Meet my new character, B. A. Draxton.
http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h120/oncooolc/ba.jpg
According to my best bud Pawky, he's a Matrix Reject and a mar on the face of the planet as far as character design goes, which is probably true. However, I don't particularly care and love him dearly anyways. <3
But she brings up an excellent point.
Draxton is the direct product of me reading far too many "How To Draw..." books, the current one being Drawing Cutting Edge Comics by Christopher Heart. Reading these books will greatly diminish any individual's ability to work through proper character design.
Why? The steriotype pages. Every single one of these books I have read has had a section describing how to make characters look cool, snappy, and interesting. Every single one of these sections has merely been several murals to the world of underdeveloped steriotypes. They are baaaaad things that should be skipped over.
In fact, one should just skip over these books entirely. They suck.
They encourage step-by-step drawing instead of creatively analyzing a subject and drawing from the mind. They enforce bad art habbits. Many of them purposefully sway the reader into improper proportions. They're just bad, bad, bad, bad, and don't teach the reader what they really need to know. These things are TRAPS that suck in ametuer artists and shackle them, creating bad habits that are hard to rid oneself of later in life.
So why do I keep reading them?
Why?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Honors Student
You've all heard the phrase, or your schools equivalent, before: "Honors Student". How the teachers separate the smart, fast thinkers from the rest of the bunch. They stereotype us as "Perfect" and "Smarter".
It's time to tell the truth. We're not.
The Honors Student is simply a person with the way of thinking that academics come easily to them. That doesn't make them better. In fact, in many cases, that makes them much, much worse.
My Robotics Mentor, who we'll call "Sal", made a bit of a distinction today in reference to how we were building a 1:1 scale kicking prototype. The Honors Student spends freaking forever working on the mathematics and "Theoretically..." parts of design, trying to make the mechanism perfect on paper before building it. They usually run out of time, and their 'bot's "theoretically" doesn't work out completely as planned. The rest of them just charge ahead and make something that doesn't work, then tweak it until it does. This tactic works much better.
An Honors student...
* Gets good grades, and tests very well.
* Tends to either finish the project light years ahead of time, or forget about it. Then remember about said project three days before the due date and BS'es something together during a last minute all-nighter, getting a decent-to-above-average grade.
* Thinks book work is easy.
* Talks during class more often then not.
* Often uses the phrase, "I'll do it at home", and truthfully. It is not uncommon for them to find their class time better used to socialize then to do the work.
* Can execute step-by-step instructions perfectly, but often skips reading them because they "Know what they're doing". With mixed results.
* Tends to excel in at least one area completely with a "Pshh, that's easy!" directed at pretty much every assignment.
* Does not study for tests, and can easily be screwed when the teacher decides to spring a harder test then normal
...Among other things. These aren't true tick by tick, but just some of what I've observed.
It's time to tell the truth. We're not.
The Honors Student is simply a person with the way of thinking that academics come easily to them. That doesn't make them better. In fact, in many cases, that makes them much, much worse.
My Robotics Mentor, who we'll call "Sal", made a bit of a distinction today in reference to how we were building a 1:1 scale kicking prototype. The Honors Student spends freaking forever working on the mathematics and "Theoretically..." parts of design, trying to make the mechanism perfect on paper before building it. They usually run out of time, and their 'bot's "theoretically" doesn't work out completely as planned. The rest of them just charge ahead and make something that doesn't work, then tweak it until it does. This tactic works much better.
An Honors student...
* Gets good grades, and tests very well.
* Tends to either finish the project light years ahead of time, or forget about it. Then remember about said project three days before the due date and BS'es something together during a last minute all-nighter, getting a decent-to-above-average grade.
* Thinks book work is easy.
* Talks during class more often then not.
* Often uses the phrase, "I'll do it at home", and truthfully. It is not uncommon for them to find their class time better used to socialize then to do the work.
* Can execute step-by-step instructions perfectly, but often skips reading them because they "Know what they're doing". With mixed results.
* Tends to excel in at least one area completely with a "Pshh, that's easy!" directed at pretty much every assignment.
