Tag Archives: Character

Wonder Woman

Wonder Woman

In celebration of seeing Wonder Woman, I decided to share this piece I drew back in 2012, during my first semester of college. It was the first project my drawing class had been assigned. The task was to draw something we felt represented ourselves, our style, and our inspiration. I chose to recreate a picture done by Jim Lee, one of my favorite DC Comics artists.

Wonder Woman has always been more than just a comic book character to me. Outside of my mom, she was the only real female figure I had. And she taught me many things. True strength comes from within, not from your muscles. No matter what size I am, I can still do anything I set my mind toward. All I need is love, compassion, and the courage to be myself. And lastly, I don’t have to be Wonder Woman to be a wonderful woman.

I won’t lie. I cried quite a bit when I saw the Wonder Woman movie. One of my childhood icons was now more than animated character or a drawing on a page. She was on a big screen in live action. She became real. That movie was everything I could have asked for and more. I was so happy to see my hero, that I couldn’t help but cry.

This is one of the things I love about books/comics/TV shows/video games/movies, etc. Usually, everyone finds their hero. That one character that stands out the most to them. The one that connects with them the most. People learn from these characters, are inspired to be their best by these characters. The list could go on.

I know there’s a difference between the real world and fantasy. I am not blind to my everyday responsibilities. But whether it’s reading a book or comic to forget myself for a little while, whether it’s playing a video game to release my frustration, whether it’s writing stories or poems to vent my feelings, fiction does help me get through this thing we call life. Just as music does. Just as chatting with family and friends does. And Wonder Woman? Well. She’s an aspect of fiction that’s helped me the most.


Inspiration/Motivation

Excuse me for a moment while I take a break from fiction. Recently, I’ve been asked what my motivation is for writing. I had never been asked this before, and I really had to think about my answer. What did I use for motivation? Did I have motivation? When I asked myself that question, all I could think of was not really. But then I second-guessed that response. I had to have motivation, right? Then, I wondered, what if I didn’t have to have a specific motivation? Sometimes, I write for the sake of writing. Certainly that’s good enough.

Writing has been my passion since I was a little kid. I used to enter into poetry contests and wrote my first “novel” before I was twelve. By “novel,” I mean I filled up a wide-ruled notebook with one, consectutive story. I still have that notebook. It’s very dear to me. One day, I would like to turn it into a children’s book. But writing, like drawing, has been something I’ve just done. Even still, I just…do. I write. I guess passion is my motivation?

Granted, I’m not perfect. There are days when I simply don’t feel like writing. Did I ever mention I’m a procrastinator? I’m a huge procratinator. I love Fallout 4 and Skyrim. Napping is also a favorite hobby of mine. It’s no secret the internet is a glaring distraction. But I usually come back to writing. I feel weird when I don’t write. Like a part of me is missing.

I will say having this blog helps. People follow me, like my posts, comment on them. I’m obligated to provide content. In a good way. It give me a purpose to my short stories and poems. Even my pictures. There are many days where all I write is a short story or poem. Some days, I don’t work on my novel. But I know the key is writing. Every published author I’ve seen or read about all say the same thing: Write. No matter what it is, write.

Now, as far as my novel goes, that can become tricky. It’s my first one, so I don’t have a contract or deadline. I actually abandoned it for over a year. I’ve been working on it since 2012. It’s gone through about five plot changes, and I still can’t come up with a suitable title. I won’t lie. It gets old sometimes. I picked it back up last summer. Currently, I’m close to finishing the revision stage, and it will be off to editing. Knowing it’s so close to completion is encouraging.

However, I can’t force myself to work on it. Not when I can take my time and make sure my debut novel is, as I deem, perfect. In my opinion, you can tell when writing is forced. It’s awkward, stale, dead. Stories and characters are meant to be free, to evolve. Writers don’t control characters or ideas; they guide them. But that’s a soapbox for a different time.

I am a huge believer in muses and the power of music. I know what type of music will put me in the zone. I know what will pull me out. Headphones are amazing. I’m also always searching. Searching for that one creative detail in the world that I can shape into a work of art. To me, that’s what creative people do. Show the world how we see it. That’s how we get so many different styles. It’s everyone’s perspectives.

