is an essential part of character development in storytelling, whether you're writing a novel, screenplay, or creating a character for a role-playing game. Here are some steps and considerations to help you give personality to your character:
Understand Their Backstory:
Start by creating a detailed backstory for your character. Where were they born? What were their childhood experiences like? What significant events have shaped their life? Understanding their past can help you determine their motivations, fears, and desires.
2. Define Their Goals and Motivations:
Characters often become more interesting when they have clear goals and motivations. What does your character want? It could be something tangible like a job or a romantic relationship, or it could be an abstract desire like happiness or freedom.
3. Determine Their Strengths and Weaknesses:
No one is perfect, and characters should reflect this. Identify your character's strengths and weaknesses. This can include physical abilities, intellectual skills, and personality traits. Flaws can make characters relatable and three-dimensional.
4. Consider Their Personality Traits:
Think about your character's personality traits. Are they introverted or extroverted? Shy or outgoing? Kind or selfish? Create a list of traits that describe their character. You can use personality frameworks like the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator or the Big Five Personality Traits as a starting point.
5. Give Them Quirks and Habits:
Quirks and habits can make a character memorable. Do they have a specific way of speaking, a unique fashion style, or an unusual hobby? These details can help bring your character to life.
6. Explore Their Relationships:
Characters don't exist in isolation. Consider how your character interacts with others. What are their relationships like with family, friends, and enemies? These relationships can reveal a lot about their personality.
7. Show, Don't Tell:
Instead of explicitly telling the audience about your character's personality, show it through their actions, dialogue, and decisions. Let the reader or viewer infer their traits based on their behavior.
8. Create Internal Conflict:
Characters with internal conflicts are often more engaging. What inner struggles does your character face? These can be related to their goals, values, or past experiences.
9. Use Character Arcs:
Consider how your character will change or grow throughout the story. Character development is often about how a character evolves in response to the events and challenges they face.
10. Seek Inspiration:
Draw inspiration from real people, other fictional characters, or even historical figures. Study how people with similar traits and backgrounds behave to inform your character's actions and reactions.
11. Write Dialogue and Inner Monologues:
Writing dialogue and inner monologues from your character's perspective can help you get inside their head and understand their thought processes and emotions.
12. Consider the Setting:
The setting of your story can influence your character's personality. For example, a character who grows up in a war-torn environment may have a different personality than one raised in a peaceful, affluent society.
13. Revise and Refine:
Don't be afraid to revise and refine your character as you write and develop your story. Characters can evolve and change as the narrative unfolds.
Remember that well-developed characters are dynamic and multi-faceted. They should feel like real people with strengths, weaknesses, and complexities. As you write and develop your character, put yourself in their shoes and think about how they would react to various situations. This will help you create a compelling and believable personality for your character.
when the world ends
when the world ends (when our world ends), the sun will burn off our atmosphere, and the pressure will drop, and our blood will boil in our veins.
by which I mean: it will not feel hot - instead, our blood will sublimate directly to a gas, which I imagine must yield an effervescent feeling - not trapped by pressure greater than vein, muscle, bone, skin.
when the world ends, the sun will burn off our atmosphere, and our blood will sing, rejoicing in the freedom to dance with their oxygen brethren, who before, they had to kidnap, trapping a bubble of gas in fluid.
then, they will dance together, hemoglobin and oxygen constricted by no pressure, right before the world ends.
lies
she was told love would be: red lips to lure him in red dress to inflame his passion red cheeks flushed by excitement red letters of love red roses on valentine’s red blossoms on her clavicles red lines scratched down his back red droplets staining her sheets
she didn’t expect love to be: black and blue bruised heart black and blue bruised body black and blue bruised mind
midnight thoughts
when she’s not thinking, all she can do is think late at night doubts assaulting her she’s only trying to sleep get some rest relax destress
she’s only trying to catch a break but worry grants her no solace, catching her thoughts unawares and keeping them (willing) hostages
worry renounces peace of mind, rebukes optimism, reminds her that the world is not only unfair but predatory, reveling in its hypocrisy and she’ll either have to prey or be preyed upon; one shatters her sense of self, the other marks her as idiotic, pointless, a waste of effort and space
the voice in her head leaves her no reprieve
there’s literally nothing she could do, masochist and sadist both, torturer and tortured, what can she do when her joy comes from inflicting pain comes from experiencing pain unable to escape from the unending torment of pleasure peace release pleasure peace release pleasure peace release pain
life for her has always been stress always been pain self inflicted or willingly received
the modern author
she’s only one lighted window city of insomniacs hundreds of lights blinking in sympathy thousands of four lokos raised in salute millions of keyboard strokes in unity
the modern author courted by electric light inebriated on cheap liquor imbuing life into a blue screen
“i love you”
every time we brushed my fingers sought ways to state i love you
every time our gazes collided my retinas reflected back i love you
and breaking the gaze my lids blinked out i love you
sitting next to each other my body cried out i want you
holding your hand my palm whispered i crave you
kissing you my lips remained silent too stunned with satisfaction to speak.
originality
i wrote you sonnets in my heart my tongue tripped out couplets my fingers scrambled to give you verses my brain floundered at spewing out imagery
i thought love was about finding out new ways to say “i love you”
i forgot to tell you “really, i do. love you, i mean.”
grandpa's eulogy
they told her that he followed her that it was inevitable that that's just life that it was peaceful that "don't worry it's okay we bought wreaths for you"
but it isn't okay because because grandpa was strong and grandpa was conniving and grandpa was selfish and grandpa was fiercely intelligent because grandpa was loved is loved will be loved
did he not feel loved?
was she not enough? were they not enough? but of course, i guess
grandma was sweet and kind and the world is not meant to survive without dualities the death of one leads to the death of the other they were complements in life they will be complements in death it's only just
was she not enough?