* Does not study for tests, and can easily be screwed when the teacher decides to spring a harder test then normal
...Among other things. These aren't true tick by tick, but just some of what I've observed.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Still a Six
Okay, so, as much as I hate to admit it, I agree with one Miss Stephanie Meyer on a point. One point. A SINGLE point. But it is there none-the-less, and she does a good job of explaining it. So I'm going to reuse her philosophy to make MY point. Which is similar to hers.
Here I go.
Okay, in life, people are generally somewhere on a scale from 1 to 10. One is bat shit ugly, ten is drop dead gorgeous. The scale is some what tipped so most girls are between a five and an eight. Unfortunately, girls around eight through ten usually get the guy. That leaves most of us out.
I, myself, am somewhere around a five or a Six. Guys do not look in my direction, they're busy watching the tens.
But then I joined Robotics.
Now I am in a completely different pool. I have left the ocean to a smaller group of fish. There is still the same ratio of six's to tens... but the ratio of guys to girls is much larger. The guys in this pool have had less direct female contact. They don't off the bat notice I'm only a six, and get a chance to know me before they judge.
Which means some of them like me.
There's no sparks, but definitely some interest. And even more then that, they treat me like a cute girl. I'm not kidding. It's not, "Oh, another person." It's, "Hi Cee! Hug?"
So even though I'm still a six, I no longer have to live with the limitations of one. I am loving it.
Here I go.
Okay, in life, people are generally somewhere on a scale from 1 to 10. One is bat shit ugly, ten is drop dead gorgeous. The scale is some what tipped so most girls are between a five and an eight. Unfortunately, girls around eight through ten usually get the guy. That leaves most of us out.
I, myself, am somewhere around a five or a Six. Guys do not look in my direction, they're busy watching the tens.
But then I joined Robotics.
Now I am in a completely different pool. I have left the ocean to a smaller group of fish. There is still the same ratio of six's to tens... but the ratio of guys to girls is much larger. The guys in this pool have had less direct female contact. They don't off the bat notice I'm only a six, and get a chance to know me before they judge.
Which means some of them like me.
There's no sparks, but definitely some interest. And even more then that, they treat me like a cute girl. I'm not kidding. It's not, "Oh, another person." It's, "Hi Cee! Hug?"
So even though I'm still a six, I no longer have to live with the limitations of one. I am loving it.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Clothes Make It
Right now, this very second, I am wearing a black fedora and a leather jacket. I feel awesome.
It saddens me to admit they are not mine and that I will have to give them back tomarrow morning. However, I am going to make good use of them while I have them to write this blog.
I love clothes. I absolutely adore style. All sorts of style, I'm not one to discriminate. Goth, punk, emo, pretty-in-pink, nerd bling. You name it I can find some way to verbally gush over how wonderful it is. Now you wouldn't necessarily think that looking at me and my standard jeans-and-a-T-Shirt wardrobe, nor when you gaze upon the fail that is the wardrobes I adorn my poor characters with. Because I suck at style. But that doesn't mean I can't admire the people who have it.
Now, before I get into too much detail, let me explain the difference between fashion and style. Style is that individual ZING of inspirational cloth people wear, the way they carry their clothes and their clothing choices. The bits that you look at them and go, "Oh yeah, that totally fits." It fits into their personality like a puzzle piece, often times making a statement.
Fashion is... fashion is... Imagine a heard of lemmings, running as fast as they can with their terrified little feet. Now imagine them running into a Holister store.
Fashion is the 'craze' that turns human beings into clones, each just trying to look like the last person but better doing it. It is when every girl in school has a haircut parted on the far side and swishing over their forehead to their ear on the other side. It is when you can look at a group of six teenage girls and make the assumption they all got dressed out of the same closet that morning. It is the opposite of style, a numbing of the creative side of the brain that is a mar upon the face of the earth.
Yeah. You can tell I don't like fashion.
But I love style!
So, back to my point.
Clothing makes a big statement about a person or a character. Just wearing something out of your norm can make you feel completely different. I am loving this fedora. The same goes for formal wear, or an excess of a strong color (such as pink or black) that isn't normally in your closet.
