Tag: #creative

NaNo, NaNo

NaNoWriMo, Writing

It’s almost time for National Novel Writing Month. Though I’ve been terrified to participate in the past, I’m going to give it a shot this year.

You’re supposed to start with a blank slate (i.e. no words written until November starts), but I’m going to start with a work in progress and just only count the words I add from my initial word count. Can I get 50k words written in a month? We shall see.

I’m usually half planner-half pantser. (Yes, that’s a writing term; writing by the seat of your pants.) I plan the general storyline, but I let the story evolve as I go. With my first manuscript, I kinda sorta knew how it was going to end, but one character showed up out of nowhere to help out. I was surprised by it, and it was my story! Lol

Given that this is my first time participating, I am of course apprehensive, but I’m also stubborn and determined. So there’s a good chance I can get this done.

Can I win? Most likely not, because I don’t think I’d be eligible with the story already being in progress before the challenge starts. Do I care if I win? Most definitely not, because I’m doing this to get a draft out & practice writing faster and longer.

Well, off to get ready for the “real” job. I doubt I’ll ever make enough money writing to do it full time, but it sure feels good to have confidence that I will be published some day and see my book in a store.

Jumping the proverbial gun

Cosplay, Crafting, Geek, Sewing, Writing

I started sewing the corset panels together this morning. Why do this when I don’t have all the materials to complete it, you might ask. Well, it’s simple: if I didn’t start it, I was going to chicken out and possibly buy a cheap, pre-made corset and just sew the fabric I want on top of the corset, which would look weird. So I started what I can do, and will finish once I have the boning, casings, and binding purchased.

Next up: the skirt. This will be probably as much of a challenge as the corset, as I will be self-drafting most likely. I want to make a sort of fishtail/mermaid skirt, with the exploding TARDIS fabric for the train. I need to decide for sure, though, because it will be tough to figure out how to keep the train from getting stepped on at Comicon. There’s the option of putting a small loop on the inside to pick up the train while I walk, but that might look silly. Then again, who cares if I look silly? It’s my cosplay, my fun.

That’s the great thing about cosplay: the fun. It may take hours, days, weeks, months of work (more like months for me, because I’m taking my time & because I have Attention Deficit Artistic Disorder (not a real medical condition, but it should be)–but in the end, it’s about having fun with costumes. I mean, it is COStume PLAY, after all.

It’s too bad I haven’t ordered the boning/casings yet, because I would love to be able to get this done before Halloween, or at least before the next nearby convention. I think that Tucson Comic-con is in November–maybe I’ll try to be done by then.

Of course, next month is #NaNoWriMo. So I’ll be preoccupied with getting as much writing in as possible. We’ll see.

Fit to be tied

Cosplay, Crafting, Geek, Sewing

I started on the corset for my TARDIS cosplay last night. It is intimidating, because I’ve never made a corset before and thus have no idea what I’m doing…but when does that stop me? Lol Managed to cut the fabric pieces I need and get some of them basted together (For those who don’t know, corsets, for the most part, need multiple layers to be sturdy. I’ve heard of corsets that had only one layer, but I would not attempt that on my own. Anywho, it involves cutting out several of the same piece and sewing/basting them together before putting the actual pieces together.)

This is a big undertaking for me, but I’m going in with a positive mindset that, if I follow the directions carefully, I can do it.

The tricky parts are yet to come. I have to buy the correct boning, get some kind of boning tape/casings, get grommets and laces, correctly put on the grommets, and put the whole shebang together. Lots to do, but if I think about it one step at a time it’s less nerve-wracking. I know there will be some flaws (translation: a lot of them) like puckering, bunching, and possible fit issues, but I’ll get it done. I’m too stubborn not to.

Sadly, though, it’s almost time to head off to work. *Sigh* The things we do to pay for the things we love to do lol

Killin’ it…serial style

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing, Writing

My third submission of an original concept post to #TalkNerdyWithUs was a hit! My editors liked it, my interviewees had fun, and, since I mentioned that it would be a series of posts, I got introduced to another person to interview for the next installment.

I’m enjoying coming out of my shell more and initiating more posts. I like that I can have an idea, roll with it, and watch it actually pan out. With any luck, this will be a weekly event.

As far as my own personal writing goes, that has stalled, but I’m not currently worried about it. There will be more. Just as there will be more art, more sculpting, more cosplay. I won’t let my creative well run dry. I’m just getting started….

Flash Fiction Friday — Caroline

Writing

Caroline turned and glared at Jimmy. “This order isn’t right.”

Jimmy laughed. “Carrie, stop being paranoid.”