You could say I work more from inspiration rather than motivation, I suppose. Inspiration is everywhere. Motivation is something I have to control. I don’t have good control. I’m also a thinker. I spend so much time thinking about something, I never do what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s why I can’t think about my writing too much. When I do, I don’t get any writing done.

My stories and poems are never “planned.” I think of the first one or two lines then just let go and write. The words flow on their own. The story shapes itself. I have no idea when or how they will end. I never know what message will come out of it, even when I want them to have a particular meaning. Though, they typically end dark or depressing. I wonder what that says about me, then…? Regardless, I’m sure you understand my point.

In fact, I’m not entirely sure what my point to this was. I think I got completely off-track. I’m more of a listener in real life. I only talk a lot to people I really know. But put pen and paper in front of me, and I never shut up. I honestly don’t know if there was a point. I’ll chalk it up to getting my thoughts out. They ususally won’t leave me alone until I write them down. None of this probably made any sense, but maybe someone can take something from it. Thank you for bearing this post with me.


Room Full of Heathens (Friends)

My pace quickened, swishing my ponytail back and forth. I clutched my notebooks closer to my chest. Pushed my glasses up my nose. They would kill me if I was late. I would kill me if I was late. But all these dumb halls looked the same. Dull gray and bland. No creativity invested whatsoever. I huffed through my nose as I made a wrong turn. Again. Back tracking, I readjusted my hold on my notebooks. Where on Earth was the office? I checked my wrist, though I never wore watches. Did I have enough time to be continuously lost?

I rounded a corner and paused. A long stretch of hallway led to double doors that stood a mile high. My heart thumped hard. That was the office. No doubt in my mind. Taking a sharp breath, I checked myself over. Light gray slacks to compliment leg length, heeled ankle boots I finally learned to walk in, navy and white blouse. Mom always said blue was my color. It enhanced my dark blue gaze. Another breath. I felt professional, but I sweated more than I liked. As long as I wasn’t late, I’d be fine.

Determined strides carried me to the door. I had to play cool. Act like the boss. Wait. Wasn’t I technically the boss? I snorted. Yeah, right. Rapping on the door, I stepped back. It opened, and I saw all of them. Ten faces. Ten characters I recognized. I created them, after all. I entered the room, acknowledging everyone. Including muscled Demise. And Pathos and Sikura, who stood silently in their respective corners.

Scar rose from his place at the head of the conference table. Though he wasn’t the one I left in charge. “I told you not to come.” I shrugged. “Here I am.” Sir Ransom Mire, who stood on Scar’s right, crossed his arms. “You really don’t need to be here.” Rogue kicked her boots up on the table. “She can do whatever she wants.” I gave a nod. Moonshadow, the half-dragon bad boy who sat across from the rogue, winked at me. “You can come here anytime.”

I waved him away. “Oh, shut up.” My vision caught Black Ice moving to her place by Demise. She gave a nod, but that was it. I didn’t realize I had so many mutes. Zair, my first and only Naga, lounged on his well-positioned coils. “I agree with Moon Boy.” I shot a glare. “Again. Shut up.” The Suckerpunch-inspired Sunshine shifted her weight, shamelessly accentuating her hips. “Would you boys leave her alone? Otherwise, I’ll be inclined to shoot you.” The pair of partial reptiles flashed grins.

Not knowing what to do at this point, I stood awkwardly among them. I honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. They made me nervous. Though they were all mine. Flicker of ideas that had grown into these beings. In a way, I was proud. In a way, I was intimidated. They were now their own characters. They told me how they wanted to be written. Which was why I came. Equipped with pen and paper.

Scar made his way to me, standing between me and them. “What are you doing here?” I jutted my chin at him. “You don’t scare me like you do everyone else.” I brushed past him and positioned myself at the head of the table. Sir Ransom Mire drilled me. “You know, if you like him so much, why didn’t you put him in charge?” I hesitated. Glanced at my favorite character, who had a special place in my heart. “As much as he isn’t a follower, he isn’t the best leader, either.”

