I was probably born on mars @srsomero-blog - Tumblr Blog

Posts

I let the devil back into our lives,

and as my kisses filled with smoke

there was relief in your eyes.

If the cancer takes hold,

hand in warm hand we'll walk

down the yellow brick road

without searching or wanting.

#twcpoetry #twc #poem

yaliteraturebookshelf

Writing Tips Master Post!

Hey writers!

You might have missed some of the writing tips I’ve posted over the last year, so here they all are in one handy list :)

• Action and Fight Scenes

• Backstory

• Characterisation

• Dialogue

• Editing

• Plotting

• Settings

• Subtext

• Tenses

• Theme

• Quick Tips

More tips coming soon!

Happy Writing!

lostlegendaerie

Tips on Writing Characters Without Faces

so yeah, we all know that facial expressions can tell us a lot about how a character is feeling, but what if that isn’t an option? how can you make someone emote if they don’t really have standard facial features? the answer; body language.

let’s consider how emotions are conveyed on a stage production vs movie with Sweeney Todd. First, the stage play:

Note how Todd’s entire upper body goes into his gestures, how he’s single-mindedly focused on his dreams and ideals; how his hands GRAB for each imaginary ‘man’ with these sharp, aggressive, destructive movements and how that contrasts with Mrs. Lovett’s body language; how her hands linger in the air and gravitate towards Todd even after he’s pulled away, and the slow turn she gives him. It does an excellent, though exaggerated, way of conveying their relationship (her focus is on him and making him happy, his focus is entirely on revenge)

Contrast this to the movie:

Same lines in the song, much more subtle. Lovett’s eyes still track towards Todds, which reminds us she’s still more focused on the outside, but all of the emotion is in their faces. Were this not a close-up shot in a movie it’d be very, very hard to read their expressions.

While I do recommend you watch a few stage plays (in person near the back row if you can) to actually study body language for yourself or try out charades with your face covered with friends/watch how cosplayers or mascots emote, here’s a few shorthands to get you started (US-centric so expressions may vary on your region):

Head:

perfectly still - fear, intense attention, feeling under scrutiny

tilted up - recollection, intimidation (looking down nose at threat, aiming to appear taller)

tilted down - intense thought, shame (avoiding eye contact), depression/sad feelings

turned away - not giving person full attention, avoiding subject/conflict without being combative

cocker-spaniel (sideways) tilt - confusion, curiosity, amusement

Hands

at the forehead - fatigue (wiping away sweat), illness (checking self for fever, feeling a headache), realization/memory (a ‘well duh’ tap)

at the eyes - fatigue or headache (shielding eyes from light), distress (blocking out a painful view, concealing tears)

at the nose - disgust (a pinch at the nostrils,) irritation (rubbing at sore spot on nose from glasses wear)

at the mouth - nausea, surprise, repressing an emotion/stopping self from saying something

at the chin - contemplation, tiredness (face resting in hand)

rubbing back of neck - a need to relax tension, embarrassment, slight unease/desire to distract self

at the chest - surprise, self-protection (reaction to a wounding statement, sometimes used sarcastically), strong emotions (clutching at heart, could be good-strong or bad-strong), need for security (touching necklace/adjusting clothing to conceal more)

at the stomach - pain (clutching, pressing), satisfaction after a meal, protectiveness towards fetus when applicable

at the hip(s) - confidence, intimidation, nervousness (if grabbing for weapon)

at groin - concealment/unease (usually male-coded as protection of genitals), politeness (hands folded in lap)

on thighs - exhaustion (bent over, hands on legs supporting tired upper body)

formed into fists - holding back an intense emotion, preparing to fight

toying with something - restlessness (bored, nervous energy, craving something they can’t touch) or deliberate disrespect of property (playing with personal objects someone holds dear as an intimidation tactic)

Arms

at sides, relaxed - default posture

at sides, tense - unease, restraint (soldier at attention, person holding still to avoid being attacked), fear

crossed at chest - disapproval, displaying authority, unease (hugging oneself)

crossed at stomach - pain, intense laughter (caused by sore stomach muscles from laughing)

up, fingers laced behind head - confidence, relaxation

one arm on back of furniture - confidence, invitation for someone join them

general rule - the further arms are away from body, the more confident/dominant a person means to appear; exposed torso indicates that they don’t see anyone around as a threat to them