She looked at the plate again. On the surface, it looked like a normal meal. Spaghetti with a side of corn. Innocuous enough, but it just didn’t look “right.” It didn’t help that it had been served to her with the meatballs arranged in a grotesque smile, oozing bright red sauce. She knew it was silly, but her stomach churned regardless.

“Is that part of a fingernail?”

“It’s an onion. These restaurants actually put spices and flavors in their food, unlike the crap you make at home. Just eat it.”

“I don’t make crap. I get the expensive sauce; I just like it better with the chunks strained out.” Poking at a meatball with her fork, Caroline fought to keep from gagging. “Why did we come here, anyway? We have Italian at home all the time. We didn’t need to go out.”

With a sigh Jimmy slammed his glass down on the table, spilling a few drops of wine on the tablecloth. Caroline jumped and watched the stain spread. Why wasn’t it turning purple? Red wine stains turned purple; this was still blood red. Blood. Red. She shivered. Was that wine a little thicker than usual?

“You do this every damn Halloween, Carrie. Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere. Just eat the damn food and quit complaining. This place isn’t cheap, you know. I doubt they’d charge us thirty dollars a plate just to feed you junk.”

Shrinking back from his glare, Caroline set down her fork and put her hands in her lap. He was right. She shouldn’t be complaining. It was Halloween, and her boyfriend had brought her to a nice restaurant for her birthday. Maybe being born on Halloween had made her paranoid after all.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’ll eat it.” She picked her fork back up and aimed for a meatball.

Before she could stab one, Jimmy gagged and grabbed his throat. Caroline screamed and watched with wide eyes as his face turned white, then red, then purple. Within seconds, Jimmy fell face first onto the table, splattering spaghetti sauce over the tablecloth.

“Waiter! Waiter! Someone come here, quick!” Caroline shouted. A spindly waiter appeared at her side, his apron askew.

“Oh, my! What seems to be the problem?”

She pointed at the table in disgust. “There is not one single body part in my meal. Is it too much to ask to get a little protein with this overpriced slop?”

The waiter flushed and reached for her plate with a shaking hand. “Terribly sorry, miss. An oversight on the chef’s part, I assure you.” He turned to Jimmy’s still form. “Would you like me to take away the other plate? Your companion seems to have finished.”

“Oh, he’s finished, all right,” she said. “Can you bring me another plate? Get the order right this time.”

“Of course, miss.”

Paranoid, indeed. She knew they’d gotten her order wrong.

Flash Fiction Friday–Winston’s Revenge

Writing

Beaming with excitement, I took my brand new Huggy Bear stuffed animal from my father. I had been begging for weeks to get one.

Huggy Bears were the bestest. They were teddy bears that hugged you back. Imagine that! A stuffie that gives you hugs. I loved hugs.

Daddy didn’t give many hugs. He was pretty busy with work and all. Mommy only hugged her special bottle. I wasn’t allowed to touch Mommy’s special bottle–or Mommy–but now I could get as many hugs as I wanted from Huggy Bear. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.

I carried my Huggy Bear everywhere. I named him Winston, and Winston became my bestest friend. He wasn’t much of a talker–he didn’t talk at all, actually–but I didn’t care. I chattered on about my day and told him all the stories that were in my head. There were a bazillion stories swimming around in there, and Winston listened to all of them. Mommy usually told me to go away, and Daddy said he was listening but I knew it was just pretend; he never even looked up from his newspaper.

One day a week after I got Winston, I accidentally dropped Mommy’s dinner plate when I was setting the table for our Louisiana Baked Chicken dinner. Mommy got really mad. She even threw her special bottle at me; she missed, but I had to clean up the glass.

Then Mommy got scary. She screamed at me and took Winston from me. She blamed Winston for distracting me from my job of setting the table. I watched in horror as she pulled Winston’s head off. Mommy killed Winston!

I cried myself to sleep. Poor Winston.

The next morning, I woke to Daddy screaming. I tiptoed to their room, scared, and saw the strangest thing.

Winston’s head was back on. His neck was all red, but his head was back on, and he was hugging Mommy’s neck. Why was Daddy screaming? Winston was back and giving hugs again. He should have been happy.

Daddy rushed me back to my room and told me to stay put. After a while, I heard sirens and lots of people talking. When they left, Daddy opened my door and told me that Mommy had been really tired and had gone to sleep forever. I tried to reassure him that Winston would make her feel better with his hugs, but he didn’t listen. He never listened.

Daddy got mad at Winston. Just like Mommy, he ripped his head off, then he ripped off his arms. His arms! How was Winston supposed to hug now?