This change naturally transitions into the way people see you, as well. For example, my good friend SML dressed all out Trip pants and metal spikes goth. She is the sweetest, shyest person I have ever met, yet still gets treated like a punk everywhere she goes. People make assumptions based on what you put out there, so one must be careful.
This makes clothing style in character design crucial. If every character in a comic book wears standard shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, then the whole group becomes much less memoriable. Even a simple think like preferring to wear striped ties instead of just a standard dress shirt makes a subconscious mark on the reader. Although fanartists are likely the only ones who will remember, the image still impacts the reader. The same goes for regular story writing, make a note on the personal style of a character and the reader will immediately begin to associate them with a culture, even a personality steriotype. Style is a powerful thing, which makes going against the grain such a powerful tool in creative aspects like writing and drawing.
This makes me emo corner when I look at Nathen, or realize I've never drawn Marcus outside his school uniform. Or when I think about how besides "The" sweater and tight pants Alex doesn't actually have an emo-identity. It just makes me sort of cry.
I WILL FIX THIS.
Eventually.
It saddens me to admit they are not mine and that I will have to give them back tomarrow morning. However, I am going to make good use of them while I have them to write this blog.
I love clothes. I absolutely adore style. All sorts of style, I'm not one to discriminate. Goth, punk, emo, pretty-in-pink, nerd bling. You name it I can find some way to verbally gush over how wonderful it is. Now you wouldn't necessarily think that looking at me and my standard jeans-and-a-T-Shirt wardrobe, nor when you gaze upon the fail that is the wardrobes I adorn my poor characters with. Because I suck at style. But that doesn't mean I can't admire the people who have it.
Now, before I get into too much detail, let me explain the difference between fashion and style. Style is that individual ZING of inspirational cloth people wear, the way they carry their clothes and their clothing choices. The bits that you look at them and go, "Oh yeah, that totally fits." It fits into their personality like a puzzle piece, often times making a statement.
Fashion is... fashion is... Imagine a heard of lemmings, running as fast as they can with their terrified little feet. Now imagine them running into a Holister store.
Fashion is the 'craze' that turns human beings into clones, each just trying to look like the last person but better doing it. It is when every girl in school has a haircut parted on the far side and swishing over their forehead to their ear on the other side. It is when you can look at a group of six teenage girls and make the assumption they all got dressed out of the same closet that morning. It is the opposite of style, a numbing of the creative side of the brain that is a mar upon the face of the earth.
Yeah. You can tell I don't like fashion.
But I love style!
So, back to my point.
Clothing makes a big statement about a person or a character. Just wearing something out of your norm can make you feel completely different. I am loving this fedora. The same goes for formal wear, or an excess of a strong color (such as pink or black) that isn't normally in your closet.
This change naturally transitions into the way people see you, as well. For example, my good friend SML dressed all out Trip pants and metal spikes goth. She is the sweetest, shyest person I have ever met, yet still gets treated like a punk everywhere she goes. People make assumptions based on what you put out there, so one must be careful.
This makes clothing style in character design crucial. If every character in a comic book wears standard shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, then the whole group becomes much less memoriable. Even a simple think like preferring to wear striped ties instead of just a standard dress shirt makes a subconscious mark on the reader. Although fanartists are likely the only ones who will remember, the image still impacts the reader. The same goes for regular story writing, make a note on the personal style of a character and the reader will immediately begin to associate them with a culture, even a personality steriotype. Style is a powerful thing, which makes going against the grain such a powerful tool in creative aspects like writing and drawing.
This makes me emo corner when I look at Nathen, or realize I've never drawn Marcus outside his school uniform. Or when I think about how besides "The" sweater and tight pants Alex doesn't actually have an emo-identity. It just makes me sort of cry.
I WILL FIX THIS.
Eventually.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Cafeteria Food
Cafeteria food is not the barely recognizable goo of TV. It is, in fact, mostly edible and almost always recognizable as some sort of sustenance one has seen before. I will go as far as to add that sometimes bits and pieces of it are actually good.
This is as far as I will go.
Because let's face it, cafeteria food still sucks.