I placed my notebooks on the table. “Listen up, everyone. You are my ten chosen heinous friends. I know you come from different worlds. I don’t expect you to get along. At all.” Rogue held up her enchanted sword. “So, can I kill those who annoy me, or…?” I smiled. “Kill them, and I’ll only bring them back. Any other questions?” No one responded, to my liking. However, it didn’t go unnoticed that Scar stood protectively behind me. “Now, I didn’t dress up for nothing. I’m here on business. The business of writing you all more.” My eyes sparkled. “Who wants to go first?”

 

Author’s Note: I won’t lie. Picking the ten characters introduced above was a very daunting task. A couple have been constant candidates. Others weren’t chosen to make the final cut. Before Suicide Squad came out, I was already inspired by Twenty One Pilots’ song “Heathens.” As an author, my closest friends are my characters. Every time I listen to that song, I imagine me in a room with my “heathen” friends. The not-so-good characters. I chose the number ten because of Suicide Squad, but that’s really where any relations to the movie ends. I wanted to finally write a scene of me interacting with my characters on a more meta level, if you will. It was quite fun.


Dark Waters

“Has anyone looked at the river’s dark waters and wondered how inviting they might actually be?” I asked no one in particular. None of my characters answered me. They didn’t have anything to say this time. So I pulled onto the exit ramp and finished my drive to riverfront. When I parked, I could vaguely see, across the street, the water’s reflection in my headlights. A deep breath turned everything off. Long strides guided me to the bank. The river flowed about ten feet below.

I didn’t know how many times I had come to this spot. Whether it was to clear my mind, enjoy the day, or find inspiration for my work. I even made the mighty river a character. I liked to think Jormungandr, the great serpent, resided beneath the surface. So many times had I come to him for advice. Tonight, he was silent. It was if he knew my true intentions. My alterior motives.

Sighing, I sank to my butt and drew my knees to my chin. Never taking my eyes off the body of water. Jorg, you there? The river remained still, but I imagined a giant black snake head rising. His gazed pierced my soul. Yes, fleshling. My eyes watered. I’m done. A tongue flicked in and out. Again?   This time it’s for good. I mean it.   What happened? I buried my head in my arms. I’m selfish, uncaring, hurtful. I don’t think. I never think. I just ruin everything. No one would miss me. I’m not good at life.

His head came closer. Eyes bearing into me even more. Who is? We’re allowed to make mistakes. We learn and move on. I sniffed. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I was eaten by the Devourer, the one I gave to this river?    I’m not eating you. You jump, and I’ll spit you right back out. My head lifted as I glared. Why won’t you help me? Can’t you see I’m broken and can’t be fixed? His acidic laugh drowned the rushing river. No one is broken beyond repair. Not even me. Think about those you would leave behind–    I did. They’re better off without me. All I do is make things worse. He shook his head. If you did, they would never be around you. Think about your work. All those characters who will never see the light of day because you’ll be gone. No one will be able to meet them. They’ll never exist and be lost. Don’t you want them among the world? 

I sighed once more. They’re not even that good. I startled when someone suddenly yelled my name. Jormungandr vanished to the back of my mind. My name sounded again. I glanced over my shoulder. It was my love. He sprinted toward me. Slid next to me and enveloped me in his arms. He buried his head on top of mine. “I thought I was too late. What are you doing out here?” I stared at the water before bursting into tears. “I don’t know.” He took my face in his hands, pressing his lips against my forehead. “Do not take yourself away from me. That is a hole the world could not fill.”

My eyes squeezed shut. I trembled but allowed myself to be held. Finally buried my head in his chest. “I can’t keep making everyone’s lives worse.” “You don’t, hun. You don’t. You make it better. Each person brings their own challenges. Do you love me less for my imperfections?” His question caught me off guard. “No.” He held me tighter. “Then why would I love you less for yours? How about we get you home, okay? Can we do that?”

