It's done! Quote Calendar is done! I added some quote bubbles and fixed up the cover page nicely. I came to a little road block when I couldn't fit in everything on November and December, but I fixed that by making those two months a total of six pages. Sweeet.
Haven
For some reason unknown to everyone but my muse (ha.) I've been inspired to start actually writing the Haven sequel that's been stewing in my brain for a while. I have a feeling I'll be writing Keres before this one, but it seems way easier than Keres and way easier than I thought.
You see, a few years ago, I tried to write a sequel to my first novel (Emerican Adventure) and it was awful! I just couldn't get back into the mindset. But so far, Haven II (doesn't have a subtitle yet) is pretty easy. I wrote the beginning of chapter one, but got a little bored of it because I know where it's going. So I stopped for now. Basically all of chapter one will be a summary of the first book but from Callum's perspective, and through the interpretation of the movie that Michel et al made about Callum's adventures.
Then I started writing chapter two, which is much better and parallels the first book with some obvious differences.
Haven II
The spirit drinks of the river of life and breathes a stream of energy into the ear of the sleeping Dreamer. The boy stirs slightly, but does not wake. The night wears on and he groans more and more, rolling over, pushing his blankets from his bed. Still he does not open his eyes. Well before daybreak, the full moon aligns with his bedroom window and casts a beam of white light on the dreamer.
His eyes fling open. He gasps and sits up. His bare calves and heels scrape the mattress, searching for the comforter, but they find none. The Dreamer looks to the window and freezes in the lunar spotlight.
“I must go out into the world.”
The boy gathers very few things and rushes out into the balmy night. His feet slap against the pavement as he reaches the front gate. He drops his only possessions on the ground and steps into his brown loafers. He collects the couple other articles of clothing and pushes the gate open with his free arm. He strains as the gate tries to push him back, but finally the steel gate screeches just enough open for the thin boy to slip though. He makes sure to shut it behind him. Now standing in the bushes, he peers back between the bars to from where he’d come. He gives a monumentous sigh and crawls out of the shrubbery and into the real world.
The Dreamer emerges into cold world where smoke covers the sky and litter covers the lawns. This is the city.
He steals a glace back at the bushes hiding the gate of his secret shelter. His eyes water with the yearning to return, but the spirit makes another appearance. The boy cannot see it, but it dances about his head and flits in and out of his ear, whispering suggestions that he cannot ignore.
“I must proceed through this world.”
He takes a few steps and stops.
“But why?”
He takes one last glace back at the shrubs, but he can’t quite make out where the gate was. The entire wall is covered in these hedges.
“Because I need to get inspiration of course,” he assures himself and continues his walk.
[continue story]
The film reel ended. The lights came up. I could not applaud.
I wanted to. Everyone had worked so hard on this one, but some creature of my mind was gnawing at the back of my brain like Ugolino in the ninth circle of Hell. It was all false. The whole point of the movie was just crap. I would know, I directed it. I didn’t write it though…
I turned my head to look at Callum, the boy on whom the character of the Dreamer had been based. He sat against the side wall, refusing to take a seat. He held his knees close to his chin as if he were afraid someone might notice him and strike him down. His blue eyes barely surfaced between his blond bangs and his khaki pants.
The audience began to shift, finding their things amid other people’s things in hope of either retiring for the night or pursuing new creative projects, now freshly inspired. It was in this transitional period that Callum caught my gaze. I held it for a long time. We probably would have continued staring that way all night had Biaji not interrupted.
“Mich-y!” He wrapped his arms around me. “That was soooo good! Whoo, I got chills. Come on, we’re wanted at the autograph table.”
Biaji had found himself an orange and blue tweed jacket for the occasion. He was under the impression he was looking pretty sharp, which he probably would have been had he not been also wearing his red swimming trunks.
“Twelve weeks, Michel!” He spoke to me, but turned sideways and projected into the theatre so that everyone still leaving could hear his declaration. “Twelve weeks of hard work and it’s done, and what a hit! Do you know how many people are taking home copies tonight?”
“Why don’t you tell me.” I ducked my head to try to capture a glimpse of Callum under Biaji’s waving arm. He’d gone.
“Like…a lot. I don’t have the actually numbers yet but, it’s…a lot what are you looking for?”
“Where’s Callum?”
“Don’t start that again. Probably at the autograph table where you should be, Miss Director.” He put out his hand and slid me one of his alluring smiles. I clenched my teeth very hard, trying not to give into that charm, but took his hand. Together, we made it to the autograph table. Callum hadn’t arrived there yet. Maybe he didn’t plan to.
Percy, the actor who’d played Callum in the movie, already stood behind the table scribbling on DVD boxes with the Sharpie someone’s given him. I couldn’t get over how strange he looked with blond hair, a transformation that had consisted of Percy, Seyhak, a bathtub, a death grip, and a bottle of peroxide. His scalp still peeled from the distress of chemicals, but it didn’t hurt. Nothing ever hurt when in the haven.