Legs

square with shoulders - professional, restraint, protective stance

wide stance, one foot a little back but planted - defensive stance, expecting to receive blows (knees may be unlocked - seen in swordplay and fencing)

weight on one leg - relaxed, tired, may also be leaning on something or pair with one ankle tucked behind the other

uneven stance - could indicate old injury

foot tapping/bouncing - boredom, nervous energy

Whole Body:

stiff and still - fear, unease, standing to attention

limp or pliant - relaxed, tired, pleased

shoulders back/head up - alert, focused, aggressive

shoulders forward, hunched - tired, ashamed

leaning towards person - interest, intimidation (looming over them), aggression (usually paired with tense arms or hands in fists,)

leaning away from person - relaxation, confidence, disgust (recoiling)

smooth/fluid movements - joy, confidence, experience

stiff motions - fear (reactive, fight or flight), pain (reluctance to move), anger (either fighting to keep control of emotions or lashing out), cold (conservation of heat by keeping limbs near body)

cracking joints/stretching - preparing for a fight, often reading as confidence in abilities

general rule - close contact/proximity can read as intimidation (paired with tense body - an invasion of personal space) or affection (paired with relaxaed body language, gentle movement) or passion/attraction while distance can read unease/distaste/fear/dislike.

with those in mind, let’s read this scene from Red vs Blue (a personal fav of mine for body language) featuring agent texas from season 8.

So first of all, very relaxed upper body; limp arms held away from the body, which slowly come back to rest on her hips as she looks at what she’s done. Watch how her lean shifts at the end as her center of gravity shifts, and how she has to move her right leg to restabilize herself when she’s finished pushing it. This reads, in order from the start of the loop; detachment (the least amount of her body is involved in the action as possible), relaxation (smooth movements, the deliberation of those little steps backwards) and confidence (hands on hips.) We can tell a ton about this character just in this gif alone, based on her body language.

in summary! this list isn’t exhaustive, but hopefully it gives you some ideas for ways of making characters emote in fics when you can’t see their faces.

docsliq

signorformica

Chalice of Saint John the Evangelist. Hans Memling ~ ca.1470/1475 National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. Bibliothèque Infernale

kuuras

🍁 A u t u m n : The Year’s Last, Loveliest Smile 🍁

“There is harmony in autumn, and a lustre in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!”

middleeasternpoetry

On truth’s path, wise is mad, insane is wise. In love’s way, self and other are the same. Having drunk the wine, my love, of being with you, I find the way to Mecca and Bodhgaya are the same. - Rumi *Bodh Gaya is a religious site and place of pilgrimage associated with the Mahabodhi Temple Complex in Gaya district in the Indian state of Bihar…

jxcquelinexo

THREE TYPES OF LOVE: I. there is the girl that has to sow love poems in to the bones of her palm because she can’t bare to look at them with rawness. she has bags under the rims of her eyes and coffee in her blank stare. she’s the one who destroys her pride for a boy who only makes her rot. an empty vessel waiting to be filled. II. she’s the one who drenched herself in pride the lovely one with a beautiful body and skin smooth as licorice and lips the color of glazed golden. boys will try to force their hands where caution tape lays in hopes of taking her home because her sense of solitude is becoming a drunk in the night. III. then there will be her the girl who travels with mystery in her eyes. she awakens a sense of hope inside broken ribs. let her change. transform. let her tell the universe inside that she is the stars blessed queen. she is the moonlight that walks the earth. she is the utter glow of all the lights in the world lighting up in your chest. it aches for her. just as much as she aches for it.

Excerpt #224, the broken, the lustful, and the pure (via jxcquelinexo)

books-n-quotes

The road to hell is paved with adverbs.

Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft (via books-n-quotes)

red-lipstick

Kobayashi Kiyochika (Japanese, 1847-1915,Japan) - Fireflies at Kinu River, Tennoji, c. 1910-20’s Woodblocks

rhymesalot

Hannahbelle’s Folly

. Welcome back to Hannahbelle’s folly where dreams broken yet most stayed jolly. The factory was shut, tourist didn’t stay, the impatient grew impatient for a better day.