Opening my eyes, I saw Jormungandr again. The snake gave a nod. Go. Be loved. Remember I will not eat you. You have too much potential for something so trivial. I swallowed as he merged with the river. Nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go home.” I was helped to my feet. Led back across the street. I looked behind me. Jorg had said his peace. He offered no protest with my decision. His image had vanished. He would not take my life. All that remained were lethal dark waters.


My D&D Character Interview: Rogue

In the beginning, there was darkness. It was, after all, the Underdark. We were always on the run–my parents and I. You see, they had fallen out of their queen’s favor because they couldn’t have children of their own. There were always spiders chasing us. Always. Did I mention my first parents were drow? Anyway, that was the beginning of my life–running, fighting, darkness. I eventually had enough and ran away, went topside. Didn’t expect much. Especially since I only spoke Undercommon. Turned out, I understood Common and Elven. That was how I pieced together I was half human, half elf. That, and that’s what everyone told me I was. The developing years rendered me in no better shape than when I was with the drow couple. I bounced from home to home, place to place, staying with whoever would take me in. The families weren’t the problem–I was. I became rather aggressive over the years. Often hurting the other kids. Then I’d be sent away. Oh, and everyone was scared of my bright silver eyes. I always liked my eyes. Mainly because I could freak people out. There was this one time I set up a–okay, okay, back on topic. I never meant to hurt anybody. It was just, I felt like there was a force inside me. I always felt the darkness. Still do. I figured it was because I was raised by drow. Now, I’m not so sure. I mean, I don’t have any drow blood in me. You see, I get very angry very quickly. Many times, abnormally so. And when I start to get beyond control, my scars on my chest plate start glowing and burning. First time it happened, I thought I was going to die. It scared the life out of me. I became accustomed to it as I grew. When I was old enough to realize I could survive on my own, I took that chance and ran. Went to a town never been to before. Started begging, stealing, the lot. Whatever I could do to make it to the next day. Eventually took on teaching myself how to fight. I joined underground fist battles, trying my hand and winning some coins. Got beat more times than I’d like to admit, but I learned quickly. Developed my own style. It also turned out I had a natural knack for weaponsmithing. Made a pair of short swords and added them to my attire. Also acquired sweet red and black leather armor. That compliments my deeply rich red hair quite nicely, I must say. As I went about my adventures, I got called many things–thief, beggar, stray, waif, demon-girl, half-blood, the list goes on. I was mostly called a rogue. I remember swiping some bread, and this old lady screeched, “Stop stealing our life, rogue!” Her scream was hilarious. But she called me rogue as if it was my name. I mulled it over for a bit. It fit, had a nice ring to it. Besides, I never liked any of the names my foster families had ever given to me. Don’t even remember them. So I became Rogue.

But that became my life. Stealing, running, fighting. Surviving. Occasionally, something…weird would happen. I’d be fighting somebody intensely, get pushed past my limits, and a very tiny voice in my head would call upon something. My scars start glowing and burning, then! Darkness. I black out. It’s happened about, oh, four or five times. Here’s the weird part. The opponent would be gone. Vanished. Poof. No trace, no nothing. And I’d be completely unscathed except for the scars dully aching. No cuts, slashes, bruises, nothing. Not even from the previous battle. And I’d still have everything on my person. Weird, right? After the first time that happened, rumors spread. That I turned people into pure darkness. Or incinerated them or something. And after the first time, I completely went off on my own. Took shelter in the forests and survived off the land. Helps being part elf. I try to stay away from people because, frankly, I don’t know what happens when that happens. I’m kinda scared to find out. But anyway, that’s pretty much my life so far. As far as personal details go, I’m a female half human, half elf, as previously stated. I have bright silver eyes. As previously stated. My hair is deep red–as previously stated–and falls to my lower back, with a black streak like a silvermark by my face and jagged, black ends. I stand 5’8′, weigh 120 pounds, and my skin is slightly tan from being outside all the time. And I also have the scars right underneath my collar bone. One goes horizontally in a rather jagged fashion, while the other is a straight vertical line down the middle. Annnnd…that’s pretty much it. Think I covered everything. So. Anything else you need to know?


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