A girl leaned over the table, watching Percy sign his name. “You play the tortured soul so well,” she praised. “How do you do it? I mean, that mindset, it’s so…out there.”
Percy’s writing paused only for second. I almost missed it. He glanced up, but his gaze retreated back to the autograph. “Acting’s what I do.” Only then did he smile at the compliment. He handed the box across the table and just stared at her.
“Well you keep it up, then.” She walked away, almost disappointed.
Percy scanned the mountains of DVDs still sitting on the table, but he must have sensed me watching him, because he looked up and smiled at me.
“Congratulations,” I told him.
“All thanks to you. You’ll have to direct more often. I got way more freedom in this movie than anything Biaji ever directed.” He looked sidelong at Biaji signing autographs at his own end of the table.
“He’s a visionary. My ideas are just too flimsy to give you better direction.”
He smirked. “Could have fooled me.” He fiddled with one of the boxes.
“So really, Percy, where did your inspiration come from? I mean, do you think there really are these…” I gestured to the air around my head. “…spirits lurking about, ready to manipulate us into certain death?”
He sobered more so. “You’ll have to ask Callum.”
I tapped a DVD box. “This is his testimony. He believes it. Do you?”
“Spirits,” he said, pondering it as though it were the first time. “Uh.” He made like he was ready for a clarification on the whole issue, but simply resolved it with a “No.”
“No spirits then.”
“No spirits. Either Callum’s trying to hide his real intentions or he dreamed it all up. He’s good at dreaming stuff.”
I curled my upper lip in thought. “Doesn’t sound right either way.”
He laughed, his dark eyes brightening a few value degrees. “Are you saying you believe in these spirits?”
“Absolutely not!” I didn’t know what else to say. “I…no, that’s ridiculous. But…there’s something, right? Something we don’t know about.”
He winced. “You mean like how we didn’t know about Sapphire? You think there’s more secrets? No, nuh, no, I don’t think you’re getting enough sleep. You should…” He pointed his marker at me, accusingly. “…you should…stop thinking for a while. Talk to Calllum if you’re confused. Talk to Loudon, maybe.”
“But Percy, think about it.”
He leaned over the table and lowered his volume. “No, Michel. I know you’re into this detective phase, but I cannot deal with anymore conspiracies.” He scowled and went back to writing on boxes even though the autograph line had fizzled out.
I sank. Maybe Percy was right. Maybe our recent encounter with swapping souls and walking through other people’s dreams made me paranoid of the paranormal. No, there was something going on here. Maybe the story was real to Callum, but it wasn’t real in the sense of actual events. Something had made Callum leave the haven that day and I was going to figure out what it was. I’d never believed in wandering spirits, but I was beginning to accept elements of reality that were less and less practical these days. I refused to be surprised again. So what was it? Would it come for Callum again? Would it come for others? If I tried to stop it, would it come for me?
The spirit drinks of the river of life and breathes a stream of energy into the ear of the sleeping Dreamer. The boy stirs slightly, but does not wake. The night wears on and he groans more and more, rolling over, pushing his blankets from his bed. Still he does not open his eyes. Well before daybreak, the full moon aligns with his bedroom window and casts a beam of white light on the dreamer.
His eyes fling open. He gasps and sits up. His bare calves and heels scrape the mattress, searching for the comforter, but they find none. The Dreamer looks to the window and freezes in the lunar spotlight.
“I must go out into the world.”
The boy gathers very few things and rushes out into the balmy night. His feet slap against the pavement as he reaches the front gate. He drops his only possessions on the ground and steps into his brown loafers. He collects the couple other articles of clothing and pushes the gate open with his free arm. He strains as the gate tries to push him back, but finally the steel gate screeches just enough open for the thin boy to slip though. He makes sure to shut it behind him. Now standing in the bushes, he peers back between the bars to from where he’d come. He gives a monumentous sigh and crawls out of the shrubbery and into the real world.
The Dreamer emerges into cold world where smoke covers the sky and litter covers the lawns. This is the city.
He steals a glace back at the bushes hiding the gate of his secret shelter. His eyes water with the yearning to return, but the spirit makes another appearance. The boy cannot see it, but it dances about his head and flits in and out of his ear, whispering suggestions that he cannot ignore.
“I must proceed through this world.”
He takes a few steps and stops.
“But why?”
He takes one last glace back at the shrubs, but he can’t quite make out where the gate was. The entire wall is covered in these hedges.
“Because I need to get inspiration of course,” he assures himself and continues his walk.
[continue story]
The film reel ended. The lights came up. I could not applaud.
I wanted to. Everyone had worked so hard on this one, but some creature of my mind was gnawing at the back of my brain like Ugolino in the ninth circle of Hell. It was all false. The whole point of the movie was just crap. I would know, I directed it. I didn’t write it though…
I turned my head to look at Callum, the boy on whom the character of the Dreamer had been based. He sat against the side wall, refusing to take a seat. He held his knees close to his chin as if he were afraid someone might notice him and strike him down. His blue eyes barely surfaced between his blond bangs and his khaki pants.