Apparently I criticize the schools food on a daily basis. I didn't actually notice until the poor girl who eats lunch with me (By free will. I'm not sure why.) pointed it out. After taking a step back, I had to admit she's right.
I do not apologize. The the cafeteria food could be improved so much with very little effort. Add salt to the french fries. Use white bread, or at least offer it in exchange for the not-as-healthy-as-real-wheat-but-tastes-like-it-anyways crap. Don't let the food sit out for an hour before we get it. Don't burn it. Use only grapes that look like they were inspected for funny mold colored spots. Take the damn chicken bones out of the gravy.
You know. Small stuff. School food would actually be sort of good if the people cooking it didn't have such short supply of man power to get what they need to get done.
This is one of those things I'm going to complain to the school board staff about one of these days. Maybe I'll even organize a campaign.
And maybe I'll forgo fixing this horrible tragedy so I can use Cafeteria Food reviews as filler for other blog entries that I'm hurriedly throwing to bed minutes before midnight.
The world may never know
This is as far as I will go.
Because let's face it, cafeteria food still sucks.
Apparently I criticize the schools food on a daily basis. I didn't actually notice until the poor girl who eats lunch with me (By free will. I'm not sure why.) pointed it out. After taking a step back, I had to admit she's right.
I do not apologize. The the cafeteria food could be improved so much with very little effort. Add salt to the french fries. Use white bread, or at least offer it in exchange for the not-as-healthy-as-real-wheat-but-tastes-like-it-anyways crap. Don't let the food sit out for an hour before we get it. Don't burn it. Use only grapes that look like they were inspected for funny mold colored spots. Take the damn chicken bones out of the gravy.
You know. Small stuff. School food would actually be sort of good if the people cooking it didn't have such short supply of man power to get what they need to get done.
This is one of those things I'm going to complain to the school board staff about one of these days. Maybe I'll even organize a campaign.
And maybe I'll forgo fixing this horrible tragedy so I can use Cafeteria Food reviews as filler for other blog entries that I'm hurriedly throwing to bed minutes before midnight.
The world may never know
Finals Week is Hell
I hate finals week. I really, really, just hate finals week. Not with the same brightly burning passion that I hate child abuse or government torture, but more of a dull, consistent ache that eats away at my health and never truly goes away.
This is the point in time where I realize how completely screwed I am in Science, even though I'm working really hard, and on top of that, how I totally forgot we had a take-home-test over the weekend. This is the time where I break down into tears roughly three or four times a day. (Today was three, if you were wondering.)
Most people may think I'm being irrational and stupid. They would look at my mostly-A's-except-for-that-one-C-in-an-Honors-class report card and ask me what the hell my problem is. The thing is, I care about school. I care a huge fucking ton. It's important to me as the one thing I can consistently do well in. I have a talent for soaking up knowledge. Now, I don't always put that talent to good use, and finals week is the time I am given to fully and completely regret it.
Plus, putting the pressure of studying for that many tests in such a short time span doesn't seem fair. Come on, I have ALL of my finals on the same day this time around. That's not fair. That's worse then not fair, that's just plain dirty.
I feel as if I am being kicked when I'm already down. I haven't had a good nights sleep in three weeks (Robotics. It's an obsesion. That and the N.E.R.D. group.) and now this is thrown at me. I'm two nanometers from cracking.
At least I learned enough LabView today to be able to decipher code in a coherent string of thought. That's one victory.
This is the point in time where I realize how completely screwed I am in Science, even though I'm working really hard, and on top of that, how I totally forgot we had a take-home-test over the weekend. This is the time where I break down into tears roughly three or four times a day. (Today was three, if you were wondering.)
Most people may think I'm being irrational and stupid. They would look at my mostly-A's-except-for-that-one-C-in-an-Honors-class report card and ask me what the hell my problem is. The thing is, I care about school. I care a huge fucking ton. It's important to me as the one thing I can consistently do well in. I have a talent for soaking up knowledge. Now, I don't always put that talent to good use, and finals week is the time I am given to fully and completely regret it.
Plus, putting the pressure of studying for that many tests in such a short time span doesn't seem fair. Come on, I have ALL of my finals on the same day this time around. That's not fair. That's worse then not fair, that's just plain dirty.