Most old town folk not wanting to go agreed to a change in the Hannahbelle show. Their now was the present, past’s time of old, the gooey center betwixt is this tale told.

It starts with Charlie, who lacked business sense. All money made was but half his expense. Having won the factory therefore the town, he became a fair leader, albeit a clown.

Yet a kinder soul there could never be. All hungers fed, anytime, always free. The workers prospered with newfound wealth, not only from raises but dental and health.

The village glistened, all gloom washed away. Their Renaissance grew brighter each passing day. Charlie married soon after, a remarkable bride, their love for each other they couldn’t hide.

Hannahbelle followed within that same year. She’s properly pampered and handled with care. By noble decree the eldest of elders proclaimed; In honor of Charlie the towns to be renamed.

A contest was held to find the best name. Most of the entries were all the same. The town’s new name was Hannahbelleville, from miles around people came for the thrill.

With towers of brick placed one at a time all topped with a bell for the hourly chime. The windows sparkled, doors welcomed all. Just step right in and we’ll all have a ball.

Neat lines form long to be part of the show. There are twists and turns wherever you go. A bib and bags are given free at the door to save what’s left for when you want more.

Ponchos welcome but most haven’t a care, sweet diversions are why they’re all here. Where chocolate waterfalls splash at their base, what a tasty surprise to the passerby’s face.

There are also cakes, cookies and candies galore. There’s shirts and hats at the little gift store. The shelves always stocked, but not for long, their prices are good so sales are strong.

On paper everything seemed OK., until a new town sprouted across the bay. This new town was grander, factory too. They stole Charlie’s recipes, yet he hadn’t a clue.

They built a new park with rides big and small. It’s better than Hannahbelles that had none at all. The competition soon became bold and brutal. The rivals charged half for twice the strudel!

Though Charlie’s reluctant to change his way, he worked all the harder without any pay. Then Hannahbelle’s tuition became overdue, not just one term but quite a few.

She’d have to go home without a degree. The long spring stretched, she worked as three. Side by side the little family all toiled. Cooking and cleaning and keeping things oiled.

Summer arrived and thoughts were blooming. She had to think fast, payday was looming. Then a plan was hatched to save the day. She called her classmates to all have a say.

Her idea was shared to change their fates. The chefs and chemists mixed heated debates. Mathematicians integrated their permutations. The statisticians juggled interpolations.

The engineers tinkered to make all precise. Artist’s flourished to make all look nice. A manager’s needed to book weekend bands. Then there’s the overhead and two hired hands.

There are taxes, tariffs and hidden fees. We’ve a lawyer’s retained to shoot the breeze. Bankers were safe with their calculations. The accountants left to balance frustrations.

Our writers wrote slogans, jingles and ads. Their pieces placed in papers for new I.T. grads. A final test given for last minute tweaks. Then code was input by computer geeks.

The output emerged and everyone’s thrilled. Soon teeth and tummies both less filled. It’ll be safe to consume whenever you please. They’ll never melt and cannot freeze.

There’s no a messy wrappers or sticky streets. When enjoying the new Hannahbelle binary treats. Though you will need a dongle for a spare port, to call up our server of cheese mocha torte.

You can try any flavor you think to choose, try them all, there’s nothing to loose We’ve green apple slush and warm fuzzy peach. There’s seven billion in all, that’s one for each.

Just fill in the form and enter your pin. Sit back, relax and let the digiconfection begin. Pay what you can, take what you need. The business is sweet without any greed.

And after all the bills are paid, what’s left is ours; it’s what we’ve made. What was made is what we make. What Hannahbelle makes icing on her cake.

Hannahbelles treats now second to none, without competition you’ve already won. And as the creator of all that’s digiconfectionary, she’s thought now to be a true visionary.

A university was founded, tuition’s free. Hannahbelle was first to earn a degree. Soon she was mayor of Hannahbelleville. She could serve for life and probably will.