The audience began to shift, finding their things amid other people’s things in hope of either retiring for the night or pursuing new creative projects, now freshly inspired. It was in this transitional period that Callum caught my gaze. I held it for a long time. We probably would have continued staring that way all night had Biaji not interrupted.
“Mich-y!” He wrapped his arms around me. “That was soooo good! Whoo, I got chills. Come on, we’re wanted at the autograph table.”
Biaji had found himself an orange and blue tweed jacket for the occasion. He was under the impression he was looking pretty sharp, which he probably would have been had he not been also wearing his red swimming trunks.
“Twelve weeks, Michel!” He spoke to me, but turned sideways and projected into the theatre so that everyone still leaving could hear his declaration. “Twelve weeks of hard work and it’s done, and what a hit! Do you know how many people are taking home copies tonight?”
“Why don’t you tell me.” I ducked my head to try to capture a glimpse of Callum under Biaji’s waving arm. He’d gone.
“Like…a lot. I don’t have the actually numbers yet but, it’s…a lot what are you looking for?”
“Where’s Callum?”
“Don’t start that again. Probably at the autograph table where you should be, Miss Director.” He put out his hand and slid me one of his alluring smiles. I clenched my teeth very hard, trying not to give into that charm, but took his hand. Together, we made it to the autograph table. Callum hadn’t arrived there yet. Maybe he didn’t plan to.
Percy, the actor who’d played Callum in the movie, already stood behind the table scribbling on DVD boxes with the Sharpie someone’s given him. I couldn’t get over how strange he looked with blond hair, a transformation that had consisted of Percy, Seyhak, a bathtub, a death grip, and a bottle of peroxide. His scalp still peeled from the distress of chemicals, but it didn’t hurt. Nothing ever hurt when in the haven.
A girl leaned over the table, watching Percy sign his name. “You play the tortured soul so well,” she praised. “How do you do it? I mean, that mindset, it’s so…out there.”
Percy’s writing paused only for second. I almost missed it. He glanced up, but his gaze retreated back to the autograph. “Acting’s what I do.” Only then did he smile at the compliment. He handed the box across the table and just stared at her.
“Well you keep it up, then.” She walked away, almost disappointed.
Percy scanned the mountains of DVDs still sitting on the table, but he must have sensed me watching him, because he looked up and smiled at me.
“Congratulations,” I told him.
“All thanks to you. You’ll have to direct more often. I got way more freedom in this movie than anything Biaji ever directed.” He looked sidelong at Biaji signing autographs at his own end of the table.
“He’s a visionary. My ideas are just too flimsy to give you better direction.”
He smirked. “Could have fooled me.” He fiddled with one of the boxes.
“So really, Percy, where did your inspiration come from? I mean, do you think there really are these…” I gestured to the air around my head. “…spirits lurking about, ready to manipulate us into certain death?”
He sobered more so. “You’ll have to ask Callum.”
I tapped a DVD box. “This is his testimony. He believes it. Do you?”
“Spirits,” he said, pondering it as though it were the first time. “Uh.” He made like he was ready for a clarification on the whole issue, but simply resolved it with a “No.”
“No spirits then.”
“No spirits. Either Callum’s trying to hide his real intentions or he dreamed it all up. He’s good at dreaming stuff.”
I curled my upper lip in thought. “Doesn’t sound right either way.”
He laughed, his dark eyes brightening a few value degrees. “Are you saying you believe in these spirits?”
“Absolutely not!” I didn’t know what else to say. “I…no, that’s ridiculous. But…there’s something, right? Something we don’t know about.”
He winced. “You mean like how we didn’t know about Sapphire? You think there’s more secrets? No, nuh, no, I don’t think you’re getting enough sleep. You should…” He pointed his marker at me, accusingly. “…you should…stop thinking for a while. Talk to Calllum if you’re confused. Talk to Loudon, maybe.”
“But Percy, think about it.”
He leaned over the table and lowered his volume. “No, Michel. I know you’re into this detective phase, but I cannot deal with anymore conspiracies.” He scowled and went back to writing on boxes even though the autograph line had fizzled out.
I sank. Maybe Percy was right. Maybe our recent encounter with swapping souls and walking through other people’s dreams made me paranoid of the paranormal. No, there was something going on here. Maybe the story was real to Callum, but it wasn’t real in the sense of actual events. Something had made Callum leave the haven that day and I was going to figure out what it was. I’d never believed in wandering spirits, but I was beginning to accept elements of reality that were less and less practical these days. I refused to be surprised again. So what was it? Would it come for Callum again? Would it come for others? If I tried to stop it, would it come for me?
Digital Collage
I don't even know what to say. Yeah, it's pretty bad. See, I've been looking at some Dave McKean artwork because it really inspires me, and lately because I'm doing a formal analysis for Art Appreciation. So I decided that I would try to make a digiatal collage like Dave McKean. First, as practice, I'd just find pictures off the internet and try to recreate a drawing, but with scraps of photos. So I tried it. What a disaster! Check this out. Laughable.
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