I feel as if I am being kicked when I'm already down. I haven't had a good nights sleep in three weeks (Robotics. It's an obsesion. That and the N.E.R.D. group.) and now this is thrown at me. I'm two nanometers from cracking.
At least I learned enough LabView today to be able to decipher code in a coherent string of thought. That's one victory.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Welcome to the Closet
Well, so. As I'm sure all my friends who read this know, I'm bisexual. I find hot guys and girls equally attractive.
Most of my life I've lived firmly and conclusively in the closet, due to many family members and close friends being conservative Christian. I live in a relatively small town where it is still acceptable to publicly harass the GLBT community. Even though I've known friends openly out of their closet, I didn't have the courage to come out of mine. Even my close friend who "always knows" didn't pick me up on her gaydar.
Then one day my mother decided to ask me if I was gay. While I was trapped in the car for an hour long drive to my Grandfathers house. I suck at lying.
Since then I've been sort of in, sort of out. Kind of like I'm still in the closet, but I left the doors open. If some one asks I'll tell the truth, and I and very loudly Pro GLBT rights.
Although, at the same time, I am hiding my sexuality from my grandparents and my Dad's side of the family. They do not need to know. That, and I told my mother I'm "Confused". Which is a bold faced lie. I used to be confused, back in middle school. Now I'm completely sure, and not ashamed. I was just worried my mother would throw a fit.
Which brings about another thing. What on earth is so "Bad" about homosexuality, anyways? It always bugs me that people are like, "IT'S FROM THE DEVIIIIL!". I don't get it. I mean, I could understand them not liking getting hit on. And I could understand them not liking the large amount of sex-before-marriage, as we can't get married. But how can you fault some one for the simple, intuitive act of loving some one? How can you hate love?
Most of my life I've lived firmly and conclusively in the closet, due to many family members and close friends being conservative Christian. I live in a relatively small town where it is still acceptable to publicly harass the GLBT community. Even though I've known friends openly out of their closet, I didn't have the courage to come out of mine. Even my close friend who "always knows" didn't pick me up on her gaydar.
Then one day my mother decided to ask me if I was gay. While I was trapped in the car for an hour long drive to my Grandfathers house. I suck at lying.
Since then I've been sort of in, sort of out. Kind of like I'm still in the closet, but I left the doors open. If some one asks I'll tell the truth, and I and very loudly Pro GLBT rights.
Although, at the same time, I am hiding my sexuality from my grandparents and my Dad's side of the family. They do not need to know. That, and I told my mother I'm "Confused". Which is a bold faced lie. I used to be confused, back in middle school. Now I'm completely sure, and not ashamed. I was just worried my mother would throw a fit.
Which brings about another thing. What on earth is so "Bad" about homosexuality, anyways? It always bugs me that people are like, "IT'S FROM THE DEVIIIIL!". I don't get it. I mean, I could understand them not liking getting hit on. And I could understand them not liking the large amount of sex-before-marriage, as we can't get married. But how can you fault some one for the simple, intuitive act of loving some one? How can you hate love?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Penta Plz K Thnx
Penta is my latest fandom. For those not "In the know", that is the working name of a novel my friend is writing. It is fantastic.
How about a short, mostly spoiler free synopsis?
The book is set in a alternate reality where the civilized world is not run by different governments and countries, but rather one large cult-like religion. The church controls everything, to the point where it is a near death punishment to skip evening prayer without pre-notification. The gods in question the world's population are to worship (which most willingly do) are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, and their father and creator, Lopt.
The main character, Mortimer Scott, is a police officer in forensics and a committed man of Lopt. He has the blind, cult-like love for his ever-benevolent creator.
Then one day he gets assigned a rather peculiar case concerning the death of a priest, gets drunk off his sorry ass, and basically kidnapped by the man he thinks dun it.
This man seems to recognize Mortimer, and begins to tell him blasphemous things, informing him of his true identity as Pluto, and the reason behind why he is stuck on earth with no powers.
Mortimer doesn't believe a word of it.
But then he is forced to "Remember"...