To Brittney
In the stage that is given to us The stage that is life The worst heartbreaks aren't loud and flashy, played by accusations and bruises But quiet, plagued by doubts Disintegrating before The eyes of its players Too helpless To stop It.
Salt whitened roads Soot blackened snow The world has gone topsy turvy With our man-made artifice-y.
why i write
ten thousand begi-- wait is that will smith it is omg that girl's hair is so pret- ty the subway smells like burning ru- bber the lasagna was re- ally good do people in china wait is it pronounced bruji- a china fujian will that trip take long i need to remind dad em- ail oh my god this thing is so hea- vy that cake looks go- od i want to make some brow- nies email dad class tomorrow mor- ning should write some- thing oh hey i have some can- dy those cookies were really ama- zing
ten thousand beginnings of thoughts never completed careening around always until pen is set to paper fingers to keyboard until mind blanks so it can finally think.
novels are like chocolates
he told her there is nothing "nothing you can get from reading a novel that you can't get from sparknotes after two, three, four weeks, how much detail do you really remember?"
floundering falling dragged down wait what? but intuition habit heart taught her beauty taught her love wait what?
denial is easy arguments thrown up "but you learn-- i could not know what a 19th century Russian noblewoman feels what she experiences in adultery, heartbreak novels are portals to other worlds"
what use? what use? what use?
easily forgotten, easily dismissed no lessons learned, no skills taught there is no use there is no use in a novel none at all
but no.
novels are like chocolates sweet melting temporary no nutritional value but happiness elusive taste, fleeting until the next
smooth, cold, sweetness, bursting bitterness novels are like chocolates you can't stop yourself from reaching for one more.
imperfectly executed perfection
she is a clockwork doll made too hastily a mistake someone never bothered to fix
she is a clockwork doll, designed to strut and parade for everyone’s amusement, malfunctioning and malformed insides praised for their faults shiny casing blinding their eyes to reality
her cogs were carved just a little too close together so that she runs faster than she ought to and when set on flat ground easy throughway smooth bridle path everyone praises her swiftness beauty of her structured exertions until there is a bump
a bump any tiny bump every tiny bump and then she
explodes spray of falling cogs
she is a malfunctioning clockwork doll and at any slight disturbance
door closed too hard whisper too quiet scream too loud she explodes her malformed cogs revealed
for everyone to see
and they see
they see the terrible exquisite mistake that makes her her and are helpless to help her cannot remake her intricate delicate cogs cannot give her replacement functioning parts so they just hurry to cobble her back together averting their eyes ignoring the ignoble calamity that is her doomed life
and so it starts again her broken malformed cogs forced back together the shiny casing put back on she’s wound back up wound back into motion wound back into disaster “there you go you’re fixed” and she goes on again impressing everyone with her swiftness of recovery the dexterity of her movements and the glitter and glamour of it all blinds them to the thin wire she treads on and the tension running through her cogs until
she breaks
again
no amount of veneer will ever be enough no amount of oil will ever fix her no clockmaker will ever remake her parts they’re all too blinded by her imperfectly executed perfection
and besides
"she’s functioning fine now isn’t she"
and yes she’s fast and exciting and shiny but the veneer keeps bursting apart keeps getting duller keeps having to be reapplied and each time she lasts less than the last and each time it takes longer to reassemble her and each time another cog is lost another cog is misplaced another cog is cracked there is a ticking clock on her body and one day she won't be repairable won't be worth repairing one day they will leave her broken shrug their shoulders move on
she is a broken clockwork doll nobody bothers to repair
she is a broken clockwork doll and nobody cared
realistic fantasy
"it's realistic fiction" she tells them except no "it's not" they tell her "it's all fantasy" it is? but the connections her favorite authors made between mythology geography inexplicable coincidences proof proof, right? and how can it not be? because when she closes her eyes fairies dance on the insides of her eyelids wolves howl morphing man wolf man wolf mermaids surface for air shaking out their hair submerge again will-o-wisps tempt the traveller away from their path kelpies leap with joy tossing their great maned heads pixies tumble and giggle imps play tricks and recoil hissing from iron mighty griffons set off into the air unicorns delicately prance through fields centaurs impart their knowledge pegasuses soar gods declare their judgements on the lives of men fairies
fairies populate her world alongside sphinxes and gargoyles and wryms parallel universes of ultimate limitless power possibilities endless even now even now with her eyes closed she sees every christmas light flickers with the magic of a fairy every trembling tree leaf hides a sprite dryads hide in the trunks of trees and as she darts through the city, her head turns for glimpses the fading footsteps of red caps birthed from desperate
hope and they call it fantasy they're all blind this is her reality this is her life