The company grew large, built in its niche. Everyone did well, though no one got rich. Hannahbelle shares all her profits and good will. So all ends happily in Hannahbelleville. .

sck011816

rhymesalot

RIP Gene Wilder, thank you for years of inspiration and lots of laugh’s :(

trixclibrarian

eye appled {shiner}

spindly strong knob tough sneak arm hidden in leaving locked on root cause trunk solid no fall bark thick

to your thin bite

wound round ribboned curled slung dangling draped in scale slithering and large

but no snake necessary

life is a tree orchards throwing forbidden fruit

rozenn-blog

Bunch of kitties ♥

soulreserve

lotus garden

water like glass and still as time hushed;

lotus that bloom, open pink petals and luscious, with thoughts of you;

drops sooth over leaves, drip green with quiet want, and dew.

smakkabagms

receptive twilight of neonyellow hills the view goes on for miles all sharp thistles of brazen shrubs and thin white-oak trees, their scarves of lichen on each brown-bough in the soft keeping of my mind/ I beg this moment to stay

unreactive

cruxymox

the painting

in the dark room i sat, detesting everything in tiny increments. the walls that kept out the night’s roaring winds were grey, peeling, and cracked. i kept tight-lipped. the ceiling held onto its delicate cobwebs, it somehow kept them dancing in their slow ritual. i sneered. the window behind me, behind the heavy umber curtains, behind the dirt that covered everything, mocked me. i am sure of it.

i stared upward at the massive painting in its exorbitant frame, my pained hands clawing at the arms of the chair.

the painting, it was given to me as a gift and sent to my home prior to even being seen. created by my friend, an artist in the dark corners of society, like me. stupid, stupid, i should have known that i would be fooled. crazed brushstrokes in black. a canvas entirely black. thick acrylic dripping black.

ha ha, dripping black, ha.

i should have torn it up and had it burnt in front of his studio, for him to see his own horrible prank - for what else could it be - in its proper state of destruction.

but no. he died, suddenly, just after sending the thing to me.

he died.

so i found a horrid and garish frame, so i hung it on my damned wall.

i sat, night after night after night, and stared at it, hating. hating it, hating my friend, hating everything.

and i sat, and the walls grew darker in my antipathy, and the wind grew colder, beating at the curtained window, and there was beating at the curtained window, and the spiders danced behind the peeling wallpaper and in the cracks on the ceiling, and there was beating beating beating at the window and my hands clawed and clawed at my callous chair when there was

a wild gust and loud beating crash of beating breaking glass from behind me.

i shot up, but dared not turn, for all of the violent sound was abruptly gone.

silence.

silence such that i could hear the cold blood course through my veins, too rapidly through my veins. my fingers could feel the silence.

and then, a shuffling in broken glass on the floor. quick, quick.

and then more silence.

i could not move.

running cold,

i could not move.

scattered scratching glass and a scream of rushing wind, a cackling, squealing wind like the laughter of one who has long lost their sanity, too fast a

s c r e a m

and that something from behind me flew over the top of my head and that something that was

bigger

blacker

landed upon the top of the frame and set the whole thing crooked, but it settled in, perching, and looked at me, this bigger blacker thing, it just looked at me.

after what seemed ages, one hand still grasping for dear life at the armrest of the chair behind me, i let out a reluctant whisper - “what are you?”

nothing. it blinked. nothing. it stared down upon me.

i whispered again to it. “why are you here?”

nothing but the stare.

i tried once more, voice cracking, wavering. “who are you?”

and it answered. oh gods, it answered.

i clutched at air, inhaled, unbelieving, no, eyes wide, inhaled, too fast, no, eyes wide, i could not let my breath go, there was no release, and then everything was a swimming darkness. a spinning black maelstrom, the spinning painting, a syncope.

when i awoke, daylight shone in a thin line through the thick curtains. i pulled myself up off of the floor onto my chair, and hesitantly looked up, praying the beast had gone.

the painting, fully aligned, was no longer the black, the black, the black that curled my lip.

it was an oil portrait of my friend, and he smiled, he smiled from the painting down upon me.

upon his shoulder, a large raven was perched.

srsomero-blog

Well that's one way to make your hair stand on end...

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

I was probably born on mars