And the book just gets better from there.
I am in absolute love with this thing. Taylor has a knack for dialouge and some very good plot pacing going on. Add on top of that a natural talent for an all-absorbing style of writing, and you've got some killer stuff. Of course, there are some kinks. This is a rough draft, and it still has quite a ways to go. However, I'm heavily looking forward to the coming months of watching her write and the story take shape, then being one of the first aloud to take a red pen to her finished draft.
Taylor is planning to publish, so after our first brutal murder - I mean editing - of her book, Penta is getting emailed to a million editors and publishers until one of them says yes. And one will. This book is the type of unpolished gem they would be stupid to refuse.
When Taylor is done, this is going to be awesome.
And I am so, so fucking proud of her.
How about a short, mostly spoiler free synopsis?
The book is set in a alternate reality where the civilized world is not run by different governments and countries, but rather one large cult-like religion. The church controls everything, to the point where it is a near death punishment to skip evening prayer without pre-notification. The gods in question the world's population are to worship (which most willingly do) are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, and their father and creator, Lopt.
The main character, Mortimer Scott, is a police officer in forensics and a committed man of Lopt. He has the blind, cult-like love for his ever-benevolent creator.
Then one day he gets assigned a rather peculiar case concerning the death of a priest, gets drunk off his sorry ass, and basically kidnapped by the man he thinks dun it.
This man seems to recognize Mortimer, and begins to tell him blasphemous things, informing him of his true identity as Pluto, and the reason behind why he is stuck on earth with no powers.
Mortimer doesn't believe a word of it.
But then he is forced to "Remember"...
And the book just gets better from there.
I am in absolute love with this thing. Taylor has a knack for dialouge and some very good plot pacing going on. Add on top of that a natural talent for an all-absorbing style of writing, and you've got some killer stuff. Of course, there are some kinks. This is a rough draft, and it still has quite a ways to go. However, I'm heavily looking forward to the coming months of watching her write and the story take shape, then being one of the first aloud to take a red pen to her finished draft.
Taylor is planning to publish, so after our first brutal murder - I mean editing - of her book, Penta is getting emailed to a million editors and publishers until one of them says yes. And one will. This book is the type of unpolished gem they would be stupid to refuse.
When Taylor is done, this is going to be awesome.
And I am so, so fucking proud of her.
Here we go again...
My new challenge? Update this blog once a day, every day.
Unlike Sarah (of Probably Incoherent Ramblings) creating this Blogger page is no vague sense of Deja Vu to me. No, I have unfortunately been down this road before. I say unfortunate because last time I failed horribly.
For some reason, I fail at the simple task of repetition. I can't even remember to brush my teeth every night. At sixteen years old my Mom still has to remind me. How sad is that? But the point is, the act of repeating a single task once a day does not compute with my brain. Therefor, this shall be a difficult task.
Or it would be, if I was doing it alone.
No, I am not. I'm not even the instigator. Today two of my bestest friends in the whole wide world decided to do this crazy blogging thing, and I just hopped on the end with the phrase, "Lets make it a threesome!". I have people who will bug me and stab me in order to get me to do this every day, which is a good thing.
Maybe my writing will improve! Or, at the very least, my consistency. Doing something every day should help, yes?
Signing Off,
Cee
Unlike Sarah (of Probably Incoherent Ramblings) creating this Blogger page is no vague sense of Deja Vu to me. No, I have unfortunately been down this road before. I say unfortunate because last time I failed horribly.
For some reason, I fail at the simple task of repetition. I can't even remember to brush my teeth every night. At sixteen years old my Mom still has to remind me. How sad is that? But the point is, the act of repeating a single task once a day does not compute with my brain. Therefor, this shall be a difficult task.
Or it would be, if I was doing it alone.
No, I am not. I'm not even the instigator. Today two of my bestest friends in the whole wide world decided to do this crazy blogging thing, and I just hopped on the end with the phrase, "Lets make it a threesome!". I have people who will bug me and stab me in order to get me to do this every day, which is a good thing.
Maybe my writing will improve! Or, at the very least, my consistency. Doing something every day should help, yes?
Signing Off,
Cee
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