Two days passed. Daddy didn’t say a word, and I didn’t either. Who did I have to talk to? Winston was gone.

On the morning of the third day, Daddy didn’t wake me up for kindergarten. That was strange. I went to his room to check on him.

Winston was back, and he had given Daddy’s neck the biggest hug ever.

Stitches in time

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing

Hello. My name is AJ, and I’m a cosplay addict. It’s been 10 minutes since I’ve sewn anything for a costume.

The sewing machine for my birthday was both a gift and a curse. I love being able to sew now, and I’m gaining confidence every time I use it; however, the pedal kills my knee and hunching over the machine kills my back. Still, I’m making new things on my own, and it’s great. I’m obsessed.

I’m not just making cosplay. I’ve also made myself a scrub top (two, actually, but I have to lose weight to wear one of them–stupid pattern doesn’t match its own measurements) and a few pairs of fingerless gloves to wear for typing, drawing, or just plain whenever my hands get cold. They’re my own design, too, which I love. I can actually design things and not take weeks to make them. Now it’s a matter of days or even hours, depending on the size of what I’m making. It’s amazing.

Unfortunately, sometimes I get carried away. I wake up stupid early in the morning (usually thanks to my cat, Rory), and with nothing to do on some of those early mornings I end up sewing. Or plotting sewing. It’s crazy.

I suppose it could be worse. I could be addicted to drugs or alcohol or something equally destructive. This, at least, is a creative outlet that makes me happy.

Hello. My name is AJ, and I’m a cosplay addict…and I have no intention of stopping.

Flash Fiction Friday–“The Spider and the Fly”

Writing

The Spider and the Fly

by AJ Mullican

Richard strode up the walkway, rife with anticipation. The ad online had been enticing, and he couldn’t wait to meet the woman of his dreams.

As he drew nearer and more details of the house’s décor registered in his mind he thought, “This must be one freaky chick!”

The house was dark and could only be described as “gothic chic.” Black turrets and grey scrollwork accents stood out in the quiet suburban neighborhood. In place of a picket or chain link fence was a neat row of polished iron chains connected by iron stakes topped with fleur de lis.

When he reached the front steps, he was greeted by an ornately-carved front door with a stained glass window patterned after a spider’s web. In place of a light next to the door, spindly iron fingers extended from the wall and grasped a lifelike carving of a skull. Red light bulbs illuminated the empty skull, casting an eerie glow over the black widow carapace that, judging by the size and location, must be the doorbell.

Pressing the red hourglass, Richard heard a scream of ecstasy inside the house. He grinned, thinking to himself that any woman with that kind of a doorbell must indeed be just the kind of companion he was looking for.

Through the stained glass he saw the voluptuous silhouette of a tall, curvy woman approach the door. When the door opened, he was not disappointed.

Standing just under his six foot height in her stiletto heels, the woman from the ad was everything he could have hoped for. Not too skinny, not too fat—just enough curves to look delicious. She answered the door in a racy negligee, its black leather straps matching the pattern in the stained glass, and he could see long nail caps on the ends of each of her delicate fingers, adding to the dramatic look. The ensemble was accented with carefully-applied spiderweb eyeliner on her upper lids.

“You must be Richard Fly,” she purred, her voice both soft and husky. “Welcome to my web.”

Richard smiled and stepped inside the door. As she closed it behind him, he removed his hat and trench coat. The woman turned back to him and screamed in terror.

She was even more stunning when viewed with all eight of his eyes. He grabbed her waist with two of his arms, pulling her in closer. Two more arms restrained her struggling arms, and the last pair caressed her cheeks.

“And you must be Ariadne. Pleasure to eat you.”

The churning mind of a creative person

Uncategorized

Are you a #creative type? #Artist #writer #musician? Then you probably know how I feel right now.
It is currently 3:20 in the morning where I’m at. I woke up an hour ago because I was hungry. I’m still up because my mind won’t let me sleep.
I’m thinking about the novel I’m writing, the stress of trying to promote the poetry book I mentioned in last night’s post, the short story submission I just sent in for an anthology yesterday, and finally I’m thinking about how I can’t sleep. The old paradox: the more you want to sleep, the more thinking about wanting to sleep keeps you up.
If I didn’t have a spouse sleeping peacefully next to me I’d probably write a little bit in my novel. I don’t want to wake him though, so I’ll just lie here until my mind quiets down. Which likely means until I have to get ready for work anyway.
To all those insomniac artists out there reading this, I sympathize. Do your best to channel your lack of sleep into the next great work of art, writing, or music.